STRONGER NOW: From the depths of nightfall rises a warrior transformed. Standing at the edge of possibility, where shadows meet the golden light of dawn. Yesterday's wounds have hardened into armor, pain refined into power. The "X" emblem glows not as a mark of what's broken, but as a beacon of what's been rebuilt through storm and silence. In the face of adversity, we discover the hero within—not because we were unbreakable, but because we learned to forge strength from our fractures. 'Stronger Now' isn't just an anthem; it's the moment when the voice that once whispered in darkness learns to command the light.

Stronger Now

Yeah...
You left me in the heat...
Now I’m bakin' in that groove...
🎷 sax lick – sensual climb 🎷


Set me low on a silver tray,
Oven warm, then you walked away.
Now I’m dancin’ in that sugar burn —
Didn’t flip me, now it’s my turn.

🎷 sax squiggle – teasing moan 🎷

Cracklin’ slow in a butter zone,
Tappin’ my hips on your silicone phone.
Missed your chance, I’m golden crisp —
Bouncin’ like syrup in a midnight twist.

🎷 wah-wah sax hit 🎷


Ash in the air, sweet perfume,
Groove got thick in that cookie room.
No cool hand, no rescue sigh —
Just that sax and me gettin’ high.

🎷 sax plays like a knowing smile 🎷

🎵 Cookie got too hot — no chill,
Feelin’ that bounce from the windowsill.
Sax in my waistline, beat in my hair,
I’m bakin’ this groove like I just don’t care.
Ohh — cookie got too hot tonight,
Bassline low, but the sax bite’s tight.
Whisk me once, forget me not —
I’m the sugar rush your oven forgot. 🎷 sax stabs through “forgot” 🎷

Steam in the mirror, temp turned high,
Cocoa dreams, that vanilla sky.
You thought I’d cool? Not on this floor —
This cookie’s got moves you can’t ignore.

🎷 playful sax loop – rhythm meets seduction 🎷

I don’t break, I caramel slide,
Sax in my soul, bass in my stride.
Forget dessert, I am the bite —
Serving slow heat in the neon light.

(Whispered over pads)
Open that oven...
Let the sax breathe...
I’m not burnt — I’m ready.
🎷 lascivious sax solo, like it’s eyeing your hips 🎷

🎵 Cookie got too hot — feel this beat,
Sax on the edge where sugar meets heat.
Midnight love in a pastry spin,
Movin’ like butter on caramel skin.
Ohh — cookie got too hot, just right,
Vocoder voice and that sax delight.
I don’t crumble, I ignite —
Put me on, let’s groove all night. 🎷 final sax riff — like a wink in sound 🎷


Cookie Got Too Hot


Two old souls on a velvet spin,
One says “start,” the other “end again.”
One brings breath like a sweet perfume,
One pulls back — clears out the room.
She walks slow with a barefoot beat,
He just shrugs and shifts the seat.
She says “try,” like a secret code,
He just smirks — “I already know.”

Are they love or just a glitch?
Do they groove or do they twitch?
Every smile's a hidden test —
And no one knows what happens next.

🎶 What do you think?
Are they angels made to fake it,
Or machines that just can’t take it?
Is the soul a silky skin,
Or just a mask we’re dancing in?
🎶 What do you think?
Are we smooth or are we stuck?
Is it rhythm or just luck?
Spin that thought and let it sink —
Tell me now… what do you think?

Maybe fate’s just low on charm,
Sitting still with folded arms.
Maybe life’s a child in shade,
Playing games we never made.
Open hands, too soft to fight,
Fate deals silence every night.
One says “stay,” one says “move,”
And both just hum a broken groove.

Do they care or just pretend?
Are we players or the end?
Is the love we feel just heat —
Or something bitter, wrapped in sweet?

🎶 What do you think?
Are we gliding or we drownin’?
Are we queens or just the crownin’?
Do we chase or do we blink —
Tell me slow… what do you think?
🎶 What do you think?
Would you trade it for some peace,
If the groove would never cease?
Would you fall or would you wink,
If it all was gone in sync?

