A day in the streets of Rome in August when all Romans have left for the seaside.

Tagliata di Agosto

„Heast, wo bist du?“ ist ein sommerlicher Austrian-German Pop-Song im Wiener Dialekt.
Die Story: Einer sitzt in Rom, umgeben von Espresso, Vespas und Brunnenlicht – die andere schickt nur knappe Nachrichten, kein Anruf, kein Foto. Eine Hymne auf Freundschaften, die trotz Distanz, Chaos und Funkstille irgendwie halten.

Heast, wo bist du – Rom Edition

“Sous le Soleil de Marrakech” was born from a full day of planning a journey — leaving Switzerland, searching for where to go next, weighing Italy, Greece, Portugal, France, until finally choosing Morocco. Written in French and Arabic, the song captures both the anxiety of departure and the thrill of discovery, transforming uncertainty into celebration. With the pulse of Marrakech’s markets and the promise of Casablanca’s shores, it becomes a reminder that every journey is not just travel, but rebirth through culture, rhythm, and light.

Sous le Soleil de Marrakech

About the Song: Regenkuss im Abendrot

This song started with a simple sentence I typed into an AI: “Schreib ein Lied über Sonnenuntergang, Berge, Regen, Urlaub.” Just that. No melody, no story, no big plan. But from that one prompt, the AI created a full lyrical idea – and with a bit of guidance, we turned it into a fully structured pop-schlager track.

The song tells the story of someone escaping into the mountains, hoping to forget. But instead of silence, there’s rain. And in this rain, something magical happens – a new encounter, a turning point. The imagery is emotional, the tone uplifting, and the chorus (“Regenkuss im Abendrot”) sticks in your head.

I used this as an example in a discussion with my mother to show how AI isn’t just technical – it can be creative. It doesn’t replace emotion, but it gives us tools to express it in new ways. You don’t need to play an instrument or read music. You just need an idea – or even just a mood. The AI helps shape that into something tangible, singable, and even moving.

This is how songs might be written in the future: not alone at a piano, but in conversation – with a machine that listens, feels patterns, and transforms words into melody.

Regenkuss im Abendrot

This song was born out of a conversation with an artist in Rome, discovering how much we have in common in the way we see the world.
The lyrics unfold as a sung letter — an intimate reflection and tribute to his talent: the ability to turn darkness into light, melancholy into hope, and the lines of a portrait into a secret language that belongs only to him.
It is an orchestral ballad that blends painting and music, a bridge between intimacy and universality, between shadow and wonder.

Accendi una Candela

“Oasis of Quiet Fire” was born from the first two quiet days in Morocco. The song captures the paradox I felt in my apartment courtyard — a place of deep stillness and peace, surrounded by the intensity of August heat. The silence of the street, the soft sound of morning birds, and the ritual of drinking coffee became anchors of calm against the burning desert sun.

The music draws from this tension: serenity inside, fire outside. It is about finding a sanctuary where life slows down, even as the world around struggles under the weight of heat and time. Stray cats in the alleys, thirsty plants, people moving slower under the blaze — all became symbols woven into the song’s fabric.

This is not just a travel moment. It is a reminder that peace is not the absence of struggle, but the decision to feel alive in the middle of it.

Oasis of Quiet Fire

Song Background – Guardians of the Medina

While traveling through Morocco, one sight stands out above all: cats. They weave through medinas, sit calmly at mosque doors, and curl up in cafés as if they own the streets. To an outsider it might seem like neglect, but here cats are woven into daily life.

In Islamic tradition, cats are seen as pure, welcome even in sacred spaces. Stories tell of kindness shown to them, and that spirit lives on in Moroccan streets. Families, shopkeepers, and strangers leave water bowls and scraps of food. Cats repay this by keeping vermin away, by guarding food, and by silently holding space in the heart of communities.

This song captures that coexistence: the grace of cats, the generosity of people, and the quiet guardianship that makes them symbols of both independence and belonging. They are not strays in the European sense, but children of the medina, protectors of its rhythm, and reminders of compassion lived in small acts every day.

Guardians of the Medina

Sitting in a café in Marrakesh, surrounded by voices flowing in Arabic, French, Berber, and more, I felt the weight of languages I could not speak. I thought five tongues would be enough, but here I am, realizing how small that really is. The regret cuts deepest when I think of China, where I lived for two years but never managed to truly learn the language. I can still say “我会说一点点中文,” but it is just a fragment, a shadow of what could have been. This song is a reflection of that longing—the beauty of words I cannot catch, the doors I never opened, and the promise that it is never too late to learn.

Voices Beyond Words

The song Oiseaux dans les Couloirs was written because of a simple but striking observation I made during my time in Marrakech: the corridors and staircases of traditional houses often hold cages with singing birds. What at first looks unusual opens a whole world of meaning.

In Moroccan culture, a house is imagined as a miniature paradise. Water flows in fountains, plants grow in courtyards, and birds sing in their cages. Their voices soften the echo of stone and tile, turning cold corridors into living spaces. The birds are also a symbol of blessing and joy, part of the atmosphere of hospitality that Morocco is famous for. Guests are welcomed not only with tea, but with an environment full of sound and life.

Yet the cages carry a tension: from a modern perspective they may look like confinement, but in tradition they are seen as coexistence. The bird gives its song, the household gives it care and safety. That paradox—freedom inside a cage, beauty born from limits—became the emotional core of the song.

So the piece is not just about birds. It is about how people create harmony in their homes, how beauty and tradition intertwine, and how the same image can carry both wonder and critique.

Oiseaux dans les Couloirs

This song was born from a Friday in Marrakesh, when ordinary streets turned sacred. Men carried carpets and cardboard toward prayer, women, and beggars waited in quiet hope, and a small square overflowed with faith. I stood apart — eating, watching, feeling both respect and guilt. What I saw was not just ritual, but survival, community, and devotion shaping the rhythm of life. The song carries that tension: the outsider’s eyes, the weight of prayer, and the epic energy of a crowd breathing as one. It’s a moment that repeats from city to city, but never the same, always alive.

Vendredi sacré, rues et prières

Desert Fever, City Cold tells my journey between Marrakech and Casablanca, where the clash of heat and cold, silence and struggle, turned into an epic battle with myself. I felt the burn of the desert, then froze under the train’s aircon, falling into fever. By Sunday I wandered through the city, searching for a pharmacy, maps deceiving me, doors shut, hours wasted. It was a test of patience, weakness, and persistence. Finally, with bitter medicine burning on my tongue, I felt the first spark of recovery. This song is my memory of that fight—raw, dark, yet full of will to rise again.

Desert Fever, City Cold

Turning Life Into Sound:
I never used to keep a diary. Then I discovered AI music. Now, instead of writing pages, I turn my days into songs. Each track is a snapshot of a moment, an emotion, a story I’d rather turn to a song than hide in words.

Desert Fever, City Cold

riccgia