H a v e Y o u S e e n M y M a n (MASTER)

R e a l L o v e (MASTER)

G i v e I t T o M e N o w (MASTER)

Try Again (Lost Audio Demo)

L o s t O n T h e H i g h w a y (MASTER)

T a k e A S h o t (MASTER)

New Man is a jazz funk-pop dance track about transformation, confidence, and second chances.
The lyrics tell the story of a man who once lost himself in the grind of a nine-to-five life and a broken love, but who returns years later—reborn, successful, and ready to fight for the one he loves.

Driven by a lively groove, slick basslines, soulful sax, and infectious rhythms, New Man blends the swagger of jazz with the energy of pop and the movement of dance.
It’s the sound of rediscovery, of walking back into the room not just older, but stronger—ready to say, “Watch out, I’m your new man.”

Perfect for late nights, neon-lit dance floors, and moments when you need to feel unstoppable.

New Man

Ever wondered what it feels like to star in your own soap opera where absolutely nothing happens? This smooth pop anthem is basically that — the soundtrack to your coffee burning, your tuna-can lunch judging you, and the eternal suspense of waiting for “it” (whatever it is) to finally happen. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

Think of it as a romantic comedy without the romance. Or the comedy. Just the existential shrug, wrapped in silky chords and catchy refrains. Perfect for staring out the window, counting ceiling cracks, or dramatically whispering “Did it happen yet? … No.” to your cat.

Play it loud, play it often — and remember: sometimes the greatest plot twist is no plot twist at all.

Lyrics:

Wake up, get up, get dressed, start the day,
The mirror’s quiet, has nothing to say.
Coffee burns, the street still asleep,
Dreams are promises I can’t keep.

Did it happen yet?
No.

Jump in the car, headlights on black,
Radio hums, I don’t look back.
City yawns, I punch the clock,
First one in — the silence talks.

Did it happen yet?
No.

Did it happen yet? — No!
Every day the same old show.
Did it happen yet? — No!
But I still can’t let it go. 

Soon it’s lunch, the shelves half bare,
Cheap can of fish, the taste of despair.
Lunch is over, can is done,
Emptiness shines in the neon sun.

Did it happen yet?
No.

Afternoon grinds me into dust,
Tired eyes, a mind I can’t trust.
Think again, maybe, but —
Hope is a door that won’t unlock.

Did it happen yet?
No.

Did it happen yet? — No!
Every day the same old show.
Did it happen yet? — No!
But I still can’t let it go. 

At home after dinner, thought sneaks in,
Could it start now, could something begin?
But nothing moves, the silence stays,
Life’s not a fairy tale anyway.

Time for bed, I close my eyes,
Tomorrow repeats under greyer skies.
Sure it won’t happen, still I confess,
There’s always that 0.01%...

Did it happen yet?
No.

Did It Happen Yet?

📈✨ Welcome to the glamorous world of spreadsheets, saxophones, and soul-crushing variance. This is “Percentage Player” — the only chillwave track where math feels sexy, breakeven sounds romantic, and a background singer could make you fall in love with probability theory.

Imagine a late-night office where the fluorescent lights hum like a bad omen, your coffee tastes like defeat, and your Excel sheet whispers “just one more bet.” Suddenly — SAXOPHONE SOLO. Then she sings behind you, velvet voice, hot enough to melt your calculator.

This isn’t gambling, oh no. This is art. This is science. This is you, half asleep, chasing a 1.80 dream while pretending you’re the protagonist in a neon-lit noir film.

So lean back, close your eyes, and let this track prove that even melancholy dressed as a game can groove harder than Vegas at midnight. 🎷💔💻

Lyrics:

Numbers flicker on my screen,
Shadows fall in-between.
Chasing margins, thin and sly,
One percent can multiply.
Cold statistics, sleepless nights,
Living only under lights.
No roulette, no fantasy,
Just pure math surrounding me.

Percentage player, here I go —
Looking for profit down below.
1.80 odds, a fragile percent,
The dream of breakeven is my present.
In data I sink, in silence I drown,
If patterns fail, you’ll see me frown.
Percentage player, that’s my name —
Melancholy dressed as a game. 

Every wager feels the same,
Truth and numbers, ghostly frame.
Charts and graphs, a fragile fate,
Variance waits at the gate.
I don’t gamble, I endure,
Equations whisper I’ll be sure.
One more stake, the line is thin,
Breakeven’s where the nights begin.