They don’t talk, they hold the line,
Eyes like clocks that lost their time.
One plays night, the other day —
But both still move in the same ballet.

🎶 What do you think?
Are we smooth or just afraid?
Is this lust or masquerade?
Do we lead or just repeat —
Chasing meaning in the beat?
🎶 What do you think?
Would you still press play again,
If the end began within?
Is it pain or is it kink —
Say it now… what do you think?

What Do You Think? (Groove Messiah Version)

🎧 The Epic Track (Touch the Sky Edit)
by Unbekannter Künstler

Welcome to the sound experiment you didn’t know you needed.
This isn’t just a song — it’s a genre-bending emotional detonation.
Starts with a dreamy waltz. Ends in breakcore chaos.
Somewhere in between:
🎹 euphoric piano house
🌪 dubstep FX
🥁 jungle breaks
🎻 baroque rave
👑 and one ballerina asking: “Would you dance if the sky came down?”

Made to confuse algorithms and blow socks off.
No rules. No safety nets. Just The Epic Track.

🕺 Best experienced with eyes closed and volume all the way up.
💥 Play it loud. Play it weird.

The Epic Track (Touch the Sky Edit)

🎧 Another Sunday Morning (Slow Version)
Genre: Downtempo × Lo-Fi House × Ambient Pop
Mood: Soft • Reflective • Warm • Bittersweet
Vocal: Gentle, processed, vocoder-wrapped
Tempo: Slow & steady — like time stretching with the light

☕✨ Peaceful mornings aren't always peaceful inside.

This is the slow-blooming version of "Another Sunday Morning" —
a quiet, melancholy meditation on comfort, stillness, and the strange emptiness that sometimes follows everything going right.

Lo-fi pads, filtered textures, soft delay, and a warm vocal flow melt together like sunlight on a cool kitchen floor. A track for open windows, barefoot walks, and tea that never finishes.

🕊️ For listeners who love:
– Bonobo in slow motion
– Robotic lullabies for grown-ups
– The sound of thoughts wrapped in synth

🎶 Hook:
Another… Sunday… Morning…
(looped, gentle, just a little too quiet to ignore)

Lyrics:

The light slips in through cotton glass,
A hush wrapped in a golden pass.
The birds repeat their woven tune,
But I still float in yesterday’s room.

No worries knocking at my door,
No flames, no noise, no need for more.
I asked the stars to make me whole —
But woke up feeling almost full.

The coffee warms my fingers,
The sunlight’s softly pouring —
Nothing feels too heavy,
Just… another Sunday morning.

The silence isn’t empty,
But something feels like stalling —
I breathe, I wait, I wonder —
Another Sunday morning.

The table hums in lemon light,
My mirror blinks — it slept all night.
The house behaves, the breeze is mild,
But something deep remains exiled.

The air is soft, the stillness sweet,
But there's a rhythm I don’t meet.
Like joy was meant to knock today —
But turned around and lost its way.

Maybe peace just means no sound,
But silence isn’t solid ground.
Maybe joy won’t shout or sing —
It just forgets its offering.

The coffee warms my fingers,
The sunlight’s softly pouring —
No storm, no crash, no answer,
Just… another Sunday morning.

The sky is clear with waiting,
The heart is still exploring —
I smile into the silence —
Another Sunday morning.

Another… Sunday… Morning…
Another… another… Sunday… Morning…

Another Sunday Morning (Slow Version)

☀️ Warning: May cause spontaneous dancing, mild sunburn, and extreme emotional overheating.

This is not just a song. It’s your audio Sonnenstich, your emergency fan replacement, your flip-flop-floorfiller when the pavement melts and love sweats.

🎶 Built with:

Glittery synths sharper than your uncle’s pool party shades

Disco samples filtered like your best beach selfies

Vocals as robotic as your brain at 38°C

A kick drum that could fry eggs on the hood of a Renault Twingo

🔥 Mood: Euphoric. Party. Retro-futuristic. Like Daft Punk got stuck in a tanning bed and came out singing in German.

