Some songs are written to be hits.
Others, simply, to survive.
This album was never meant to be a product. It was a quiet gesture, a living, breathing map of memory and emotion—crafted through long-distance collaboration, dorm room melodies, tender friendships, and truths so personal they feel almost universal. It doesn’t chase perfection; it invites connection.
The songs came together slowly, like someone carefully taping fragments of a journal to a wall. The main elements were recorded over the course of a few trips to Los Angeles, where drummer and producer Cassidy Turbin is based. Back home, the artist added overdubs, arrangement tweaks, and details that could only be shaped in solitude. In New York, Jay Lifton contributed synths and percussion from his own studio, and a group of trusted friends and session players added trumpet, background vocals, and something even more valuable: intimacy.
But beyond the studios and names, the most beautiful part is how deeply human these songs are.
Many began as fleeting ideas — fragments born from jamming in a college dorm or just playing around with friends. Only one track, “By Choice”, started as lyrics: a poem more than a “song,” raw and deliberate. Every other track grew out of small sonic motifs that slowly unfolded into full stories — not through force, but through patience and feeling.
Take “Labrador”, for instance. The artist never owned a dog. But the melody carried the energy of that kind of love — joyful, unconditional, playful. A sound that reminded him of the quiet bonds he’d seen between friends and their pets. There was no need for logic; it simply felt right.
Then there’s the quirky, brilliant lyric in “Se Fosse Você”, where the narrator compares himself to mortadela instead of presunto (ham). It might sound like nonsense in English, but in Brazil —where the artist lived between 2015 and 2017— mortadela is the cheap deli meat, the everyday breakfast of working-class families. It’s a subtle symbol of class and identity, a way of saying: I know what I am, and I don’t need to pretend. It’s funny. It’s clever. And it’s layered with meaning, whether you get the reference or not.
But perhaps the emotional core of the album is “You Mean A Lot To Me” — a love letter, pure and true. Written for friends, for family, for self. A song that acknowledges the endless questions and chaos of being human… and still finds a way to say, with open-hearted clarity: You matter. Even if you don’t always believe it. Even when the world tries to make you feel small. You are meaningful, simply because you exist.
This isn’t an album. It’s a document of love.
It’s the echo of late-night conversations, the smile between tears, the hug you didn’t know you needed.
It’s a collection of people and places, of missed notes and perfect moments.
It’s proof that out of the noise and disorder of life, something fragile and glowing can still emerge.
Because in the end, between the mortadela metaphors, the college dorm jams, the home-recorded synth lines, and the quiet declarations of care — these songs reveal something rare:
They don’t want to be impressive.
They want to be real.
And in doing so, they become unforgettable.
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