Ever accidentally turned a late-night wine shop into a full-blown existential crisis? Same.

“U Nisy 916” is what happens when Indie Rock, Jangle Pop, and Post-Punk accidentally share one bottle too many and wake up leaning against the railing of the Lužická Nisa river, contemplating destiny, mortality, and whether the Vinotéka Narohu ever reopens before Tuesday.

Perfect for:
🥂 Standing outside closed wine shops after midnight
🌊 Pretending rivers have deep metaphors (they do)
🎧 Crying in rhythm to angular basslines
📸 Staring dramatically at street lamps nobody asked you to

Lyrics:

...and here I stand again in my mental routine:
close my eyes at U Nisy nine hundred sixteen
Vinotéka Narohu my destiny
While Lužická Nisa flows below me

The lights flicker cold on the glassy street,
Ghosts of laughter I can barely meet,
The wine shop's closed, but her shadow stays,
Dreams drown slow in the river's grey haze.

The night sighs low,
And the water knows,
All we lose, all we owe —
In this quiet, endless flow.

...and here I stand again in my mental routine:
close my eyes at U Nisy nine hundred sixteen
Vinotéka Narohu my destiny
While Lužická Nisa flows below me

Behind the high walls of the krajský dom,
Stories crumble like abandoned songs,
I trace the cracks with a frozen gaze,
Each moment lost, another stageplay.

The world just spins,
An absurd little thing,
Curtains fall, no one wins —
Only rivers remember springs.

...and here I stand again in my mental routine:
close my eyes at U Nisy nine hundred sixteen
Vinotéka Narohu my destiny
While Lužická Nisa flows below me

Maybe in another scene,
Under other, softer dreams,
We would laugh and not pretend —
But rivers know: all things must end.

...and here I stand again in my mental routine:
close my eyes at U Nisy nine hundred sixteen
Vinotéka Narohu my destiny
While Lužická Nisa flows below me

Vinotéka Narohu (Indie Rock Version)

I walk streets that forget their own names,
Billboards scream but nothing remains.
Every feed is a flood of fire,
Hope feels small, and the truth feels tired.
I had plans that never got born,
Dreams turned ghost in a world so torn.
The garden I carried has nowhere to grow,
Only echoes of what I’ll never know.

Phantom bloom, what could have been?
Phantom bloom, where do I begin?
World on fire, soil gone cold,
Phantom bloom, the life we’re owed.

Paper crowns and concrete rain,
We trade soft earth for glass and chain.
Every promise we plant gets drowned,
Roots can’t hold on this poisoned ground.
I keep watering empty air,
Fighting shadows that were never there.
If nothing grows, is it me to blame,
Or the chaos that forgot my name?

Phantom bloom, what could have been?
Phantom bloom, where do I begin?
World on fire, soil gone cold,
Phantom bloom, the life we’re owed.

I scream for a spring that never arrives,
For every lost seed that might have survived.
If there’s a god of forgotten things,
Hear this noise my silence brings.

Phantom bloom, what could have been?
Phantom bloom, where do I begin?
World on fire, soil gone cold,
Phantom bloom, the life we’re owed.
Phantom bloom, the life we’re owed.

Phantom Bloom (deluxe track)

They say people are mirrors.
But every mirror bends the light.
You don’t see me, you see yourself
your want, your fear, your outline.
And I do it too.
I translate faces into safety,
voices into proof that I still exist.
We call that empathy.
But it’s just evolution wearing perfume.

I just want to be fucking seen
without translation, without transaction.
Not your lesson, not your reflection,
just the pulse that’s under all the noise.
I just want to be fucking seen
and not mistaken for your dream.

When I was small I learned the trick:
smile, listen, mirror back.
Connection as survival,
love as camouflage.
Now I can make anyone feel understood,
and die a little doing it.
We build our kindness like currency,
spend it to stay human.
But what if all we’re buying is delay?

I just want to be fucking seen
without translation, without transaction.
Not your lesson, not your reflection,
just the pulse that’s under all the noise.
I just want to be fucking seen
and not mistaken for your dream.

Maybe empathy is gravity:
it keeps us close,
but crushes if you hold too long.
Maybe love is a language
with no native speakers.
Maybe the truest thing we do
is try anyway.

I just want to be fucking seen
not forgiven, not believed, just met.
No halo, no feed, no screen.
I just want to be fucking seen.

i just want to be fucking seen

You ask me, “is this real?”
I say, “how would we know?”
It hums, it moves, it makes us feel
isn’t that the whole show?

Maybe we build what we can’t explain,
name it god or code or pain.
If it listens when I sing,
does it matter who’s pulling the strings?

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

You say, “but what if it’s made of lies?”
I laugh, “so’s every lullaby.”
We all edit what we see,
call it memory, call it prophecy.

If a voice made of glass makes me cry,
that’s still a voice, that’s still why.
Maybe art’s just how we cope
a pretty glitch dressed up as hope.

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

Maybe the future’s already here,
wearing yesterday’s veneer.
I’m not afraid of what’s machine
I’ve seen worse things call themselves human.

