Always wanted the song that ended up as 'Bilbao' to go with the first three songs that have been released for years. Finally finished it and thought of recording other bits and pieces that were created around that time as well as a ditty I made up when I was 7 to go with them. First thing I remember making up.

Away From Me

Why Can't Everyone Be Like You

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

★ based on the 1961 song "I've Told Every Little Star" by US singer LINDA SCOTT ★ more shred here : soundcloud.com/le-slapon/sets/gazed-diffused ★

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐄 : 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧 (𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚝 ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ)

Welcome to the emotional breakdown you can tap your foot to.

This is bittersweet indie rock for anyone who's ever been told “great job” and responded with a sarcastic grunt, only to cry about it later in the break room. A jangle pop shimmer wraps around a post-punk spine, while guitars sparkle like cheap champagne under flickering office lights, and the bassline grooves with the quiet confidence of someone who definitely read the manual twice.

Vocals? Conversational, like you're overhearing a genius complain to a vending machine.
Lyrics? Oh, just your usual mix of solder fumes, time loops, and existential microns.

🎸 Clean guitars twinkle with emotional repression.
🥁 Drums march like a to-do list with abandonment issues.
🎤 The chorus—“Anyway, anyway, anyway, anyway…”—is the sound of someone almost taking a compliment, then tripping over it.

This isn’t just a song. It’s a melodic sigh, a shrug in four-four time, a hug for the burnout romantics who still believe in precision, even if only to escape their feelings.

🔩 For the overthinkers.
📉 For the under-celebrators.
💔 For the blueprint poets.

“Why am I — always this guy?”
We don’t know, man. But your suffering sounds fantastic.

Lyrics:

My coat smells like solder and sleepless regret
I trace blue lines with a cigarette
The cleaner hums, the deadline leers
It’s Monday again — or is it next year?

🎶 Why am I — always this guy?
Staring down ghosts through a laser eye
Chasing one micron ‘til my soul goes blind
Clock hands spin but I stay behind
My oh my — just leave me alone
I’m twenty-two in a thirty-zone 🎶

I talk to machines more than I talk to friends
I fix what’s broken — then break it again
Dreams dissolve in factory light
We build the stars, but forget the night

🎶 Why am I — always this guy?
Falling for rules I forgot to defy
Measuring worth in invisible lines
Living on graphs, avoiding the signs
My oh my — just leave me alone
I’m still in the lab when the lights are gone 🎶

And we all said we’d change the world
Now we redraw specs and wipe the curls
Every win’s a softer fall
We miss the glitch, then fix it all

🎶 Why am I — always this guy?
Trapped in a dance where the beat won’t die
One micron left, one breath to take
A promise we never meant to break
My oh my — just leave me alone
I'm carving dreams into silicon stone 🎶

🎵 Just one micron wide...
Between the man I am… and the one I hide... 🎵

Why am I — always this guy?

Verse:
Dead flowers hit the floor when you're dead in your grave
You used to be a charm and now you’re dark as a shade
Oh, I never could’ve talked you through all of the pain
But you never would've thought that you could march in the spring

Chorus:
With dead flowers,
Dead flowers

Verse: 
So you wanna be a corpse cause you’re dead inside?
You’re dripping black tears falling out of your eyes
And I see that you’re sad and you need to cry
But it’s like the Grim Reaper’s keeping you in the sky

Chorus:
With dead flowers,
Dead flowers

Verse:
You look like a ghost, all alone in your room
Can’t you see the Sun coming out of the blue?
You’re alive and you’re smiling, it’s so new
I think we could be together, getting high on the Moon?
And we can be together with the flowers soon
It's like a little meadow meant for me and you
You found peace when you breathing out of your tomb
I just think you're someone I could never lose to

Chorus:
Dead flowers,
Dead flowers,
Dead flowers,
Dead flowers/

Dead Flowers

Ever read the ingredients list on your soda bottle and thought: “This is basically my Tinder profile in chemical form”?
This song is for all of us who like our love calorie-reduced, EFSA-approved, and shelf-stable until the end of time.