Percentage player, here I go —
Looking for profit down below.
1.80 odds, a fragile percent,
The dream of breakeven is my present.
In data I sink, in silence I drown,
If patterns fail, you’ll see me frown.
Percentage player, that’s my name —
Melancholy dressed as a game. 

Margins narrow, silence drawn,
The daylight fades, the screen stays on.
I don’t pray, I calculate,
Every loss becomes my weight.
Chasing ghosts of yesterday,
Still I whisper on the way:

Percentage player, here I go —
Looking for profit down below.
1.80 odds, a fragile percent,
The dream of breakeven is my present…

Percentage Player

Ever met that person who talks like a TED Talk that never got invited? That’s her. The queen of circular wisdom. The empress of “well actually.” The high priestess of saying nothing with confidence.

This smooth chillwave samba track is for all the philosophers of the living room — the ones who explain why your coffee tastes “existential” and end every sentence with:
👉 “That’s the thing.”

It’s like you’re sitting in a café made of clouds, listening to a conversation between a breeze and a parrot who read one self-help book too many.
Bossa nova rhythm meets chillwave haze, and somewhere in between, enlightenment loses its train of thought.

Perfect for:
☕ Late-night overthinkers
🪴 People who say “vibes” instead of “opinions”
💬 And anyone who ever nodded politely through a monologue that started with “You know what’s funny?”

Press play. Pretend to care. Tap your foot like you understand.
That’s the thing. 😏

Lyrics:

She talks in loops, like she’s testing the air,
Every word half wisdom, half repair.
Tells a story, leans back, grins —
Finger up — like truth begins.

You think she’s done, she takes a breath,
Looks at you like you missed the depth.
And that’s when it lands — the phrase, the sting:

When she says that’s the thing,
It means nothing — and everything.
Finger up — like she’s teaching the air,
And I just sit there… pretending to care.

There was a husband, deaf as rain,
She spoke in sunshine — he heard pain.
One day she left without a ring,
He stared at the silence — that’s the thing.

When she says that’s the thing,
It means nothing — and everything.
Finger up — like she’s teaching the air,
And I just sit there… pretending to care.

A politician loved his own sound,
Never heard the crowd around.
Next vote came — no one would cling,
He smiled on TV — that’s the thing.

A driver skipped the service date,
Said, “it’s fine” — till it wasn’t great.
Steam and panic, middle lane king,
He called the smoke, that’s the thing.

A girl who chased the first fast train,
Never cared for the name of the plain.
She got lost with a golden grin —
Still told herself, that’s the thing.

When she says that’s the thing,
It means nothing — and everything.
Finger up — like she’s teaching the air,
And I just sit there… pretending to care.

Every truth needs someone to sing,
Every lie wears a wedding ring.
And when the story starts to sting…
She just smiles and says, that’s the thing.

That’s the Thing

About

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DRMpYn3DaExz7nilHD0_DMTQvKzAScuXxLZdVw0/?igsh=OHV3anV6MTZzaTR0

I’m Dean R. Chandler — a London based songwriter, recording artist, and storyteller. My music is rooted in a lifelong search for meaning, weaving together themes of love, loss, faith, alien contact, and humanity’s future.

My upcoming double concept album Human Odyssey (set for release in January 2027) is the culmination of decades of writing and reflection. It’s a narrative journey that begins with a search for God and ends with an encounter with extraterrestrial intelligence — exploring not only what it means to be human, but also where we might be heading as a species. Musically, it draws inspiration from the epic storytelling of Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds, the synth-driven edge of Gary Numan, and the emotional depth of artists like Tori Amos and Chris de Burgh.

I previously released Time Machine – Reflecting Shattered Dreams (2014) and continue to revisit my archive of songs written across 35 years, reimagining them with today’s tools and sounds. Some pieces remain intimate and acoustic, while others expand into dark rock, industrial, or orchestral landscapes — but all are connected by a focus on emotional honesty and cinematic storytelling.

Beyond music, I’m fascinated by the intersection of creativity and technology. I’ve been experimenting with AI-driven composition and production to bring old demos to life and to spark entirely new works. For me, these tools are not replacements for human artistry but extensions of it — ways of unlocking stories and emotions that otherwise might have remained hidden.

At its heart, my work is about connection: to the past, to the future, and to the unseen mysteries of existence. Music, for me, isn’t just entertainment — it’s a chronicle of transformation, a conversation between spirit, science, and sound.

https://www.linkedin.com/in/dean-r-chandler-b19715382/
www.deanrchandler.co.uk

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!

Recording artist
Dream seeker 
Simple Livin

New tracks tagged #smoothpop