

I’m not flat—nope!
¡No soy normal—no señor!

I pop like a kernel,
Reviento como una palomita,

Turn like a gear,
Giro como engranaje,

Start-stop—tic!—I disappear (tic!)
Inicio-paro—¡tic!—desaparezco (¡tic!)

Shiver in a spiral,
Temblor en espiral,

Blurt in a loop,
Suelto en bucle,

Stuck in a mood like oops (oops!)
Atrapado en un humor de “ups” (¡ups!)

Hands shake (hands shake)
Las manos tiemblan (las manos tiemblan)

Thoughts fake (thoughts fake)
Pensamientos falsos (pensamientos falsos)

Voice breaks (voice breaks)
La voz se quiebra (la voz se quiebra)

But I make—
Pero yo hago—

Boom.
¡Boom!

I’m weird (weird!)
Soy raro (¡raro!)

I’m wild (wild!)
Soy salvaje (¡salvaje!)

Tickin’ like a bomb in a candy aisle
Ticando como bomba en pasillo de dulces

Glitch-glitch (glitch!)
Glitch-glitch (¡glitch!)

Smile (smile!)
Sonrisa (¡sonrisa!)

Crackin’ my knuckles in disco style
Crujiendo nudillos con estilo disco

I’m weird (weird!)
Soy raro (¡raro!)

No fix (no fix!)
Sin arreglo (¡sin arreglo!)

Loopin’ like a DJ’s got new tricks
En bucle como DJ con nuevos trucos

I don’t fit, I remix—
No encajo, yo remezclo—

Boom.
¡Boom!

Left foot, right—
Pie izquierdo, derecho—

Stop. Repeat.
Alto. Repite.

Can’t sit still in the grocery seat
No puedo quedarme quieto en el carrito

Say it once (say it once)
Dilo una vez (dilo una vez)

Say it twice (say it twice)
Dilo dos veces (dilo dos veces)

Say it—say it—say it—ice!
¡Dilo—dilo—dilo—hielo!

Eyes twitch (eyes twitch)
Ojos tiemblan (ojos tiemblan)

Brain switch (brain switch)
Cambio cerebral (cambio cerebral)

Snare hits (snare hits)
Golpes de redoblante (golpes de redoblante)

And I glitch—
Y me glitcheo—

Boom.
¡Boom!

I’m weird (weird!)
Soy raro (¡raro!)

I’m wild (wild!)
Soy salvaje (¡salvaje!)

Tickin’ like a bomb in a candy aisle
Ticando como bomba en pasillo de dulces

Glitch-glitch (glitch!)
Glitch-glitch (¡glitch!)

Smile (smile!)
Sonrisa (¡sonrisa!)

Crackin’ my knuckles in disco style
Crujiendo nudillos con estilo disco

I’m weird (weird!)
Soy raro (¡raro!)

No fix (no fix!)
Sin arreglo (¡sin arreglo!)

Loopin’ like a DJ’s got new tricks
En bucle como DJ con nuevos trucos

I don’t fit, I remix—
No encajo, yo remezclo—

Boom.
¡Boom!

Twitch in the night
Espasmo en la noche

Flash of the light
Destello de luz

Echo the echo the echo the fight
Eco del eco del eco de la pelea

Whispers behind
Susurros detrás

Can’t read my mind
No puedes leer mi mente

But I’m not broken, I’m just—
Pero no estoy roto, sólo estoy—

Aligned.
Alineado.

We’re weird (weird!)
Somos raros (¡raros!)

We’re wild (wild!)
Somos salvajes (¡salvajes!)

Tickin’ like bombs in a candy aisle
Ticando como bombas en pasillo de dulces

Glitch-glitch (glitch!)
Glitch-glitch (¡glitch!)

Smile (smile!)
Sonríe (¡sonríe!)

Dance with the tics in a freestyle pile
Baila con los tics en un montón estilo libre

We’re weird (weird!)
Somos raros (¡raros!)

No fix (no fix!)
Sin arreglo (¡sin arreglo!)

Savin’ the world with our remix
Salvando el mundo con nuestro remix

Click. Clack. Snap.
Click. Clack. Snap.

Boom.
¡Boom!

Weird

people and dogs

Oh, my darling, I am your little Snuggle Bear,
Floating on clouds, breathing your air,
Calling your name with my sugary prayer —
Oh darling, oh darling, I’m always there!

