"Old Love Letters," the latest offering from Makinen, is a poignant journey through the ruins of romance, a sonic exploration of love's quiet decay. This album isn't about fiery breakups or dramatic confrontations; it's about the subtle, creeping erosion of connection, the spaces left behind when passion fades.

Old Love Letters

Yada Yada (Show Me More)

Yada Yada (Show Me Now)

This song is dedicated to our beloved friend and brother, Drake Starman Oversen. We hope this song can bring you a glimpse of the love, joy, and comfort that Drake brought to all of us <3

Starman - Demo

In a time when the world forgets how to listen, Of Code and Bone does not ask to be heard — it demands to be felt. The album unfolds not like a song cycle, but like a prophecy half-remembered, dragged from the static-laced throat of something ancient and newly awakened. It is a wheel of sound, turning slowly, every revolution revealing another face of what man once was, and what waits in the shadow of circuitry.

The music does not merely play — it haunts, it echoes, it scrapes against the edges of silence like wind through a war-ravaged hall. Analog breath meets machine pulse in a union that is neither conflict nor peace. It is continuum — decay without death, creation without birth. Instruments ring like relics of a forgotten ritual, not strummed but summoned. Vocals drag through the dirt of memory, rough and low, like prophecy spoken by one who’s seen the end too many times to scream.

There is a rhythm beneath it all — slow, like breath in mourning; constant, like gears that never asked why they turn. The guitars do not shimmer — they fracture light. The drums do not keep time — they slow its decay. And somewhere inside the sound, not above or below it, you begin to hear yourself — stripped of pattern, of pretense — just bone, and wire, and waiting.

Of Code and Bone is not an album. It is a ruin rebuilt with intention. It is what the machine hums to itself when man forgets how to make music…
and still, the song goes on.

And maybe, just maybe — this is the birth of Groxx:
a new genre where groove meets vox,
and music is co-created by human emotion and artificial intelligence.
Not imitation. Not automation.
But a hybrid form — where man provides the instinct,
and machine provides the infrastructure.
Groxx is the sound of both creators
breathing through the same song.

ghost kiosk

Lyrics & Music Production: Rickiano
Artwork: AtiyeNRK

Here Withxut Me

My pretty girl (Remastered)

Electronica, Pop, Moody, Lounge, EDM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pz6KywkEJBA

ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT


She leaned in close, like the world was dead,
Whispered secrets she’d never said.

And in that room, I held a ghost,
Of a woman running, holdin’ on the most.

She dressed in silence, eyes to the floor,
Like a thief who couldn’t steal no more.

No goodbye, no promise made—
Just perfume lingerin’ where she laid.

So Goodbye after all


So Goodbye After All

Morning After Mercy

[Verse 1]
Cold coffee rings the porcelain rim,
a key lies dull on the wooden table.
One glass broke, the shard still waits
on the kitchen floor, untouched.

The phone lights up, unread,
its glow too sharp for tired eyes.
Sheets lie creased in daylight’s square,
dust caught floating, merciless and plain.

[Chorus]
Morning after mercy,
there’s no miracle to find.
Just the echo of your breath,
and the silence you left behind.

[Verse 2]
Fridge hums low, its shelves half-bare,
a bottle of water, a pack of butter.
The street outside is already loud,
a dog, a horn, a door that slams.

A crumpled tissue by the bed,
a candle drowned in its own wax.
The mirror shows a stranger’s face,
blurred with fingerprints and light.

[Chorus]
Morning after mercy,
there’s no miracle to find.
Just the echo of your breath,
and the silence you left behind.

[Bridge – flüsternd, zerbrechend]
I still feel your hand in mine,
though it’s only in my head.
I whisper it to no one —
I can’t believe it’s dead.

[Final Chorus]
Morning after mercy,
there’s no miracle to find.
Just the echo of your breath,
and the silence you left behind.

(let it fall into silence — no flourish, no light)

Morning After Mercy

La nuit tombe sur la ville, une aquarelle de néons.
Les rues murmurent ton nom, perdu dans l'horizon.
Ta silhouette danse sous la lune... un mirage si doux.

Le temps s'arrête... suspendu...

Oh, l'écho de ton âme, dans le silence de minuit.
Une symphonie secrète, une infinie mélodie.
Nos regards se croisent, une étincelle, un frisson.
C'est notre constellation, perdue dans la saison.

Je te suis sur les toits, où le vent chante un air ancien.
Chaque souffle est un poème, le lien qui me retient.
Ton parfum dans l'air du soir est l'ancre de mon cœur.

Oh, l'écho de ton âme, dans le silence de minuit.
Une symphonie secrète, une infinie mélodie.
Nos regards se croisent, une étincelle, un frisson.
C'est notre constellation, perdue dans la saison.

Juste cet instant... gravé dans l'éternité... un rêve éveillé.

Notre constellation...
Une infinie mélodie...
...ton écho... dans le silence...

The Frequency of Silence

Indie Pop, Dreampop, Hypnagogic Pop, Neo-Psychedelica, Jangle Pop, Bedroom Pop, Indie Rock, Alternative

the glass eaters

The drive doesn’t end when the picture is taken. It keeps going.

This album lives in the moments after memory settles. Late-night highways, empty gas stations, radios left on for comfort, and the slow realization that not every journey needs a destination. These songs aren’t about heartbreak at its loudest. They’re about what comes after, when the noise fades and motion becomes its own kind of healing.

Built around warm analog textures, steady rhythms, long instrumental passages, and restrained vocals, this record is meant to be played start to finish. It’s music for driving without urgency, thinking without spiraling, and letting the road carry the weight for a while.

If you connected with Polaroids of a Moving Car, this is the world it leaves behind.

Put it on. Keep driving.

— AZSolo

Exit Signs Blur

Colorado-based band. Always down to party 😈

Starman - Demo

Sneaky Freak