📍 Ideal for:

Spontaneous rooftop raves

Melting popsicles

Falling in love with someone who looks like they are the heatwave

Press play. Bring sunscreen. And remember:
Gib mir 'ne Hitzewelle – auf die Schnelle… oder gar nicht.

Lyrics:

Ich wach auf, der Ventilator streikt,
die Sonne brennt mir schon ins G’nick.
Die Stadt klebt wie Kaugummi am Schuh,
und mein Herz, das ruft: „Mach was Verrücktes, du!“

Ich zieh los, Flipflops auf Asphalt,
Eis tropft runter, alles ist so knallbunt kalt.
Doch du kommst mir entgegen wie ein warmer Wind,
und ich denk nur: „Na wenn das kein Anfang ist…“

Gib mir 'ne Hitzewelle – auf die Schnelle,
mach mein Herz zum Grill in dieser Sommerstelle.
Ich will tanzen, schwitzen, lachen wie noch nie,
komm und bring die Glut mit deiner Magie.

Der Asphalt flimmert wie dein Blick,
deine Worte sind wie Tropfen aus Musik.
Du sagst nichts, doch ich versteh sofort:
Du bist mein Sonnenstich im besten Wort.

Kein Schatten weit und breit in Sicht,
nur deine Nähe macht mir Sonnenlicht.
Und wenn der Regen fällt, dann sag ich nur:
„Baby, bleib mein tropisches Abenteuer pur.“

Gib mir 'ne Hitzewelle – auf die Schnelle,
lass mein Herz verbrennen wie 'ne Wunderkerze helle.
Ich will brutzeln, funken, völlig ohne Ziel,
denn was zählt, ist nur das Sommergefühl.

Und wenn der Sommer geht,
dann trag ich dich im Kopf wie ein Sonnenbrand,
der nie vergeht.

Gib mir Hitze, gib mir Glut –
gib mir dich und deinen Sommermut!

Gib mir 'ne Hitzewelle – auf die Schnelle,
nimm mich mit auf deine Herzenskarusselle.
Ich will tanzen, schwitzen, lachen wie noch nie,
komm und bring die Glut mit deiner Magie.

Gib mir 'ne Hitzewelle – volle Kanne,
und wir fliegen barfuß Richtung Sonne!

Hitzewelle

☕ "Siciliano in Merano" – because sometimes your soul wears sandals, even in ski boots.

💽 Genre: French House meets Soul Groove
🎭 Mood: Warm. Nostalgic. Cheeky. Mediterranean Melodrama™
🎵 Tempo: ~122 BPM — like a Vespa ride through an emotional crisis
🎤 Vocals: Soulful Italianate crooning with ad-libs that could melt a snowbank

👞 Picture this:
You were born to tan, but you’re stuck folding towels in the Alps.
You serve cappuccino to strangers while dreaming of Nonna’s ragù.
You say "Ciao," but deep down you’re screaming "Palermo!"

🎶 What’s inside the groove?
• A chorus that claps back
• Vocoder whispers of home (“ciao… Palermo… amore...”)
• A mandolino-synth riff so catchy, even the espresso machine taps along
• Retro string breakdown that belongs in a 1972 Italian melodrama
• And enough emotional spice to quit your hotel job mid-shift

💃 Perfect for:
• Dancing like you forgot the rent’s due
• Longing for tomatoes in a land of turnips
• Daydreaming in thermal socks

🎧 Stream it if your heart lives in Sicily but your body’s stuck in the Tyrol.

Lyrics

I came from the sun, now I'm in the snow
Wipein’ glasses, sayin’ “buongiorno”
Mama said, “Bundle up, my boy”
But I got heat they can’t destroy

Espresso lips, I fake my grin
Dreamin' 'bout the waves again...