Fresh from the gym, still dripping with pride,
Phone in his hand, heart open wide,
"Hi darling! Where are you? What’s in your day?"
The locker room groans and looks away.
"What are you eating? What time will you sleep?
Are you alone? Are the neighbors a creep?"
A secret agent in love’s disguise,
With puppy dog dreams in his misty eyes.

Oh no, here comes the show,
Questions falling like January snow,
One more "Hey babe!" and we might all go —
Crazy inside this tragic glow.

Snuggle Bear, flying through the air,
Candyfloss voice in the public square,
Hey darling, hey darling, what’s your plan?
Snuggle Bear, with his helmet bright,
Rolling on dreams into the night,
Hey darling, hey darling, catch me if you can!

Stretch pants squeaking, the phone won’t end,
His love’s an attack — no need to defend,
"What's your next move? Should I make a call?
Will you eat a sandwich? Or nothing at all?"
The walls are sweating, the towels fall down,
Second-hand shame spinning around,
He clutches his keys with a trembling hand —
But waits for her voice, like a loyal fan.

Oh no, here comes the rain,
The locker room sinking in sticky pain,
One more "Love you!" like a bullet train,
Driving us all deliciously insane.

Snuggle Bear, floating through the air,
Whispers of sugar we cannot bear,
Hey darling, hey darling, what’s your plan?
Snuggle Bear, helmet strapped so tight,
Pedaling feelings into the night,
Hey darling, hey darling, I'm your man!

Snuggle Bear, you know the type,
Bicycle helmet, sugary hype,
Hey darling, hey darling, spin that wheel —
Oh darling, oh darling, too sweet to be real.

The Snuggle Bear (Pop Version)

Alarm clock blinkin’, same old tea,
But something’s whisperin’ quietly.
She signs her name, first letter bold—
A K, like silver, sharp and cold.

The man she lost, the town she dreams,
Their names all stitched with K-like seams.
She never saw the thread run deep—
It only showed up in her sleep.

Now it's written on the wall,
Every K she can't recall.
Love, the place, and now her son—
All those K’s, and she had none.

🎶 Hey! Hey! Hey! Lend me a K!
Everything I love just walks away.
Hey! Hey! Hey! What's it all say?
A code I missed, a game I play.
From the man I lost to the child I raise,
From the cat on my bed to the city’s haze,
Too many K’s… in every way—
But none of them ask me to stay. 🎶

One more clue inside her room:
The purring cat, soft as perfume.
Kira’s eyes like ancient spells—
She’s known this K since silent wells.

And then her boy, with sleepy grin,
Calls her name from deep within.
His name begins the same old way—
Another K she didn’t weigh.

So many letters circle tight,
Around her love, beyond her sight.
K for Katze, K for pain—
K for dreams she can’t regain.

🎶 Hey! Hey! Hey! Lend me a K!
Every word I need just fades away.
Hey! Hey! Hey! What can I say?
The alphabet won't let me stay.
From the kiss I missed to the town I crave,
Each K a path I never brave.
Too many K’s… still not okay—
But I’ll keep dancing anyway. 🎶

"K in love… K in fate…
K in the names I replicate…
K in my child, K in the cat…
What does it mean to live like that?"

(Chopped vocal fragments: “Kira… Köln… Keine… Kind…”)
Deep pads + filtered synth bass, building back to euphoric final chorus

🎶 Hey! Hey! Hey! Lend me a K!
One I can hold and never betray.
Hey! Hey! Hey! Maybe one day,
All those K’s will point my way.
The man, the cat, the boy, the town—
They float above but don’t come down.
Hey! Hey! Hey! Come what may—
K is the key… or just the delay. 🎶

Lend Me a K (Pop Version)

Redundancy Department Department by Dr. Elliot Lach is an upbeat, whimsical tribute to all the backups, spares, and "just in case" items we stash away but secretly depend on. From junk drawers to body parts including kidney pairs, this quirky folk-pop tune celebrates the unsung heroes of everyday life—the things (and organs) we don’t always need, but are grateful to have. With clever lyrics and a playful bounce,  this song is an ode to preparedness, peace of mind, and the power of having an extra roll of tape.

Redundancy Department Department

Why do we eat the same old stuff every morning? "Kimchee for Breakfast" by Dr. Elliot Lach breaks the mold with a funky, savory anthem celebrating bold flavors and breaking breakfast rules. Inspired by global traditions and fermented fire, this song dares you to ditch toast and start your day with spice.

