Play this when you're done crying and ready to laugh and dance

From bass to bars, this is flawless craftsmanship

I didn’t expect to get chills and smiles together

More of this kind of storytelling, please

You made music that thinks and moves at the same time

She grinned like riddles stitched in lace,
A marionette with porcelain face.
She flickered past — a flash, a blur,
I blinked, and I was chasing her.

“Don’t trust people who forget your name”
— yeah! that’s what my dog says.

We danced through traps disguised as truth,
She lied in Latin, I played sleuth.
She disappeared with flair and smoke,
Left me a leash, a laugh, a joke.

“Don’t trust praise, it eats your days”
— yeah! that’s what my dog always says.

I’m out of phase, she’s pure pretense,
She whispers nonsense that makes sense.
We lost the map, but kept charade—
She’s ghost, she’s grin, she’s masquerade.

She sang to stars with broken lungs,
Stole lullabies from serpent tongues.
I hear her steps in creaking wood,
She vanished right where no one could.

“Don’t chase shadows, they want praise”
— yeah! 
that’s what my dog says!

I lit the fuse, she changed the spark,
We kissed goodbye in Central Park.
rise, combust, return, delay—
Still strangers on the same ballet.

I’m out of phase, she’s out of time,
A riddle cursed to almost rhyme.
We lost thread, but not the blaze
She haunts me in peculiar ways.

“She was never really yours anyway”
— yeah! that’s what 
my dog 
says.

That’s what my dog always says

John Bilik’s musical evolution reads like a love letter to imagination, vulnerability, and the surreal beauty of emotional complexity. Past loves and old sorrows echo through his catalog, not as anchors but as raw materials- broken glass reworked into stained-glass windows. Every loss, every love, every crack in the heart reshapes his songs into something simultaneously fragile and unshakably alive.

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.

Listeners have described his music as “cryptic diaries written in invisible ink” and “the kind of strange, beautiful honesty you didn’t know you needed.” 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. 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 carving 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.”
 -Buzzslayers Aug, 2025

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