Angel Baby - all

This is my Ninth Fugue in E Major, subtitled the "Lullaby". It is as sweet as it is dreamy. Enjoy!

Fugue No. 9 in E Major "Lullaby"

Inspired by a New Scientist article about human remains in Spain’s El Mirador Cave—bones bearing cut marks, boiling evidence, and signs of deliberate consumption—"Cannibal Cave" dives into a darker chapter of Neolithic life. Drawing on ideas from Joseph Jordania’s Why Do People Sing, the song blends raw storytelling with pounding rhythm to capture the ritual, humiliation, and warfare that may have driven this ancient act. It’s not famine, but victory and vengeance, echoing through 5,700 years of history.

Cannibal Cave

“North Quabbin Hills” is my folk ballad celebrating the Massachusetts Department of Conservation and Recreation’s recent acquisition of 380 acres across Orange, Wendell, and Royalston for permanent protection. From Chestnut Hill’s watershed guardianship to Wendell’s old granite quarry trails, to Royalston’s wildflower meadows and deep forest shade, these lands are now safe for wildlife, clean water, and future generations. As someone preserving 7 acres of former farmland in Granby, I wrote this song in solidarity with the effort, following my earlier tribute to Westhampton’s “Spruce Hill.”

North Quabbin Hills

Unbreakable - all

Bend - all

Over and Over - all

A new surf blues rock track I wrote, a cover of one of my guitar recordings, performed by my Suno AI surf rock persona. 

I hope you like it!

Lyrics © Señor Barends

The words I saved never made it through  
Every moment I lost, I lost with you  
I reach out for you, but you were gone 
Whatever I held was already wrong  

Like broken glass in my hands  
It didn’t work out like I planned  
Broken glass in my hands  
I can’t undo where I stand  

The silence grows when the room is bare  
I turn my head, but you’re not there  
I counted the cost, it was more than I knew  
Every step I take only leads back to you  

An empty chair where you should be  
That’s the only truth I see  
An empty chair, it doesn’t change  
Everything’s gone, it stays the same  

I dig through the dark, nothing to find  
Every word I lost still claws at my mind  
I call to the night, but it answers in pain  
With a silence that puts me to shame

Broken glass! Broken glass!  
Cut too deep, cut too fast!  
Broken glass! Broken glass!  
In my hands, in my hands!  
Empty chair! Empty chair!  
You’re not there, you’re not there! 

Broken glass…Broken glass…
Broken glass… empty chair…  
Nothing left but the weight we share ...

Broken Glass

Hard techno warehouse visual—industrial drive, acid sparks, peak‑time pressure.
Warehouse rave energy meets sci‑fi worlds—hard techno visual on max drive.
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Stream / download / buy ➜
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Merch Shop : https://grass-patch-bum-shop.fourthwall.com
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https://soundcloud.com/grasspatchbum
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Neo‑rave surge: hard techno, trance‑techno twists, warehouse energy unleashed.
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Starwell of the Null Garden
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Keep in touch with latest releases:
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Trippy Music Video : https://youtu.be/6i25ex5LE6U
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The field was a sheet of cooled night—black glass stretched to every horizon, unmarked, unscarred, holding a silence that felt designed. Nothing moved. Even the wind kept its thoughts to itself. Above, a single white disk hung in a sky the color of an unblinking eye. It wasn’t a sun in any faithful sense; it didn’t warm, it didn’t arc, it didn’t dim. It merely existed in a way that implied observation.

The traveler arrived with boots that did not echo. They paused to test the place with a breath. Air, metallic and clean, entered and left their lungs as if passing through a narrow instrument. Their coat carried a seam of cyan light along the hem, a habit taken from other worlds where shadows kept score; here, the light cut no more than a suggestion along the glass.

A tremor rose beneath their feet—steady, unhurried, identical from one pulse to the next. The black field flexed like the surface of a held note, then cracked along a hexagon so precise it might have been measured by a patience older than mathematics. Light bled upward through the seam, saturating the hexagon, then the one beside it, then the next, until a column of hexagonal plates rose into the air with the diligence of a plant uncoiling.