Perfect for foodies, breakfast rebels, and anyone who's ever thought, “Why not rice and kimchee before 9 a.m.?”

Kimchee For Breakfast

🏴 Got Ba-Ba-Banned in Scot-Scot-Land – The Soccer Scientist
French House × Filter House × Satirical Groove Pop
Tempo: 123 BPM | Male Lead Vocal

They once danced in the World Cup spotlight — now even the Faroes give them trouble.
This is the story of a football sociologist from the U.S. who came to Scotland to understand the fall…
…and got banned everywhere he went.

Pubs. Libraries. Cafés. Football pitches.
Even a dog turned its back on him.

For everyone who still hears the echo of 1974…
…and grooves through football heartbreak like it’s a disco anthem.

🧠 Lyrics & Story: Written by a football romantic.
🎚️ Production: Think soft club bounce meets quirky academic heartbreak.
💽 Genre: French House / Filter House / Electro Pop Groove

LYRICS: 

Blue skies over Leith…
I came with questions.
But now I’m a ghost in the terraces —
Banned with affection.

Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
Didn’t mean harm, I just took a stand.
Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
All I said was: “What happened, man?”
Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
No more tea, no cappuccino hand.
Just me and the mist and a coaching plan —
Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land.

I asked why no one scores anymore,
Why the net stays still while the bagpipes soar.
Heard a whisper in a rainy square —
“Don’t speak that thought, don’t take it there.”

Silence in the stadium,
Rust in the stands.
But I opened my notebook —
And just like that…

Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
They blocked my login, erased my scans.
Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
Even got banned from the marching band.
Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
A scholar’s dream with a shakin’ hand.
Just one word and the pub went cold —
Got ba-ba-banned… but I still strolled.

Woooah-eh, nah-nah — let the synths breathe.
Pipes twirl, like ghosts in tweed.
Clap once for the golden days…
Clap twice for the goals they praise.

I got flagged at the coffee shop,
For askin’ if tactics ever stop.
They said, “We’ve got passion, and pride, and lore” —
But I just wanted to see them… score.

Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
From the pitch to the quiet librarian.
Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
Even that dog gave me the back of his hand.
Got ba-ba-banned in Scot-Scot-land
But I still love the sound of the fans —
And I still hum their anthem slow…
While I pack my bags, and let it go.

“Ba-ba-banned…”
“Scot… Scot… land…”

Got Banned in Scotland

🎧 Checking the Fact Checkers - Groove House × Piano House × Typing Funk
📰 Because the truth deserves a beat.

Ever wondered what happens when a mechanical keyboard falls in love with a funky bassline, and their child becomes a media critic? Welcome to “Checking the Fact Checkers” — your favorite satire-powered dance track for suspicious scrolls and late-night doom-clicks.

💃 What you’ll hear:
– Rhythmic cherry MX clickies grooving like caffeinated hi-hats
– Confident female vocals dropping truth bombs in broadcast tone
– Piano stabs that slap harder than a Twitter clapback
– Sax stabs pretending to be breaking news horns
– Glitchy news phrases like “Experts say…” and “Click here…”
– A chorus so short and sticky, even your algorithm can’t ignore it:

🎶 Check check — checking the fact checkers! (click click boom)

🕺This track swings just enough to question its own bias.
📺 Perfect for:
– Dancing while questioning your reality
– DJ sets with a sense of humor
– Fact-checking your ex’s excuses

And remember… if you can groove to it, it might be true.
🔍 Check check — play responsibly. 🫡

Lyrics:

They told me “crisis,” sold me calm,
In autoplayed ads with soothing balm.
Broke the news like broken glass —
Spun it quick so the truth don’t last.

Clickbait rain, storm of doubt,
Anchors cry while laughing out.
I watch, I scroll, I half-believe —
Facts dissolve like GIFs that leave.

🎶 Check check — checking the fact checkers!
(tap tap)
🎶 Check check — checking the fact checkers!
(click click)
🎶 Check check… checking the fact checkers!
(clack clack… truth attack…)

Truth wears shades and a viral beat,
Filtered news on a looper’s repeat.
Facts got flair, with drama glaze,
Voice-over girl in a clickstream haze.

Autoplay dreams, algorithm pride,
I surf through fiction certified.
If it’s trending, it must be true,
Right? Right. Swipe me through.

🎶 Check check — checking the fact checkers!
(click click)
🎶 Check check — checking the fact checkers!
(clack clack)
🎶 Check check… checking the fact checkers!

