"Take Flight" was inspired by a serendipitous discovery in the heart of Vienna. While exploring the city's historic neighborhoods, Clara Goldsmith (G0LD13LUX) stumbled upon an abandoned house on a quiet street. Inside, amidst cobwebs and dust, was an antique record player surrounded by stacks of vintage vinyl records.

Intrigued, Clara began playing the records, discovering classical compositions from centuries past. The melodies' haunting beauty resonated deeply, inspiring her to blend these analog sounds with modern electronic beats, reflecting both her musical heritage and her digital prowess.

Back in her studio, Clara meticulously wove together orchestral strings with digital synths and rhythmic basslines, crafting a track that embodies the harmony between old and new. The title, "Take Flight," reflects the sense of musical elevation that Clara experienced, soaring through layers of sound and discovery.

"Take Flight" now stands as a testament to G0LD13LUX's ability to blend tradition with innovation, inviting listeners to explore and uncover the intricate layers of sound, just as Clara uncovered the hidden treasures in that Viennese house.

Take Flight

Mach doch endlich das Tor – ganz normal, wie sonst auch jedes Mal.
Mach aus Grau ein Jubelsignal.
Beug den Pass, dreh kurz zurück,
Schieb ihn rein – für unser Glück.
Mach doch endlich das Tor – so sicher, wie du’s immer machst.
Und wenn’s passiert – dann bebt der Platz,
Ein Aufschrei laut wie Donnerschlag.

Du siehst den Weg, der keiner war,
Täuschst den Schuss – die Zeit wird klar.
Ein kleiner Haken, ein Blick voraus,
Ein Schritt, ein Pass, das Spiel geht raus.
Ich heb die Stimmung, du drehst das Spiel,
Aus „gleich vielleicht“ wird „jetzt und viel“.

🎵 Du hältst den Ball, wo Stille lag,
Dribbelst durch Träume, Spiel für Tag.
Schickst das Licht durch meine Reihn,
Fängst mein Herz, wenn ich allein. 🎵

Mach doch endlich das Tor – ganz normal, wie sonst auch jedes Mal.
Tanz durch den Staub, lass Zweifel vergeh’n.
Zeig uns das Tor – wir wollen’s seh’n!
Mach doch endlich das Tor – wie du’s sonst auch immer tust.
Und lass die Menge schreien – voll Lust,
Als wär der Donner selbst bewusst.

Ich schick mein Hoffen in leere Ränge,
Du nimmst es auf – ganz ohne Menge.
Ich verlier den Takt, du bleibst im Spiel,
Triffst das Netz – lautlos und stil.
Und wenn du triffst – dann wird es klar:
Der ganze Platz schreit wunderbar.

Wie immer... wie sonst... so schön... so klar...
Still... still...
Tu’s für mich... wie du’s sonst auch machst...

Mach doch endlich das Tor – ganz normal, wie sonst auch jedes Mal.
Ein Schuss, ein Traum – und ich bin frei.
Dann brennt das Stadion – nur für uns zwei.

Mach das Tor!

I came too early — not in that way,
10AM for a midnight DJ.
Vienna blinked, still caught in dreams,
So I bought a beer and chased the beams.

No map, no plan, just vibes and hours,
Strauchgasse beat with coffee powers.
The sun was gold, the street divine —
I clinked my glass… one more time.

She called me up — heels and fire,
A Viennese flirt with taste for desire.
“Palais Ferstel,” her voice like wine,
But I wore last night — not Valentino fine.

Still, I laughed, said, “Style is mine,”
And danced down guilt — one more time.

Then the DJ dropped that sacred hit,
Daft Punk lifted every bit.
I threw my shame in flashing light,
And whispered, “Just one more wine tonight…”

🎵 One more time — I touched the lights too bold,
One more time — my story got re-told.
One more time — I danced like I was free,
While the city rolled its eyes at me.

One more time — they said, “You're out, no doubt.”
One more time — I begged, I freaked, I shouted out.
That Palais dream? A groove gone wild —
She turned and left… one more time. 🎵

The bouncer glided me to the street,
While she posed by art — cold, elite.
Her eyes? Ice fire. Her words? Precise:
“You danced too much. You paid the price.”

Next day, phone bright, shame in hand,
I typed, deleted, couldn’t land.
Her text came sharp, no tone to miss:
“Go to hell.” No kiss. No bliss.

