Amber Tally from Welded Lanterns by Cincture

Every morning in Lammock has its price, and "Amber Tally" collects that toll with hushed reverence. The final breaths of our sessions occurred during that strange week when dawn actually broke visible for once—not just the usual gradient from black to charcoal gray, but actual amber light filtering through decades of industrial haze.

The Witness stepped away from his sax mid-take, just staring at the window. We kept the tape rolling. That moment of genuine wonder became our foundation—notice how the trumpet and saxophone never quite synchronize, always reaching for each other across the measure but never fully connecting. Intentional imperfection.

Slowest piece we've ever put to tape. The Ledgerist insisted on playing upright with worn fingers, no pick, creating that wounded warmth in the low end. When the organ finally rises beneath the horns, it's like watching those old buildings along Harper Lane catch first light—structures you thought abandoned suddenly revealing signs of life.

Most peculiar detail: throughout the session, the broken Lens recorder kept emitting this gentle pulse without being plugged in. Seventeen cycles per minute, almost a heartbeat. The Cipher wove it directly into the arrangement—those barely audible tape fluctuations marking time beneath everything else. Some debts get settled in silence.

Strangest thing about doom jazz—sometimes the saddest sounds carry the most hope. "Amber Tally" doesn't resolve our story, just turns the page to an unwritten chapter where perhaps Lammock breathes easier, if only for a moment before the shadows stretch again.

Midnight streets where brass and smoke collide. Live-captured melancholy from forgotten corners – every note hanging like unfinished confessions between rain-slick pavements. We play what silence leaves behind.