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They say some songs aren’t written, they confess themselves.
“Heaven Don’t Know Me” was one of those.

It came out of a night that none of the band remembers clearly. They’d been tracking vocals inside an abandoned church outside of Baton Rouge, one that had been deconsecrated after the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927. Locals said that when the levees broke, the congregation refused to leave, believing the waters were divine punishment. Dozens drowned inside that church, still singing hymns.

The band didn’t go there for ghosts. They went for acoustics, the kind of natural reverb that digital plugins can’t fake. But when they played back their first vocal takes, they realized the echoes weren’t behaving right. The reflections didn’t line up with the timing of their words, it was as if something else was singing back.

That’s where the title came from.

“Heaven Don’t Know Me” wasn’t about rebellion or sin. It was about exile. The feeling of being so far gone that even Heaven wouldn’t recognize you anymore.

Mesa Babe recorded it in that ruined church, one mic hanging from a shattered beam. Addison’s voice came out raw, almost broken, and Abigail layered ghostlike harmonies underneath, humming an old gospel refrain that no one had taught her. Alice kept the tempo with slow, metallic percussion, dragging a chain across a rusted drum rim.

Halfway through the take, the storm outside built up, thunder syncing with the bass. They didn’t stop recording.

When they finished, there was a final echo in the room, a single voice not belonging to any of them, whispering under the mix:

> “We still hear you.”



They left it in. Didn’t touch it in post

Kid Cudi-Maui Wowie (Fast) Dirty

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