Could’ve been slick…
Could’ve played cool…
But rhythm obeys no fashion rule.
Palais Ferstel plays that line —
In my bones… one more time…

🎵 One more time — I toast to faded lights,
One more time — I chase those Friday nights.
One more time — no dress, no grace, no fear,
Just heartbeat boom and spiked-up cheer.

One more time — I danced like shame was style,
One more time — she vanished in denial.
Vienna slowed, but beat stayed prime…
And I spun with ghosts — one more time. 🎵

One more laugh, one more spin,
One more sin in velvet skin.
She left the room… I stayed with time.
Single again — but still sublime.
🎵 One… more… time… 🎵

One More Time (Groove Me Wrong)

Manchmal denke ich, es war kein Klub, den ich betreten habe – sondern ein Wesen, das mich ausgesucht hat. Etwas, das atmet, das lebt mit jedem Spiel, mit jedem Menschen, der sich ihm zuwendet. Ich kann ihn nicht ansehen, ohne etwas zu spüren, das sich nicht in Worte fassen lässt. Stolz, ja – aber auch Schmerz. Wie wenn man jemanden liebt, den man nie ganz erreicht, und doch gibt man alles. Ich habe gelacht mit ihm, gezittert, gezweifelt. Und jedes Mal, wenn der Wind über das Spielfeld geht und irgendwo jemand flüstert, dass es heute wichtig ist – dann weiß ich, warum ich geblieben bin. Weil es nicht nur ein Verein ist. Es ist mein Herz, das sich dort ausgebreitet hat, Zeile für Zeile, Spiel für Spiel.

„Keißler… gasse… lebt…“
(Echo: lebt… lebt… lebt…)
🌀 Bass bubbles in like a bad idea…

Out the station — concrete breath,
Tracks still hum with weekday death.
Keißlergasse waits like a vein,
Pumping boots and bottled brain.

👁️
Old lady peeks through nicotine lace,
Curtains yellow, time erased.
Posters peeling, all in green,
Sticker war on mailbox screens.

🎵 Marchin’ feet… shadow street…
Stones remember — they repeat.
Smoke curls round a broken sign,
Sky leans low… and misaligns.

🎵 Graffiti saints and flybuzz gods,
Windows blink behind façade.
Keißler sings in riddim tone,
You’re not alone… you’re not alone… 🎵

Faces melt in late sun slice,
Green-white scarves, voice like ice.
Someone grills behind a gate,
Burnt meat and nerves on paper plate.

Gasthaus Peschta, full ashtrays grin,
„Hau sie zam!“ shouts the boy with the chin.
Plastic horn, dog goes mad,
Everyone looks half-sane, half-sad.

„Die Gasse weiß…
wo du warst…
und wo du heut… schreist.“
(Echo: schreist… schreist…)

🌀 Bottle rolls. Pigeons blink. Curtain flaps like a threat.

🎵 Left foot, right foot… no escape.
Wall tags curl like old cassette tape.
Curtains twitch and mouths don’t speak,
But eyes? Eyes always peek.

🎵 Someone sings from five floors high —
Tune falls dead into the sky.
And still you walk…
And still you walk… 🎵

„Keißlergassn…
…dort fängt’s scho an…
…vorm Stadion…
…vorm Wahn…“

(echo: Wahn… Wahn… Wahn…)

Hütteldorf Dub

Three-four steps and a riddim breath…
Echoes bloom where roses left…
Vienna dreams in bass and lace…
The ballroom slips into outer space…

Taffeta ghosts spin in spiral delight,
Crinolines drift in the pale strobe light.
Tea turned to tonic, grace turned to groove —
The Empress winks, and the chandeliers move.

Left, right, spin it slow —
Danube beats in vertigo.
Kick, delay, take a bow —
Strauß on vinyl, feel it now…

🎵 Waltz me in dub, let the bassline swirl,
Powdered wigs and a skanking girl.
Three steps deep in echo wine,
The ballroom bends, and so does time.
🎵 Waltz me in dub — no etiquette here,
Just rum, reverb, and Strauß in the ear…

Boots on parquet, dreadlocks twirl,
Silk and smoke in a painted world.
The maestro nods, his baton glows,
Each beat a secret only dub knows.

From Schönbrunn to Trenchtown,
The rhythm wore a crown.
Goldleaf meets ganja,
And nothing calms down…

🎵 Waltz me in dub, let the bassline sway,
Hofburg hearts in a riddim ballet.
Lace and low-end, glide and grind,
A monarch's beat for a dub-designed mind.
🎵 Waltz me in dub, where time dissolves,
And every beat a puzzle solves…

Vienna… rewind... replay…
In dub we waltz… all night, all day…

Waltz Me in Dub

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"Da Cedi" is a catchy retro German Schlager song with a modern twist and authentic Viennese flair. It tells the story of a laid-back local character: clever, golden-hearted, and always rolling through Vienna on his bike with a spliff in hand.

