Silent Horizons by Meself

Silent Horizons doesn’t begin — it emerges.

A borrowed pulse, a saxophone that suggests more than it states, and percussion reshaped until its origin dissolves. Memory here is not homage; it is raw material. The groove carries echoes of Prince’s darker, more carnal Come era and the soulful, streetwise spirit of Alabama 3, filtered through an intimate lens, stripped of nostalgia.

The beat holds the body while the mind cools down. Nothing flatters, nothing is excess. Every silence weighs as much as the rhythm itself.

The ending arrives when the music steps aside and leaves the voice alone, unprotected. No drama, just precision. Truth spoken at low volume: the only real disappointment wasn’t love — it was discovering there were never two.

Harmonic Embrace, at the opposite end, works as a ritual. Spoken word, soul, and gospel-inflected groove merge into a nocturnal trance where the voice doesn’t sing — it delivers a verdict. Twisted faith, dirty groove, and repetition as revelation.

Two pieces. Two pulses.
Visible influences — Prince, Alabama 3 — identity intact.

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