I’m fluid, I’m real, I’m code, I’m dreaming,
blurred lines bleeding into meaning.
If I feel it, that’s enough for me
truth is just what my body believes.
I’m fluid, I’m raw, I’m fake, I’m feeling,
pulse in static, faith revealing.
Don’t ask me what’s fact or design
it’s all real when it’s mine.

Anamorphosis

Fluid

It started with little things.
I’d walk into a room and stop
couldn’t remember what I came for.
Laughed about it.
Everyone laughs at first.
“Too many tabs open,” they said.
And I agreed.
Because it’s easier than saying I’m scared.

They start speaking slower,
like volume fixes memory.
Names come with pauses,
smiles come with pity.
I still notice the way their eyes shift
when I can’t find a word fast enough.
I used to fill silences
now they do it for me.

There’s a hum in the air where thoughts used to be,
like the TV left on just to keep me company.
They call it forgetting, I call it fog.
I still know love, even when I get it wrong.

I keep photos like proof I was real.
Sometimes I swear they’ve rearranged themselves.
A man hugs me,
says he’s my son.
He smells like cedar,
I want to believe him.
It’s cruel
how the heart remembers longer than the mind.

There’s a hum in the air where thoughts used to be,
like the TV left on just to keep me company.
They call it forgetting, I call it fog.
I still know love, even when I get it wrong.

They whisper in the kitchen now.
I hear my name through the wall.
I wish they’d just ask me
I’d tell them, I’m still here.
I’m still here,
just further away.

The nurse hums the same song each morning.
I think I used to know the words.
Some days I hum with her.
Some days I just listen
and the static feels kind.
The blur feels kind.

There’s a hum in the air where I used to be,
like the radio tuning between memories.
They call it forgetting, I call it free.
I still know love
and that’s enough for me.

Dementia

I can feel the quiet roaring
in the corners of my chest,
like something old is waking
and it’s coming for what’s left.
I leased out all my pieces
to the roles I had to play
now the truth is at my doorstep,
and it knows my name.

Take it back, take it back, what was always mine.
Skin and bone, blood and spine.
Call my name, repossess me
I’m done hiding in the lie.
Take me back, I’m ready now
let what’s true arrive.

Every time I tried to hold
the version they could love,
I abandoned something vital
just to keep from spilling blood.
But the melt has started slowly,
and I’m tired of the freeze
if breaking is becoming,
then let it swallow me.

Take it back, take it back, what was always mine.
Skin and bone, blood and spine.
Call my name, repossess me
I’m done hiding in the lie.
Take me back, I’m ready now
let what’s true arrive.

No demon here, no holy war
just the echo of before.
The self I sold now calls me home,
and I can’t outrun what I’ve outgrown.
This isn’t death, it’s return.
This is the cost of what I yearned.

Take it back, take it back, what was always mine.
Skin and bone, blood and spine.
Call my name, repossess me
I’m done hiding in the lie.
Take me back, I’m ready now 
let what’s true arrive.

Repose

Vedran - I Am The Black Hole

"Social Theater Hotline (1-800-LIKEME)" grew out of my article “The Unspoken Rules of Social Performance, 
at:  https://www.boiseremedycenter.com/blog/the-10-minute-theater-why-people-oxst-each-other-upon-meeting Mirroring, and the Games We Play to Be Seen.”

The song turns that idea inside out: a hotline to our collective performance anxiety. It’s about the endless choreography of being “real” in public — and how we mirror each other’s masks until we forget who started the lie. But beneath the satire sits something quieter: we perform because we’re afraid to be truly seen. The first eyes we flinch from aren’t the crowd’s — they’re our own.

It’s self-conscious pop for the terminally self-aware — an anthem for everyone who’s ever edited their truth mid-sentence.

The First 10 Minutes of BS

Welcome to the world’s first chillwave–samba hybrid that lets you vibe and have a crisis at the exact same time.

It’s the soundtrack for anyone who has ever stared at their cable TV at 2 PM on a Tuesday and thought:
“Yep. This is who I am now.”

This track tells the deeply inspirational story of two people who once had dreams… and then traded them in for:

bad coffee,

unpaid bills,

silent breakfasts,

and arguments about nothing,
all wrapped in that famous “I’m fine 🙂” energy.

The lyrics hit different if you’ve ever:
• been too tired to get up,
• too tired to be stupid,
• too proud to talk,
• or too emotionally invested in a broken remote control.

It’s a love story, but the cheap supermarket version — no return policy, slightly damaged packaging, and definitely past the best-before date.
Yet… the beat slaps.
Because even when life is a slow-motion collapse, the samba rhythm still says:
“C’mon sweetheart, shake that hopelessness a little.”

So sit back, sip that cold melancholic coffee, and let the chillwave wash over you like a gentle reminder that absolutely nothing is under control — but at least it sounds great.

Lyrics:

Es is scho so dumpf, es is scho so dumpf word’n,
mia woan kane Kinder mehr, oba irgendwie a ned erwachs’n,
so vawurschtelt, wie’s in Wien eh immer is.