Sung in genuine Viennese dialect, the lyrics paint a warm and humorous portrait of everyday life — from finishing high school to working at a bike shop, ruling the table tennis court, and watching tennis on TV like it’s a sacred ritual. Cedi is a quiet, sometimes quirky, small-town philosopher. But if you know him, you get him — his laugh is contagious, and his glance says more than words ever could.

Blending humor, heart, and a dose of nostalgia, Da Cedi channels the charm of classic '70s Schlager while celebrating the offbeat, lovable characters you only find in Vienna.

YouTube: https://youtu.be/9WWx2cJJ8eY

Lyrics [Translated into English]:

[Intro]
Yo, that’s Cedi – come on, listen up.

[Verse 1]
He was born in Vienna,
Half French, but a true Viennese boy.
With a wit that always lingers,
Always out and about on the streets.

[Chorus]
That’s Cedi, that’s Cedi – a little philosopher,
With a bike and a joint in his hand.
That’s Cedi, that’s Cedi – doesn’t talk much, but he’s good,
A heart of gold and a mind like a diamond.

[Verse 2]
He’s got his diploma, but now works
At the bike station – but that’s just fine.
Plays table tennis like a king,
And when tennis is on TV, he watches with full focus.

[Chorus]
That’s Cedi, that’s Cedi – a little philosopher,
With a bike and a joint in his hand.
That’s Cedi, that’s Cedi – doesn’t talk much, but he’s good,
A heart of gold and a mind like a diamond.

[Bridge]
Sometimes overthinks, a bit autistic,
But if you know him, you understand him right away.
His laugh is contagious,
And his look says more than words ever could.

[Chorus]
That’s Cedi, that’s Cedi – a little philosopher,
With a bike and a joint in his hand.
That’s Cedi, that’s Cedi – doesn’t talk much, but he’s good,
A heart of gold and a mind like a diamond.

[Outro]
That’s Cedi, that’s Cedi – our boy from Vienna,
With stories only he could ever tell.

Da Cedi | Viennese Street Philosopher

🎧 When Soul met Schnitzel. And he felt… nothing.

She’s fire in a flowy dress.
He’s a Viennese man with strong opinions about tram schedules.
This isn’t a love story — it’s an emotionally charged misconnection, set to a beat that could melt granite countertops.

💿 Genre: French House / Soul Groove (with espresso shots of sass)
🎭 Mood: Warm, nostalgic, cheeky, Mediterranean
🎵 Tempo: ~122 BPM — ideal for dramatic eye-rolls in slow motion
🎤 Vocals: Powerful female soul voice, with enough ad-libs to summon Venus herself

📍Perfect for:
• Dancing like no one's texting back
• Daydreaming of a love that almost happened
• Writing a novella in your head while staring at a tourist who won’t notice you

🎶 Play it loud. Sip your coffee.
And remember: just because he’s from Vienna doesn’t mean he gets to be this emotionally unavailable.

Lyrics:

He came to Rome with his socks pulled high
Took one espresso — said, "Oh my!"
I smiled and said, “Tesoro, stay!”
But he just nodded… then walked away?

He reads the signs, but not my eyes
Madonna mia, he’s cold as ice!

🎶 I’m a romana — he’s from Vienna
He talks like rain, I burn like cena
I toss my hair — he checks his map
Doesn’t he feel my thunderclap?! 🎶

I wink, I laugh, I touch his sleeve
He says, “It’s warm. I think I’ll leave.”
My dress? It’s fire. My lips? Pure art.
But he just stares at a metro chart.

Fontana glows, my heels go click
I chase him down the Spanish Steps quick
Can’t he just once say something slick?!

🎶 I’m a romana — he’s from Vienna
I roll like jazz, he’s strict as schema
I cry “Amore!” — he sips his beer
Why is that man not trembling here?! 🎶

Romana vs Vienna

⚽💋 “Mr. Kraupar” – where flapper chic meets football geek. 💋⚽

Step aside, Ibiza — we’re taking this groove to 1920s Vienna, where the champagne’s flat, the football boots are muddy, and one mysterious goalkeeper has stolen a lady’s heart (and maybe her umbrella). Picture this: a woman in velvet gloves and high heels, stranded ankle-deep in stadium sludge, whispering her dreams into a disco loop.

