Uploaded May 2025 | Updated September 2026, 17 minutes ago
Track List:
1. The Letter They Never Sent 00:03
2. Château Massachusetts 3:04
3. Map of Ashes 6:52
4. The Reckoning Waltz 10:52
Bonus Track:
Château Massachusetts remix 14:54
Album Notes
This is more than a collection of songs—it's a living memory, stitched in waltz time, paired with an art nouveau image in the style of Czech modernist Alphonse Mucha.
At present, this is a studio project, a demo album sung into being by a circle of session vocalists. But I’m shaping each note, each pause, with the hope that my sister—whose voice carries both thunder and velvet—will one day lend her soul to it. She’ll never boast of her range, but I will. She sings like someone long familiar with lullabies and storms.
Every piece is composed in 3/4 time—the heartbeat of the waltz, a rhythm that pulses through our Austro-Hungarian roots like an heirloom melody. This meter is more than music; it’s memory.
When we were children, our father would twirl us through the kitchen to the concertos of WGBH-FM. The scent of sizzling bacon, the hiss of eggs on the stove, our bare feet gliding across honeyed wooden floors—this was our first ballroom. A place where meals and music mingled in the morning light.
In the evenings, my father sang arias while stirring stews, the unknown fourth tenor joining operatic giants like Pavarotti, Domingo, and Carreras across distance and time.
Some nights, he’d summon waltzes from the piano secreted away in the formal living room where my mother did not permit kids to be seen nor heard—notes cascading like lace from his fingertips. I never knew if he read music or followed some unseen map written in his bones.
This album holds two traditional waltzes, and two that challenge convention—hybrids, Ballroom Electronica. They shimmer with echoes of both candlelit salons and neon-lit futures. These tracks draw threads between Karen Read and The Count of Monte Cristo, whose story Vanity Fair once invoked. Tales of betrayal, isolation, righteous fury, and reckoning haunt these songs.
I’ve dreamt of ruined castles, once majestic, now hollowed by time—ballrooms with chandeliers dimmed by dust, their last dance long since passed. These were monuments to power, now undone by the march of progress. A fitting metaphor for the crumbling of institutions that once seemed eternal.
You'll recognize my influences as they echo through this metaphorical ballroom, swirling spells conjured by the fingertips of Tori Amos and Regina Spektor, layered beats of Imagine Dragons and Maroon 5, guitar solos of Santana and Audioslave, the longing of Cesária Évora, and the wistful charm of Doris Day’s waltzing Que Sera, Sera.
What will be, will be.
But let it waltz.
Dreamfeed Media, Copyright 2025
Track List:
1. The Letter They Never Sent 00:03
2. Château Massachusetts 3:04
3. Map of Ashes 6:52
4. The Reckoning Waltz 10:52
Bonus Track:
Château Massachusetts remix 14:54
Album Notes
This is more than a collection of songs—it's a living memory, stitched in waltz time, paired with an art nouveau image in the style of Czech modernist Alphonse Mucha.
At present, this is a studio project, a demo album sung into being by a circle of session vocalists. But I’m shaping each note, each pause, with the hope that my sister—whose voice carries both thunder and velvet—will one day lend her soul to it. She’ll never boast of her range, but I will. She sings like someone long familiar with lullabies and storms.
Every piece is composed in 3/4 time—the heartbeat of the waltz, a rhythm that pulses through our Austro-Hungarian roots like an heirloom melody. This meter is more than music; it’s memory.
When we were children, our father would twirl us through the kitchen to the concertos of WGBH-FM. The scent of sizzling bacon, the hiss of eggs on the stove, our bare feet gliding across honeyed wooden floors—this was our first ballroom. A place where meals and music mingled in the morning light.
In the evenings, my father sang arias while stirring stews, the unknown fourth tenor joining operatic giants like Pavarotti, Domingo, and Carreras across distance and time.
Some nights, he’d summon waltzes from the piano secreted away in the formal living room where my mother did not permit kids to be seen nor heard—notes cascading like lace from his fingertips. I never knew if he read music or followed some unseen map written in his bones.
This album holds two traditional waltzes, and two that challenge convention—hybrids, Ballroom Electronica. They shimmer with echoes of both candlelit salons and neon-lit futures. These tracks draw threads between Karen Read and The Count of Monte Cristo, whose story Vanity Fair once invoked. Tales of betrayal, isolation, righteous fury, and reckoning haunt these songs.
I’ve dreamt of ruined castles, once majestic, now hollowed by time—ballrooms with chandeliers dimmed by dust, their last dance long since passed. These were monuments to power, now undone by the march of progress. A fitting metaphor for the crumbling of institutions that once seemed eternal.
You'll recognize my influences as they echo through this metaphorical ballroom, swirling spells conjured by the fingertips of Tori Amos and Regina Spektor, layered beats of Imagine Dragons and Maroon 5, guitar solos of Santana and Audioslave, the longing of Cesária Évora, and the wistful charm of Doris Day’s waltzing Que Sera, Sera.
What will be, will be.
But let it waltz.
Dreamfeed Media, Copyright 2025