It’s Grapefruit from the lab. It’s Niacin in your night dreams. It’s Aspartam in your heartstrings.
A bittersweet hymn to artificial romance, sung with jangly guitars, post-punk sighs, and indie swagger.

Perfect for:
🥤 Reading nutritional labels like holy scripture
🏙 Daydreaming about tropical beaches in the middle of an industrial estate
💔 Falling in love with something that doesn’t actually love you back — but tastes amazing

Warning: May cause uncontrollable toe-tapping and a sudden urge to thank your local chemical engineer.

Lyrics:

Ich les’ das Etikett wie ein Horoskop,
da steht mein Schicksal: Kalorien im Notstand.
Vier Süßstoffe und ein bisschen Fruchtkonzentrat,
schmeckt nach Tropenurlaub – aus der Fabrikstadt.

Vitamin C, B6 und ein Schuss Niacin,
und wenn du willst, kriegst du auch noch Biotin.
Nur kein Zucker, dafür Aspartam,
das ist keine Liebe – aber nah dran.

Und die Sonne scheint durch Plastikflaschen,
und mein Herz schlägt im Acesulfam-Takt.
Ich brauch keinen Fruchtsaft,
ich brauch nur den Geschmack…

🎶 Das ist alles, was ich will –
ein bisschen Grapefruit aus dem Labor.
Das ist alles, was ich will –
künstliche Küsse in mein Ohr.
Das ist alles, was ich will –
Citronensäure im Sonnenschein.
Alles, was ich will –
soll künstlich und unsterblich sein. 🎶

Kaliumcitrat, das klingt wie ein Song,
den nur Chemiker im Sommer singen.
0,3 Gramm Zucker – ich fühl mich so frei,
und doch so wunderbar gefangen im Einerlei.

Sie sagen: „Das ist gesund, im Rahmen der Norm“ –
aber mein Durst ist längst außer Form.
Ich trink die Wahrheit aus PET,
und frag mich, was davon im Körper überlebt.

Und die Welt dreht sich wie Kohlensäureblasen,
ich seh’ mein Leben in Aspartamfarben.
Kein echter Saft,
aber ich spür’ den Saft…

🎶 Das ist alles, was ich will –
ein bisschen Orange aus der Maschine.
Das ist alles, was ich will –
Süßstoffträume in der Vitrine.
Das ist alles, was ich will –
Natriumcyclamat in der Nacht.
Alles, was ich will –
hat die EFSA für mich abgesegnet, sacht. 🎶

Oh Baby, gieß mich ein,
in dein Glas aus Zeit und Schein.
Oh Baby, mach mich klar,
so wie Wasser ohne Gefahr.

Wasser, Kohlensäure, künstliches Paradies,
ich weiß, dass du mich nie verlässt –
weil du niemals schlecht wirst, niemals gehst,
und niemals echt bist.

Das ist alles was ich will

A jangly sigh from the edges of Saturday night. "Too Late, Loretta" drifts through the bittersweet twilight between what almost was and what never came. Wrapped in shimmering guitars and a mellow post-punk pulse, this dreamy indie track tells the quiet tale of a woman who's always just a beat behind the chorus — but still hums along like it’s hers.

Loretta isn’t lost. She’s just… delayed. A nun out of habit, a girl out of time. She misses trains, discos, beach trips, and blessings — but never misses the moment to feel. Sung with ironic distance and aching honesty, her story is yours if you’ve ever danced alone after the lights come on, or smiled like you meant to miss the fun.

For the ones who get there late, love too softly, and find beauty in the quiet aftermath — this song is your confessional booth.

🎧 Bittersweet Jangle Pop × Indie Rock × Post-Punk
💔 Dreamy female vocals with emotional shimmer
🌆 For sunset streets, empty dancefloors, and buses heading the wrong way

Lyrics: 

She shows up just as doors shut tight,
Train pulled away, out goes the night.
Scarf in hand, she missed the game —
The final chant, the flare, the flame.

The disco ball begins to die,
She nods at boys who pass her by.
The DJ yawns, the lights come on —
And once again, her moment’s gone.