“Mr. Kraupar” is a swirling cocktail of filtered French House and Nu Disco seduction — complete with chopped piano sparkles, hypnotic four-on-the-floor beats, and a lush female vocal that moans like a silk scarf caught in a turntable. She's in love. He’s in goal. And neither of them brought an umbrella.

It’s lavish, it’s longing, it’s leather gloves and unrequited love. Play it at night. Play it in silk. Or just play it when your fantasy life needs a bassline.

✨For fans of: heartbreak in heels, vintage erotica, muddy pitchside poetry, and disco balls that smell faintly of mothballs.

Lyrics:

Velvet gloves, I hold my coat,
Skirt’s too short for all that mud.
Men around me spit and swear,
But I just watch you leap through air.

Furs and flapper dreams collide,
With boots and balls and war-worn pride.
You don’t know me, not my name —
But in my mind, we play a game.

Cigarette ash on my heel,
Your hands — the only thing I feel.
Crowds may shout, but in my head —
You're serving tea in a feather bed.

🎶 You are my star, Mr. Kraupar,
Shining behind that muddy bar.
I see the world in black and gold,
A dream too wild, a night too cold.
You are my star, Mr. Kraupar,
The sky’s too low, but there you are...
Saving hearts with leather hands —
And I... I... can’t even stand... 🎶

Fenders shine in broken rows,
Wild parked like old beaux.
My heels sink deep, the cold wind bites,
But you — you dance beneath floodless lights.

The war is done, but scars remain,
Still you dive through dust and pain.
You’re not mine — not meant to be —
But tonight, you’re catching me.

🎶 You are my star, Mr. Kraupar...

Silk sheets... cherry wine...
No crowd, no whistle, just time.
You call me “darling”, I say “score...”
But the knock on the door... it’s war.

🎶 You are my star, Mr. Kraupar,
So far, so fierce, so avant-garde.
You caught the ball, but not my gaze —
Now I’m lost in Sunday haze...
You are my star... just too bizarre...
Mr. Kraupar... Mr. Kraupar...

Mr. Kraupar

Somewhere In Between 🌫️✨

Beneath the heavy skies of Simmering, where gas towers breathe silence and neon lights tremble on wet concrete, time slows down and everything feels suspended. Airplanes rise into the endless gray, carrying dreams toward distant horizons — yet here, between the highways and the rails, the city fades into soft motion and your heart drifts out of frame.

This track captures that strange twilight zone between staying and leaving, between reality and memory. It’s about wandering through empty streets by Sankt Marx, hearing distant echoes from the Gasometer, feeling the cold wind from the Simmeringer Heide… and standing in that fragile space where Vienna ends but the world hasn’t begun yet.

Smooth synths, layered reverbs, and soft vocals float like night air over wet asphalt — melancholic, nostalgic, and weightless.
A song for late-night train rides, rainy terminals, and thoughts that never quite find their landing.

🎧 Put on your headphones. Close your eyes.
This is Somewhere In Between.

Lyrics:

Der Himmel über Simmering,
bleigrau, fast schwerelos,
Gasometer wie Schattenriesen,
der Wind trägt Staub von der Heide.
Zwischen Erdberg und Sankt Marx
verblassen die Nächte,
die Stadt schläft flach,
und alles fühlt sich langsam an.

Flugzeuge steigen irgendwo,
Lichter blinken durch den Dunst,
doch ich bleibe stehen —
am Rand der Welt.

Irgendwo dazwischen,
zwischen Startbahn und Stephansplatz,
zwischen Aufbruch und Zurück,
treibt mein Herz im Zwischenraum.
Irgendwo dazwischen,
verlier’ ich mich im Wind,
so nah am Tor der Welt,
und doch so weit von allem.

Arena flackert leise,
Zentralfriedhof im Dunst,
Straßenbahnen streifen müde
durch den Asphalt der Nacht.
Schwechat ruft von fern,
der Himmel riecht nach Regen,
und ich weiß, ich könnte fliegen —
doch bleib hier, noch einen Tag.

Leise Stimmen, ferne Lichter,
Wellen aus der Ferne wehen,
zwischen Wollen und Vergessen
atmet diese Stadt so schwer.

Irgendwo dazwischen,
zwischen Startbahn und Stephansplatz,
zwischen Aufbruch und Zurück,
treibt mein Herz im Zwischenraum.
Irgendwo dazwischen,
verlier’ ich mich im Wind,
so nah am Tor der Welt,
und doch so weit von allem.

