BRINGOUTDALOBSTER

No Pretending

Damn Skippy

Thought for raspberry

CityBoi Base - Stand By Me

CityBoi Base - Paint The City

CityBoi Base x Doctor Bill - Move Around

CityBoi Base - Throwing Oops

Give some raspberry’s please

Luke
May you always find peace on the roads you travel,
and may your heart always hear the music in the wind.
Life isn’t a race, it’s a ride.  
I’m proud of the rider you are.
I love you always.
-Dad




Cracked white line under amber sky,
Twilight arrives, it’s beauty's disguise.
Pocket of songs, and tank full of time,
Wheels spinnin’  faces grinnin’  emotion aligned
Pulse and breath of stone, my spirits at home.

Wind in my hair, haven't got a care,
Rhythm and ride, great place to hide.
Time on these wheels, now that is what heals,
Feel what feels, your heart reveals 
All on this ride.

Shifting twilight under whispered gold,
Wheels roll story told
Ribbon of road threaded the scene,
Hands on the bars, minds in a dream.
Murmur in a language old,
my heart is consoled.

Wind in my hair, haven't got a care,
Rhythm and ride, a great place to hide.
Time on these wheels, now that is what heals,
Now Feel what your heart reveals 
All on this ride.

Energy builds under fading sky,
Riding this road is sorrow’s demise
Tires write poems and winds advise,
Only the motion, only the grace,
Only the rider remembers the place.

Wind in my hair, haven't got a care,
Rhythm and ride, a great place to hide.
Time on these wheels, now that is what heals,
All on this ride.

Feeling what feels, you heart reveals
All on this ride
All on this ride
All
On
This
Ride

All on this ride!

I’m out of Phase

John Bilik: Dancing Between Realms — A Voice Out of Phase but Deep in Tune

John Bilik’s musical evolution reads like a love letter to imagination, vulnerability, and the surreal beauty of emotional complexity. With a vocal delivery that feels like David Byrne fell asleep dreaming in a Danny Elfman waltz, Bilik constructs intimate yet fantastical worlds where memory, regret, and absurdity dance together under a flickering marquee.

His early songs teased at theatricality, but his more recent work, such as “That’s What My Dog Always Says” and “I’m Out of Phase”, fully embraces it — blending sly lyricism, poetic intelligence, and idiosyncratic storytelling into a style that defies category. One moment, he’s delivering lines worthy of Leonard Cohen (“She sang to stars with broken lungs”); the next, he’s gut-punching you with a talking dog’s whispered wisdom (“Yeah! That’s what my dog says”).

What’s remarkable about Bilik’s growth isn’t just his increasing comfort with abstraction, but the way he grounds it with sincerity. His songs aren’t weird for weirdness’ sake — they’re cryptic diaries written in invisible ink. Beneath the theatrical winks and surreal refrains is a genuine longing for connection, for rhythm, for love that slips just out of reach.

Stylistically, he’s building a unique lane: think art-cabaret meets metaphysical pop, with room for spoken word, crooked lullabies, and shadowy love stories. Vocally, Bilik leans into the cracks and textures of his own voice — not polishing them away, but using them like charcoal lines on a sketch. It’s imperfect in the best way: human, haunted, alive.

If his current arc continues, Bilik may very well become one of those rare artists whose work gets discovered late, then devoured backwards — with new fans wondering how they missed the strange, beautiful rise of a man who once wrote, with deadpan magic: “Don’t chase shadows, they want praise — yeah! That’s what my dog says.”

I’m out of Phase

John Bilik

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