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Методика "кавер от кавера" работает и дальше, на основе невнятных галлюцинаций с интересной музыкой удаётся строить вполне нормальные треки, ещё один пример ниже.
Every Day, opus 2722
Исходная галлюцинация (Every Day, opus 2426)
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Every Day, opus 2722
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Слова
1. When I stood alone, I was never close enough to feel the warmth, to hear from you
What I meant to say, it would never cross the glass between our worlds, to carry through
Every day
Whatever I could say was left too late
Lost in the crossing
I have built a silence we can never break away
I can feel it fading
Every day
In unfamiliar ways I search for you
Drifting through mirrors
I have built a silence we can never break away
I can feel it fading
2. Where I left the door, it was closing on the echo of a world that we once knew
All I used to keep, it would shatter like the glass beneath the steps I took from you
Every day
Whatever I could say was left too late
Lost in the crossing
I have built a silence we can never break away
I can feel it fading
Every day
In unfamiliar ways I search for you
Drifting through mirrors
I have built a silence we can never break away
I can feel it fading
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Alice Payne — Every Street (2026-02-28)
Трек вышел 28-го февраля на отечественных площадках (пример: Yandex.Music — Every Street.
Финальный трек в OST романа "The Failed Star" цикла "Встреча"/"The Gathering".
Alice Payne — Every Street, opus 2701
Alice Payne — Every Street, opus 2701
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Слова
1. Every street becomes a garden,
Lazy ways to greet the morning,
Past the gates to find directions,
Where the sparrows teach us patience,
Carry songs from me to morning,
Such a gorgeous revelation,
To discover new sensations,
To pursue these fleeting moments.
Chorus:
And you beside me,
For a while, it's true,
Since this life can be a treasure,
When the light belongs to you.
2. Tapping rhythms on the railing,
Making music from the pavement,
Through the dust and through the laughter,
Where the echoes find each other,
Leave the worry for tomorrow,
Such a simple celebration,
To remember one another,
To continue what we've started.
Chorus.
Every street becomes a garden,
Lazy ways to greet the morning,
Past the gates to find directions,
Where the sparrows teach us patience.
Ниже в скрытом состоянии соответствующий фрагмент романа.
Фрагмент романа "The Failed Star"
Kate stood. Her smile came easily — the smile that had been buried for years under the canvas bag and the silence and the grid.
"This is Margaret, my friend, and her husband Mark. They married today."
"Congratulations!" Alice and the Wilds said together, the word overlapping in three voices.
Margaret's face coloured. She looked at Kate, then at the musicians, then back.
"Kate says you can make a song out of anything. Any line."
Alice set down her coffee. "We can. Say a line, Margaret."
Margaret's flush deepened. She opened her mouth. Closed it.
Mark leaned in. "Every street..." He looked at his wife. "Well... becomes..."
"A garden!" Margaret laughed. The sound was bright and uncontrolled. "Will that do?"
"Perfectly." Alice stood. She looked at Kate. "Come on. You and me. Let us make their song."
Kate returned to the piano. Alice spoke to the other musicians — the drummer, the guitar player, the one with the saxophone. Quick words, a key, a nod from each. Alice took the electric guitar from the stand beside the stage. She settled the strap across her shoulder with the practiced ease of someone who had handled instruments in drawing rooms and concert halls and phases between.
Kate played. Slowly at first — the opening phrase finding its shape, the chords testing themselves against the words. Then the melody coalesced. Alice's guitar entered with an arpeggiated passage that belonged to a Gothic cathedral, each note ringing against the Tindaloo's low ceiling.
Alice sang. The opera voice filled the room without overwhelming the piano — controlled, pitched to complement rather than dominate, the Victorian power held at three-quarter.
Every street becomes a garden,
Lazy ways to greet the morning,
Past the gates to find directions,
Where the sparrows teach us patience...
The cafe went still. Cups stopped halfway to mouths. Philip's cloth hung in his hand.
Carry songs from me to morning,
Such a gorgeous revelation,
To discover new sensations,
To pursue these fleeting moments...
Mia and Lora exchanged a glance. The fraction-of-a-second telegraph. They rose from the corner table, crossed to the stage, and took the spare guitars from the rack. Lora's fingers found the chord progression on the first bar. Mia's followed on the second.
The chorus came and Alice opened her voice to its full reach — the sound that had rung through phases and gardens and eleven timelines:
And you beside me,
For a while, it's true,
Since this life can be a treasure,
When the light belongs to you.
Margaret's eyes went wide. Her hand found Mark's and held. Tears ran down her face. She did not wipe them.