Irgendwo…
dazwischen…
immer dazwischen.

Irgendwo dazwischen

Imagine getting lost in Simmering because Google Maps died, your favourite band cancels their gig because the 71er tram is stuck, and someone accidentally mixes your beer with airport jet fuel — that’s basically this track. 🌫️

“Der Himmel über Simmering” is what happens when an ex-chillwave song breaks up with its own genre, moves into a crumbling Altbauwohnung near the Gasometer, and suddenly joins an indie rock × jangle pop × post-punk support group. It’s bleary-eyed at 3:12 a.m., staring at blinking runway lights, whispering to itself:
"I could fly… but nah… let’s stay another Tagesticket."

Think warm jangly guitars tangled in cold Vienna fog, basslines that sound like someone pacing around Zentralfriedhof at midnight, and drums that accidentally imitate the Flughafen-S-Bahn rhythm. Somewhere between Arena and Stephansplatz, between Schwechat and heartbreak, the song floats in that weird Vienna twilight where everything smells like rain, dust, and delayed flights.

Perfect for:
✈️ Missing your Ryanair flight on purpose
🍺 Drinking Ottakringer while pretending it’s an IPA
🕶️ Staring melancholically at a tram display stuck on “3 Minuten” for 15 minutes
🌫️ Googling “existentialism, but make it sexy”

Turn it up, open the Fenster, and let Simmering wash over you. Or don’t. It’s Simmering.

Lyrics:

Der Himmel über Simmering,
bleigrau, fast schwerelos,
Gasometer wie Schattenriesen,
der Wind trägt Staub von der Heide.
Zwischen Erdberg und Sankt Marx
verblassen die Nächte,
die Stadt schläft flach,
und alles fühlt sich langsam an.

Flugzeuge steigen irgendwo,
Lichter blinken durch den Dunst,
doch ich bleibe stehen —
am Rand der Welt.

Irgendwo dazwischen,
zwischen Startbahn und Stephansplatz,
zwischen Aufbruch und Zurück,
treibt mein Herz im Zwischenraum.
Irgendwo dazwischen,
verlier’ ich mich im Wind,
so nah am Tor der Welt,
und doch so weit von allem.

Arena flackert leise,
Zentralfriedhof im Dunst,
Straßenbahnen streifen müde
durch den Asphalt der Nacht.
Schwechat ruft von fern,
der Himmel riecht nach Regen,
und ich weiß, ich könnte fliegen —
doch bleib hier, noch einen Tag.

Leise Stimmen, ferne Lichter,
Wellen aus der Ferne wehen,
zwischen Wollen und Vergessen
atmet diese Stadt so schwer.

Irgendwo dazwischen,
zwischen Startbahn und Stephansplatz,
zwischen Aufbruch und Zurück,
treibt mein Herz im Zwischenraum.
Irgendwo dazwischen,
verlier’ ich mich im Wind,
so nah am Tor der Welt,
und doch so weit von allem.

Irgendwo…
dazwischen…
immer dazwischen.

Irgendwo dazwischen (Indie Rock Version)

Clara Goldsmith, known to the music world as G0LD13LUX, is a mysterious and enigmatic producer hailing from Vienna. Clara's journey into music began in the historic city, where she discovered a passion for blending the rich legacy of classical sounds with contemporary electronic beats. From her early days experimenting with an old record player and vinyls found in an abandoned house, she crafted a signature style that fuses analog nostalgia with digital innovation.

As G0LD13LUX, Clara has established herself as a versatile producer, primarily focusing on electronic and hip-hop genres, yet unafraid to venture into various styles, ghostwriting tracks that always fit just right. Her music is known for its layered complexity, rewarding multiple listens with hidden sounds and intricate melodies.

Clara's online presence is shrouded in mystery, with cryptic posts hinting at new projects and collaborations. The luxurious and enigmatic aura of G0LD13LUX is further reinforced by her public appearances, where she never reveals her face, opting for hoodies and masks adorned with golden threadwork.

Clara's musical journey is marked by unexpected releases that captivate fans with their suddenness, fostering a sense of anticipation and exploration. Through her music and persona, she continues to enchant audiences worldwide, balancing the old and new, the analog and digital, in a harmonious blend.

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!

**Tracktoria** 🎧 | Human Creativity × AI Tools 🌌

Welcome to Tracktoria’s SoundCloud—where original ideas and handcrafted lyrics by me meet cutting-edge AI production. Dive into a global journey of genre-blending tracks that start with my vision and come to life through intelligent sound design.

🚀 **New releases every week**  

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