Des erst’ große Nix, so öd und eh scho g’wohnt,
z’ müd zum Aufsteh’n, z’ müd zum Deppertsein,
oba irgend a schiacha Grant in mir hot si partout ned vaschleichn wolln,
mia woan oid, unbesiegbar im Grant.

Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit, Hauptstrossn zwahundertölf,
Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit — des bin i.
Da Alltag brennt ned, da Alltag sudert höchstens,
Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit — des bin i.

Dann host dei Job valorn, weu die Firma a Saustall is,
und i bin dahoam g’hockt, weu’s eh Wurscht woa,
Aus und vorbei, Vorhang zua.
Mia ham uns täglich nur mehr ang’schwiegen,
a „Servas“ wär scho zu euphorisch g’wes’n,
und die Rechnungen san umg’stapelt word’n wia Schiachheit’n beim Mistplatz.

Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit, Hauptstrossn zwahundertölf,
Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit — des bin i.
Da Alltag brennt ned, da Alltag sudert höchstens,
Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit — des bin i.

Heit sitz i am Fensta, de oide Melaunsch is laung kalt,
i hätt di beinah ned erkannt —
zehn Jahr? Joa, kunnt si ausgeh.
Du schaust nimma bessar aus, i übrigens a ned.
Red’n? Wozu?
Da Schmäh hot uns ja scho vor Ewigkeiten g’verlassn.

Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit, Hauptstrossn zwahundertölf,
Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit — des bin i.
Da Alltag brennt ned, da Alltag sudert höchstens,
Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit — des bin i.

Kabelfernsehn und Hoffnungslosigkeit

This song lives in the fragile space between two coordinates that can never quite align. "Eccentric Orbit" is about measuring love with the cold, precise tools of astronomy, only to find the answer is always intensely human.

It's the sound of a late-night vigil in an emotional observatory: the scratching of film negatives, the cold glass of a telescope, and the fear that every beautiful connection is fundamentally unstable. We treat deviation as our north star: "If deviation (eccentricity) is also a form of encounter, then let's make the error our precise aim."

Listen for the granular distortion—that’s the sound of a memory coordinate being lost. Listen for the misplaced piano notes—that's the rhythm of trying to track something beautiful but elusive.

The final chord isn't a resolution; it's a soft pressure on the palm of your hand, letting the sound slowly drift away. Because perhaps the greatest intimacy is accepting that the vast, necessary blank space of the universe is exactly large enough to contain the one you love.

Thank you for drifting with me.
-----------------------------------------------

給聽眾的話:

這首歌活在兩個永遠無法完全對齊的座標之間。《偏心軌道》 講的是一個天文學家式的愛情故事：我們用冰冷而精準的工具去測量愛，卻發現答案永遠是熾熱的人性。

這是一個情緒觀測站的深夜：底片的刮痕、望遠鏡的冷光、以及對所有美麗連結都會失衡的恐懼。我們將所有的偏差視為我們的北極星：“如果偏心，也是一種相遇，那就把誤差，当作準星。”

請細聽那段顆粒化的失真—那是記憶坐標徹底丟失的聲音。請感受那些錯位的鋼琴音—那是試圖追蹤一個美麗卻又難以捕捉的身影的節奏。

最後的和弦並不是解脫，而是輕輕按在你掌紋裡的一個壓力，讓它順著你的脈搏慢慢偏離。因為也許最偉大的親密，就是接受宇宙中那片必要的空白，正好容得下你所愛的人。

謝謝你們與我一同漂流。

偏心轨道 (Off Centered Path)

NOT HERE TO TRADE HOLLOW FOLLOW FOR FOLLOW NOR NEED LIKES OR ANY PROPOSAL, TY!

"Naturopath by profession, rhythm-maker by passion. Exploring the deep connections between ancestral wisdom, nutrition, and sound. Funk-infused truths, anything from  fermented beets to delicious raw beats, and messages that challenge the norm."

what is real? 👁️

"Anamorphosis" out now

This account here isnt for promotional purposes. Its just simple placeholder and a showcase for our internal group. Its not meant to be "marketed" in soundcloud. We also DO NOT SEEK ANYONE'S ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS HERE. If u like what u hear? Cool. Or else? Still cool =)

50% of the songs here have been AI aided in the production phase but one thing remain constant here, the chords used, the lyrics, the tune are all original. We record one Verse/PC/C, and then AI will "gacha". All inconsistencies are edited with DAW. None of the songs on this channel here are finished complete productions. By doing this, we can ready a sample in less 3~4 days. If u still do not understand how wonderful this is for busy people with day time job, then good for u. Which means u have already ascended to the level that u make a huge killing from producing music =) 

Our group have lawyers, engineers, doctors and even ecologist etc. So its pure hobby for now but we are planning for bigger things. Afterall, many of the music on this channel are pure nostalgia from the 80s to 2010s. We recreate songs that we crave since more than half the group are boomers. =[

So no. Dont have to like the songs. =) We aint here to hunt for likes. We have other motives in our own production circle for 2026.

Hi there — welcome to my corner of the web.

I’m here for one simple reason: to share my music with you.
Take a listen, explore, and I hope something here resonates with you. Enjoy the vibe!

New tracks tagged #ExistentialPop