Hi dear Chatsong friends, colleagues, and music creators and lovers!🖤☠️🔥🩶❤️🔥🔥💀☠️🔥🩶
Since I want to thank Chatsongmusic.nl for their fantastic support, I’m making my unreleased Halloween special album available for preview and comments. The plan is for 7 tracks, but I think it might end up being more . 3 tracks are ready for release.
Will you join me on my creepy, dark horror story? Have fun listening, and I think it’s awesome to be a part of you all. Best regards from Germany, near Stuttgart, from the beautiful Weinstadt – where more wine is drunk than beer, surrounded by lovely vineyards.
And now, full speed ahead!
Track 1. LONVOR 137
Under the thirteenth moon, when the bass eclipses the light, LUNVOR 137 awakens.
Its pulse is forged in steel, its breath woven from static and shadow. Each kick is a heartbeat from the abyss; each silence, a warning.
The creature hunts in soundwaves, feeding on distortion and fear. Between echoes, its voice mutates — half wolf, half machine — calling the lost to dance.
LUNVOR is not a name. It’s a frequency — ancient, forbidden, reborn through rhythm.
When the final howl fades, only static remains… and the feeling that something is still listening.
The moon rises. LUNVOR 137 awakens — half wolf, half machine, born from the pulse of darkness.
When the last howl fades, only the bass remains.
Track 2. PENNYWIESE 130
“He doesn’t wait in the sewers anymore. He waits on the dancefloor.”👻👻👻🖤🖤🖤
In the depths beneath the city, where light dies and echoes twist, PENNYWISE 130 stirs.
His laughter vibrates through steel and smoke, coded into every kick, every distorted breath. The bass becomes his heartbeat, the rhythm his grin — wide, eternal, impossible to escape.
He doesn’t hunt in sewers anymore. He hunts on the dancefloor.
PENNYWISE is not a name. It’s a signal — a corrupted frequency that feeds on fear and movement.
When the drop hits, you don’t dance. You float.
GKHpnpJQojN&si=a07b5c8343ad498aba176ca443d36e55&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing
Track 3. THE NINTH HOWL
When the ninth moon rises, the air fractures. A voice — ancient, feral, human no more — cuts through the fog.
THE NINTH HOWL echoes beyond rhythm and reason, summoning the forgotten instincts buried beneath the bass.
Each kick is a heartbeat of the ritual; each synth, a shimmer of lunar fire.
The dancefloor becomes a hunting ground, a place where the boundary between beast and being dissolves.
Those who hear the howl don’t return the same. They awaken changed — marked by the pulse of the night.
@Indie artists
💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