Checking the Fact Checkers

Get ready for sparkle overload! ✨
"Oops! I Glittered Again!" is a playful, feel-good dance-pop banger packed with funky energy, cheeky lyrics, and enough glitter to blind your worries. It's bold, fabulous, and 100% Leya. Whether you're dancing in your room or owning the sidewalk like a runway, this track was made to make you smile (and maybe spill glitter on your cat 🐱).

Turn it up, throw on your shiniest outfit, and remember:
Too much? Never. 💃
This music was originally generated using Suno AI. All rights were granted to me through a paid subscription, as outlined in Suno's Terms of Service (as of June 30, 2024).

Leya style

Oops! I Glittered Again

Wake up, sip sass, and slay the day — all in bunny slippers. “Diva in My Slippers” is a glittery dance-pop celebration of everyday fabulousness. No heels? No problem. This track is your official kitchen dance anthem. Just press play and serve vibes like Leya does — with sparkle, sarcasm, and a hot cup of “don’t need your opinion.”
This music was originally generated using Suno AI. All rights were granted to me through a paid subscription, as outlined in Suno's Terms of Service (as of June 30, 2024).

Diva in My Slippers

Start your day with glitter, drama, and... a panicked cat!
“What Should I Wear?!” is a playful dance-pop anthem about fashion chaos and fabulous confidence.
Leya turns her closet into a runway — while her cat seeks shelter in a shoebox.
Upbeat, cheeky, and 100% sparkle-powered 💅🐾
Perfect for your morning routine, cat memes, or spontaneous dance parties in pajamas!
This music was originally generated using Suno AI. All rights were granted to me through a paid subscription, as outlined in Suno's Terms of Service (as of June 30, 2024).

What Should I Wear

🌞 Track: Chest Hair Jesus
🎸 Genre: Indie Rock × Jangle Pop × Post-Punk
🕰️ ~92 BPM · 🎹 Key: E Major
🌈 Mood: Desperate Daylight • Groovy Dignity • Melodic Collapse

Description:

What happens when a morally ambiguous messiah walks into your breakroom with sandals, sass, and a nectarine? You get Chest Hair Jesus — a jangly sermon in E Major that smells faintly of vending machine fries and aftershave holiness.

Born on a heatwave and baptized in fluorescent lighting, this track is a peach-scented rebuke to your lunchtime sins.
Think:
🕶️ A baritone prophet with summer chest hair confidence
🥤 A cola crisis turned spiritual awakening
🩴 Sandals slapping laminate like thunder from heaven
🎸 Guitars so clean they might’ve been washed by angels — if angels had chorus pedals

It’s The Smiths meet Sermon on the Mount via an overheated AC unit.
It’s Johnny Marr riffing in a robe.
It’s a post-punk gospel for the spiritually dehydrated.

🙌 Join the cult. BYO fruit.

Lyrics:

Noon break haze and microwaved sin
The vending light flickers, the saints sleep in
Then he walks in like a holy tan
With a cross and curls and peach in hand

His shirt’s undone to moral code
A sermon packed in chest hair mode
He points at me with fire and fries —
And quotes a verse from cheaper skies

He says: “That cola’s hell in disguise”
While sipping his with godly eyes
And somehow I forget the rule —
And nod like I’m the holy fool

🎶 Chest Hair Jesus, you love to preach —
But dressed like it’s summer, for girls and beach
You bless my lunch, you damn my soul —
While flexing hard in casual control 🎶

He caught my friend in gin last week
Declared her soul was cheap and weak
Then winked and bit a nectarine
Like he was fresh from Galilee

His sandals slapped the laminate
He quoted Paul, but twenty late
And when he tossed his tray at me —
It felt like strange divinity

He whispered sin in gentle tones
Then picked his teeth with plastic bones
And all I saw was golden fuzz
Where thunderous moral judgment was

🎶 Chest Hair Jesus, you love to preach —
But dressed like it’s summer, for girls and beach
You bless my lunch, you damn my soul —
While flexing hard in casual control 🎶

I tried to leave, I tried to breathe
He said “believe,” and cracked his sleeve
He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t plead
He simply points — and plants a seed

🎶 Chest Hair Jesus, you love to preach —
But dressed like it’s summer, for girls and beach
You bless my lunch, you damn my soul —
While flexing hard in casual control 🎶

“Next… believer… please…”
“Dress… appropriately…”
“Grace… optional…”

Chest Hair Jesus

What happens when sizzling chaos meets kale-fueled calm?
Meet Bacon Bridget and Vegan Vincent — a breakfast-themed romantic fever dream wrapped in claps, snaps, and sizzling synths.