🎶 She’s too late, Loretta,
Clock hands don’t forget her,
Running through the crowds like the ghost of something better.
Last slice’s gone,
Last dance withdrawn —
She buys a drink and sings along. 🎶

The buffet’s bare at half-past three,
Crumbs of cake and cold chai tea.
She smiles like she meant to fast —
Pretends she never liked it, past.

She checks her watch — oh, cruel delay,
The airport gate just closed today.
The beach she dreamed is miles too far —
Now neon tans blink at the bar.

🎶 She’s too late, Loretta,
No note from fate, no letter.
Laughed out of the lift while the stars aligned for better.
Too slow to fight,
Too kind to bite —
She rides the wrong bus home tonight. 🎶

All roads lead somewhere else.
All boys are just… almosts.
All weekends she plans
Already happened.

🎶 She's too late, Loretta,
Shadow in the confetta.
Dancing on the steps of a club that won’t reset her.
Still dreams in queues,
Still pays her dues —
Still sings like late is something you choose. 🎶

(And the doors slide shut...)
(And the lights switch off...)
(And her voice just hums… in the dark she loves.)

Too Late Loretta

★ based on the 2003 song "AMOUREUSE" by german electronic act REWORK ★ more shred here : soundcloud.com/le-slapon/sets/gazed-diffused ★

𝐎𝐇 𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐀𝐒 : 𝑨𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒖𝒔𝒆 (𝚁𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ)

Silk Daisys - It's A Laugh

DWEEB KIL. LINKS:
https://linktr.ee/dweebkiljerm

- OPERATION: A.L.B.U.M.a.l.a.M.o.d.e./:
@dweebkil

freakin' bring it!

Working On:

"HOLY TOLEDO"
"BWAP"
"New Singapore"
✔ "Cody"
"Shinu! (OV)"
"TankGirl (IWB/DM!)"

NEW! -
"456! (GERMS)"
"MevenusFreestyle!"

O.K.:
Kil. (Killer Bee)
Johnny!
LuckyIDontJump!
CliffordTheBigBlackDog


Burn
Pink
Toxic Waste! 
Mutt
Goth Bitch
Feelin' Death in The Dark
Fuck Donald Trump!

Silk Daisys is a time waste for James and sometimes other people.

hyper music nerd from boring zürich, switzerland. electronic dj with a flair for techno, electro, synthwave, coldwave, minimalwave, and an obsession for creating yummy ai songs mostly in non-electronic eclectic flavours like shoegaze, postpunk, garagerock, darkwave, and whatnot. serious but also not so sometimes... check Albums or Playlists for a less messy experience 😉 enjoy!

Blending a fusion of jangle pop, doo wop, indie, glam rock, alternative, grunge, new wave, Motown, surf and blues with psychedelic and avant garde ideas of sound effects and recordings of everyday sounds, Ricky Murray is quite the concoction. Tied up with lyrics that pertain to a songwriter that metaphorically wears his heart on BOTH his sleeves, it makes for spellbinding listening. He’s not pretentious at all for writing his bio in the third person and saying all this. When he’s THAT good, he has carte blanche to speak in the third person and assume the effects his songs have on the listener.  After some made-up ditties in the 1990s - ‘Teddy Bear Armbands’ and ‘Greg The Egg’ to name but a few – his songwriting journey (have to use the word ‘journey’ in a bio) began in earnest when he started playing guitar and writing songs, proper, in January 2002 with a ‘God Save the Queen’ rip-off – Sex Pistols song – called ‘Going Back to School’. He soon improved his songwriting, but it wasn’t until January 3rd 2004 on the same evening an FA Cup match between Southampton and Newcastle United was played and that he heard No Doubt’s cover of ‘It’s My Life’ on Virgin Radio that he wrote a song that was decent and came out naturally from within his esteemed being. That was ‘She’s So Cold’, which is available to listen to on YouTube here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DWtGBVMkog 
Since then, he hasn’t looked back, unless it’s to the artists who inspire him to pen his deeply charged laments, all of which has led to the works of genius you can hear here. Hear, hear to that.

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 #janglepop