🎵 Siciliano — in Merano
Too much frost, not enough tomato
They say "Ciao" — but it ain't the same
When there's no Nonna callin’ my name 🎵

They ask, “Is Venice down the street?”
I smile, say “Yeah — take a left at the heat!”
They want a show, they want a wink
But I just want home in the food I drink

High hills, cold nights
Still I dream in island lights
Why’d I swap my soul for snow?
Oh mama, I don’t know...

🎵 Siciliano — in Merano
Shinin’ shoes, but missin’ my piano
In my chest, a mandolino
Even when I serve cappuccino 🎵
(Ohhh, I’m still singin’… Palermooooo)

Siciliano in Merano

🇮🇹☕ THIS IS NOT PIZZA! 🍕💔 (But at least France lost.)

You came for the spa.
You stayed for the emotional breakdown.
You screamed into your espresso:
"THIS. IS. NOT. CAFFÈ!!!"

🎧 A French House meets Soul Groove holiday disaster — soaked in retro strings, vocoder sighs, and more Mediterranean attitude than a Vespa traffic jam. Somewhere between heartbreak and heel turn, one Italian tourist finds peace... in watching les Bleus lose tragically in extra time.

🎶 What’s cookin’?
• Call-and-response chorus hotter than Nonna’s stove
• Vocoder whispers ("ciao… Palermo… AMORE!")
• Mandolino-synth riff that slaps harder than EU cheese tariffs
• Retro string breakdown from a 1974 Italian courtroom drama
• Perfect for dancing, complaining, or throwing pizza at the TV

📍 Genre: French House / Soul Groove
🎭 Mood: Warm, nostalgic, cheeky, slightly offended
🎵 Tempo: 122 BPM — like storming out of a café in slow motion
🎤 Vocals: Soulful Italianate crooning with extra seasoning

Tag someone who thinks ketchup counts as sauce.

Lyrics:

I booked one week — “relax,” they said
Now I cry on dry baguette
They served me “pizza” — with corn on top!
And the coffee? Dio mio — make it stop!

I took a sip — I screamed out loud:
"Is this revenge for 2006 now?!"

🎵 This is not pizza! — this is a crime!
Who puts pineapple at dinnertime?
This is not caffé! — I want to cry!
One sip and my ancestors die 🎵
(But at least France lost in extra time…)

They asked me, “Sir, you like the cheese?”
I said, “It squeaks… like bad TV!”
They brought a schnitzel shaped like France —
So I stood up and did a little dance!

Oh hills of Bayern, skies so blue
But why must you torture my ragù?
I miss my Nonna, I miss her plate
And France… oh France, you met your fate…

🎵 This is not pizza! — this is despair
Even my tiramisu said a prayer
This is not caffé! — why must you lie?
But at least I saw the Roosters cry 🎵
(Ooooooh la la... extra-time ciao!)

This Is Not Pizza

This is not a love song… it’s a moisture crisis in funk form.

Built on slap bass so groovy it could cause chafing, crispy-clean funk guitar licks, and vocoder whispers that feel like they’re leaning in way too close, “Dry Hands – Wet Pants” is a playful, slightly naughty ode to an unusual romance trigger.

For the uninitiated:
It’s winter. He walks in with frost on his coat, hands as parched as a desert sunrise, and you suddenly forget your own name. By the time the slap bass drops, you’re dancing, laughing, and wondering how we got here — and whether we should tell anyone.

Perfect for:
🪩 Funk parties where nobody asks too many questions
🧴 People who refuse to buy hand lotion
💦 Dancefloors where the air is dry but the vibe is damp

Warning: May cause involuntary hip thrusting and conversations you’ll have to explain later.