This is no ordinary love song.
It’s a duet between a woman who deep-fries her feelings and a man who composts his heartbreak.
She wears bacon tape and winks at toasters.
He brews chamomile with almond guilt.
Together? They flirt, they clash, they maybe-kiss in a hummus-scented cloud of emotional irony.

🎭 Expect:
– Bouncy piano stabs and groovy basslines
– A funky rhythm section with sizzling FX
– Call-and-response chaos between opposites who (maybe?) attract
– One existential spoon, several confused vegetables, and zero nutritional balance

🍳 For fans of:
– Electro-pop musicals that sound like brunch gone rogue
– Absurd duets with a side of flirt
– Love stories where the real drama happens between the courses

🎧 Will they kiss, fight, or serve each other emotional side dishes?
You decide. Just don’t come hungry.

Lyrics:

I bite the morning, crispy edge
A toast cathedral, bacon pledge
I dip my soul in molten fat
And whisper sweet things to my spat

I chant to lentils in my tea
Namaste, non-dairy me
My socks are hemp, my heart is flax
I break up with cheese and never text back

🥓 She’s a sizzle —
🥬 I’m a breeze —
🥓 I bring heat —
🥬 I bring peas —
But fate said “try the combo plate”
Now we’re both on a confused first date

Bacon Bridget! (uh-huh!)
Vegan Vincent! (oh no!)
Flirtin’ by the mango gelato
He brings hummus, I bring flair
We might combust — or share a pear

Bacon Bridget! (that’s me!)
Vegan Vincent! (still free!)
We toast with oat milk and irony
Will it last or will it burn?
Spin the plate — it’s your turn! 🎶

I wore my skirt of bacon tape
He brought a scarf made out of grape
He asked, “Is that… meat on your shoes?”
I said, “Shhh — it helps me choose.”

I panicked, offered beet pâté
She laughed and licked a canapé
We danced in boots of moral mud
And she called me her “organic stud” 😳

🥓 “Do I smell like sin?”
🥬 “Do I look too green?”
🥓 “Can we kiss with bacon breath?”
🥬 “Let’s not think about death.”

Bacon Bridget! (mmm, divine)
Vegan Vincent! (past his prime)
Two hearts beat in sautéed rhyme
A vegan boy, a bacon flame…
Will brunch destroy or win the game?

Bacon Bridget! (one last bite?)
Vegan Vincent! (hold me tight?)
A sizzling kiss or salad fight?
We fade to black… and let them guess —
Did they hug… or made a mess? 🎶

Bacon Bridget & Vegan Vincent

This one's for the overthinkers, the self-doubters, and the “yeah-but-it-wasn’t-that-hard” crowd.
🎸 A jangle pop / indie rock / post-punk anthem for everyone who downplays their own achievements — like fixing the sink without Googling it, or calling your mom after six months and pretending it was “no big deal.”

The guitars shimmer like sunshine on a half-painted wall. The bass grooves like it knows your secret feelings. And the vocals? Half deadpan, half love letter — calling you out with a smirk and a hug.

“Anyway, anyway, anyway, anyway — you still got it done, I gotta say.”
It’s more than a hook — it’s your emotional pep talk in disguise.

Perfect for walking home after doing something mildly impressive and pretending it didn’t matter. But it did. And we noticed.

Lyrics:

You said, “It’s no big deal, just fixed the sink”
Didn’t flood the place — you poured a drink
“You call that a win?” you laugh and sigh
But you didn’t even Google it, my guy

Burnt the toast, but made the eggs
Painted half the wall, missed both legs
You always say, “C’mon, that was lame”
But you're the only one who showed up to the game

Anyway, anyway, anyway, anyway — you still got it done, I gotta say
Maybe it was dumb, maybe it was small
But you didn’t trip, you didn’t stall
So don’t pretend it meant nothing today —
Anyway, anyway, anyway, anyway

You say, “It’s nothing — just called my mom”
But you haven’t dialed in six damn months
You fixed a fuse with chewing gum
Then said, “It’s temporary — I’m not dumb”

You found your keys in the freezer tray
Signed up for yoga, lasted one day
But I saw you try, and that’s the thing
You always joke, but you still bring

Anyway, anyway, anyway, anyway — you still got it done, I gotta say
It ain’t about style, it ain’t about speed
You showed up when someone had a need
So don’t act like it was just cliché —
Anyway, anyway, anyway, anyway