It was an elevator without walls, a starwell, and the steps it offered were simple: up.

The traveler set a foot on the first light-plate. The plate accepted the weight, glowed a shade deeper, and ascended. Another plate took its place beneath, then another. The starwell climbed, carrying its passenger into a shaft of perfectly still air where dust never existed and sound had to invent itself. Each hexagon expanded and contracted as if breathing; the traveler matched that rhythm without knowing when the decision had been made.

As they rose, the glass field below revealed patterns like frost. Threads of quartz traced sigils that widened into channels and closed again, searching for a memory of water. Halfway through the ascent, the white disk overhead winked—one crisp shutter of absence—and returned to watching. The starwell reached a height where the horizon curved, then stopped as if listening.

The traveler stepped off. The platform had delivered them to a hovering terrace cut from nothing: a balcony of air with a thin rail of light to keep the idea of falling honest. Far below, the glass field was no longer empty. Pale filaments were pushing through it, quivering as they tested the world. In seconds the filaments thickened into latticed columns—quartz spines veined with faint teal. Plates slid into existence along the columns, opening like gills. The gills pulsed and released motes that drifted upward in spirals.

Continues on the website:
https://grasspatchbum.com/2025/08/13/graviton-maw-rapture/

#techno  #technomusic #visualizer  #hardtechno  #industrialtechno   #warehouserave  #peaktimetechno  #drivingtechno  #neorave  #rave2025

Starwell of the Null Garden - Trippy Visualizer @ YouTube

Campus on the Hill is a lively bluegrass tune that celebrates the return of students to UMass and the Five Colleges. With mandolin-driven rhythms, warm harmonies, and a touch of homespun humor, the song captures the energy, quirks, and familiar sights of Amherst life—from slow buses and campus squirrels to late-night pizza and ivy-covered walls. A heartfelt nod to community, tradition, and the feeling of coming home each fall.

Campus on the Hill

UMass Amherst, Campus on the Hill

little fin, little tooth  
in the murky word  
mama gills fetches thunder  
doot-doot, ack-bla-doot  
song from your gut-cave  
just that doot-doot, ack-bla-doot  

thunder-bird without scream,
mama brings glassy dream,
ring from gasoline queen’s knuckle,  
doot-doot, ack-bla-doot,
gravel in your throat-box,
just that doot-doot, ack-bla-doot.  

glassy dream turns algae-black,
daddy fin brings looking-back,  
mercury pool in cracked sack,
doot-doot, ack-bla-doot,  
humming the mud-spiral, 
just that doot-doot, ack-bla-doot.

looking-back shatters to sand,
mama lassos goat of the land,
beard-on-legs with devil’s hand,
doot-doot, ack-bla-doot,
click in your click-box,
just that doot-doot, ack-bla-doot.

devil-hand goat’s horns cross-wise,
mama trades for rockin’-surprise,
spine of wood with glass-button eyes,  
doot-doot, ack-bla-doot,
electric eel moan,  
just that doot-doot, ack-bla-doot.

rockin’-surprise tips on its side  
mama gets you a dog to ride  
dust-bin barker with nowhere-hide  
doot-doot, ack-bla-doot  
buzz from the neon sign  
just that doot-doot, ack-bla-doot  

barker-dog’s got no bark in its throat,  
mama buys you a cart and a goat,  
no... a horse... or a fish with a coat,
thing on the road that don’t quite float,
doot-doot, ack-bla-doot,
gargling the moon-rock, 
just that doot-doot, ack-bla-doot.  

thing-on-the-road falls apart,
you’re the sweetest razor-heart, 
prettiest teeth in the shoal-depart, 
doot-doot, ack-bla-doot, 
is that... is that all?  
yeah... ack-bla-doot. 


Over and Over - all

One More Chorus