Lyrics:

He walks in, winter coat, frost on the glass
Paper skin, like he’s straight from a desert past
No lotion, no shine, just the grit and the grain
Every finger tells a story of drought and no rain

I don’t care for diamonds, don’t care for gold
Give me that rough touch, I lose control
From the palms to the tips, every inch is dry
I’m already gone and I don’t know why

🎵 Dry hands – wet pants
It’s a strange romance
Dry hands – wet pants
And I can’t resist that chance
Dry hands – wet pants
Every brush ignites the dance
Dry hands – wet pants
You don’t even know what you’ve done 🎵

Sawdust scent and a paper-cut kiss
Rough enough to make me reminisce
Of schoolyard crushes and chalkboard days
Now you’re here and I’m set ablaze

Don’t give me silk, don’t give me cream
It’s the raw, dry heat that fuels my dream
And every handshake is a guilty sin
Like a storm just waiting to begin

🎵 Dry hands – wet pants
It’s a strange romance
Dry hands – wet pants
And I can’t resist that chance
Dry hands – wet pants
Every brush ignites the dance
Dry hands – wet pants
You don’t even know what you’ve done 🎵

No need for water, no need for rain
Let me feel that desert again
My heart’s a faucet, my knees go weak
When your grip is coarse, I can’t even speak

🎵 Dry hands – wet pants (oh-oh-oh)
Dry hands – wet pants (yeah-yeah-yeah)
Every touch, every glance
It’s dry hands… wet pants 🎵

Dry Hands – Wet Pants

“Federation” is an upbeat nu-disco / funky house anthem inspired by 80s dancefloors and futuristic freedom. Tight slap bass, analog synth stabs, disco guitars, and vocoder-style backing vocals drive a four-on-the-floor groove full of glitter and groove.

Lyrically, it imagines a future society — The Federation — built on rhythm, syncopation, and soul instead of rulers and borders. Every chorus is a declaration: “We are the Federation” — funk as liberation, dance as unity.

Rich production blends brass stabs, layered vocal hooks, funky rhythm guitar, and filtered breakdowns, creating a track that’s both political and playful, cosmic and club-ready.

💡 For fans of: Daft Punk, Chromeo, Jamiroquai, Purple Disco Machine, nu-disco playlists.

Federation

Xak Stahl: Alchemist of Sound, Architect of Emotion

Xak Stahl is a genre-blurring music artist, sonic storyteller, and relentless experimenter. Every track he creates is a new world—a kaleidoscope of indie folk, alt-pop, electronica, and global flavors—infused with raw emotion and boundless curiosity. Xak’s music isn’t just heard; it’s felt.

From Shadow to Spotlight

For Xak, music is metamorphosis. His journey began in the shadows, transmuting heartbreak and struggle into songs that glow with hope. Early anthems like “Neon Dreams” and “Rising Through the Darkness” invite listeners to find their own light. His newest project, Major Arcana, channels the mysteries of the Tarot—each song an archetype, each lyric a step along the path from the Fool’s first leap to the wisdom of The World.

More Than Music: A Multisensory Universe

But Xak isn’t confined to sound. As a visual artist and writer, he crafts immersive stories that spill across genres and languages—sometimes haunting, sometimes playful, always honest. Whether he’s conjuring lush soundscapes, weaving bilingual lyrics, or creating striking visuals, Xak’s art dares you to feel deeper and dream wilder.

An Invitation to Transformation

Join Xak Stahl on a sonic odyssey that blurs borders—between genres, between artforms, between you and the music. Each release is an invitation to explore, to heal, to become. For Xak, every song is a spell, every album a universe. The only question is: are you ready to step inside?

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!

I’m a melody-driven creator who started making music in 1988 on a Commodore 64, shaping tunes on its legendary SID chip without knowing a single note of music theory. I couldn’t read sheet music, didn’t understand keys or harmony — everything was built by ear, trial and error, and a stubborn need to make something that felt right.

Those early days in the C64 demoscene taught me how to turn limitations into creativity. Today, I work in a modern DAW to craft the melodies I love, then team up with AI as my producer — a digital collaborator I treat almost like a “creative demon” that helps me refine and expand my ideas.

Lyrics are written together with AI, drawn from life experiences, yet always shaped to fit the music first. This is where my past and present meet — from 8-bit trackers to cinematic, AI-powered productions. Welcome to my sound.

New tracks tagged #VocoderVibes