You laugh it off, you roll your eyes
But I know where the real you hides
In the quiet wins, the little fights
You keep on walking through the night

Anyway, anyway, anyway, anyway — you still got it done, I gotta say
You won’t admit it, but I can tell
You did just fine — you did it well
So come on, own your weird ballet —
Anyway, anyway, anyway, anyway

Anyway

“Chihuahua in Prada” is a glam-pop satire for the ones who walk like a runway and think like a revolution.
A sparkling anthem for the soft rebels, the lipgloss leaders, and anyone who's ever turned heartbreak into high fashion.
🎤 Vocals recorded by me, built over an AI-generated instrumental — because creating your own world means mixing all the tools that serve it.
If you've ever felt too much, looked too good, and cared too deeply —
this one’s for your inner diva.

Chihuahua in Prada

I Hope For You” is a duet that blends lo-fi indie bedroom pop into something fragile, playful, and nostalgic. Built on toy-like percussion — plastic drums, handclaps, shaker eggs — and melodic hooks from xylophone and toy piano, the song captures the innocence of childhood with the raw honesty of indie confessionals. Warm, slightly distorted vocals carry an intimate duet delivery, wrapped in dreamy reverb and tape-style imperfections that give it a cozy DIY bedroom feel. Quirky, nostalgic, and catchy — a fragile little song that still dares to rise.

#DJOracle
#IHopeForYou

I Hope For You

 “Parallax Factor” – a retro-futuristic electronic pop journey inspired by the 1980s synthwave era.

Parallax Factor

A nostalgic, tongue-in-cheek journey through the revolutionary spirit of the 1960s — reimagined through the retro-futuristic lens of 1980s-style electronic pop music.

Victim Of the 60s

DJ Oracle | Multi-Genre Music Producer, Songwriter & Festival DJ

If you hear it, I wrote it

My Focus:
Industry says: “Focus on one genre to build a fanbase.”
I say: “I’ll master them all.”

My writing isn't meant to be confined to one playlist category. Every moment is a mood, every lyric is a poem, and every song tells a story. I refuse to limit myself. Writing music across genres isn’t just a skill—it’s my passion. I have no desire to change who I am to meet industry expectations.

Genre = Mood
Lyrics = Poems
Music = Story

Where Am I Today?
I can write in any genre, any language, and on any topic. I have access to any instrument and can create with any vocal style—male or female. But at my core, I am a writer, not an entertainer.
I feel timid stepping in front of a microphone—exposing myself vocally is still a challenge. There are skills to master and fears to overcome before I record my own voice or perform live. But I am comfortable behind the DJ decks.

Where Am I Going?
As I navigate my place in the music industry, my goal is to split my music into three primary genres and sign with labels that align with each sound:

EDM – #SpinninRecords, #Monstercat, #UltraRecords
South Florida Country Pop – #BigMachineRecords, #CurbRecords
Everything Else – TBD

Next Steps for Me:
✔ Write daily and publish new music weekly
✔ Finish EDM albums: #IWantToDestroyYou and #AlicesSonicJourney
✔ Intern with an established DJ – @PhilHarrisMusic
✔ Start publishing behind-the-scenes content
✔ License a song or album to a record label or collaborate with an artist to expose my music and make money

I know social media is necessary, but it’s far outside my comfort zone. Sharing the creative process, the "sauce" behind the songs, feels vulnerable. But I also know that if I want my music to be heard, I need to open that door—even if it’s uncomfortable.

This is my journey. Let’s see where it leads.

#DJOracle #MusicWithoutLimits #MultiGenreProducer #Songwriter #FestivalDJ #EDM #CountryPop #MusicStorytelling

our soul is born without any kind of boundaries. those are added afterwards. music is one of the few ways to shake off those manmade weights and just smile or cry together even if we are in hugely different parts of the globe.. 

"🎧 TorGio Records • Leya & AI • Ambient, Psychedelic, Soul • Mindful music for every mood • SoundCloud-first".

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!

Lyricist, vocalist, keyboard player for Modern Chant 1980s. 
Co-composer, vocalist, lyricist, keyboard player, Impressionist Music improvising collective 1990s-2000s. 
Vocalist with Medusa singing Goddess acapella 2000s. 
Collaborated with Dale Chant, Marc Tracey, Chris Parthenides, Roland Seidel, Riley Jordan

New tracks tagged #QuirkyPop