The four voices wove through the next verse — Alice leading, the sisters harmonising, Kate's piano anchoring it all:
Tapping rhythms on the railing,
Making music from the pavement,
Through the dust and through the laughter,
Where the echoes find each other,
Leave the worry for tomorrow,
Such a simple celebration,
To remember one another,
To continue what we've started.
The chorus returned. The second time through, voices joined from the tables — patrons who had caught the melody, who sang the words they had heard once and remembered. The third time, the entire Tindaloo sang. The sound filled the low room and pressed against the walls and the windows and the door propped open to the September street.
The final chord hung. Then silence. Then applause — sustained, the kind that comes from the feet as well as the hands.
Margaret ran to the stage. She caught Alice's arm and Kate's hand and her words tumbled: "You are the best. The best."
The applause continued. Philip set down his cloth and joined it. Crowford stood in the front row, clapping with the slow, deliberate rhythm of a man who had waited seventy-five years to hear something worth standing for.
Then the room went quiet.
Not gradually. All at once — the way a room falls silent when every person sees the same thing at the same moment.
The far wall held a mirror. Large, oak-framed, the glass that had reflected the Tindaloo's interior for as long as Philip could remember. Now it did not reflect the room. The surface had cleared to show somewhere else — a barren landscape, grey rock under a sky without clouds, the horizon flat and featureless.
Three figures stood on the rock. Men in white steel armour, plated from shoulder to boot. Helmets hid their faces. Their gauntlets were removed — bare hands exposed, pale against the steel. They were applauding.
The central figure reached up and lifted his helmet.
Alice's breath drew in. Sharp. Her hands went still on the guitar strings.
The face beneath the helmet was kind. Impossibly, uselessly kind. The face of someone who had been wounded and lost and found and lost again across phases and gardens and timelines. A face that Alice had seen three times and each time different and each time his.
The White Knight.
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The Keeper's Raising Cup (2026-02-25)
Камадан поздравляет норвежского бармена с днём рождения. Бывает и так.
The Keeper's Raising Cup, opus 2698
The Keeper's Raising Cup, opus 2698
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Слова
Hear me now. The floor is our drum. Your feet are the heartbeat. Listen.
A man who keeps the fire alight
Through every storm and every night
Deserves a song that shakes the floor —
So stamp your feet and give him more!
Ha-le! Ha-le! Raise the cup!
Ha-le! Ha-le! Fill it up!
I see every face that's walked this room,
Every laugh that held the dark at bay —
A keeper knows: the ones who pour for others
Are the ones we honour on this day.
Ha-le! Ha-le! Raise the cup!
Ha-le! Ha-le! Fill it up!
The old songs say: bless the hands that serve.
The old songs say: bless the doors left wide.
I carry every song I've ever heard —
And this one, friend, stays deep inside.
So stand, stand, stand — let the timber shake!
Stand, stand, stand — for the keeper's sake!
Every voice beneath this roof tonight
Is a torch, a bell, a holding light!
Ha-le! Ha-le! Raise the cup!
Ha-le! Ha-le! Fill it up!
Ha-le! Ha-le! RAISE THE CUP!
Ha-le! Ha-le! FILL IT UP!
HA-LE! HA-LE! RAISE THE CUP!
HA-LE! HA-LE! FILL — IT — UP!
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Неудавшаяся звезда (2026-02-24)
Поставил последнюю строку в романе "The Failed Star" ("Неудавшаяся звезда"), четвёртое из восемнадцати запланированных произведений цикла (по основному, краеугольному произведению) "The Gathering".
Что в каком состоянии, хронологически (время сюжетное):
в очереди: "Crazy In Sensation": 1982/1992; сёстры Уайльдс и их родители, чета Абрамс, Ной Кларк
завершено: "Road to Boston", 3.2ал: 1992; сёстры Уайльдс и их родители, чета Абрамс, Ной Кларк и множество других
завершено: "The Gathering", 43.5ал: 2025-2026: сёстры Уайльдс, Алиса Пэйн, Кес Мира, Эмма Крафт, Камаскера Камадан, Ной Кларк, Сара Тинделл и её дед Филипп Тинделл (все, перечисленные ранее — "Шайка"), Карл Фишер; биологическая мать сестёр, Айрин.
завершено: "The Chimera Paradox", 12.2ал: 2026: "Шайка" + Дана Уайтс, Клара Блейк + сотрудники Бюро: Вильям Смит, Лаки Страйк, Тереза Серпински, Анна Веласкес.
завершено: "The Failed Star", 14.2ал: 2027: "Шайка" + Кейт Эшли (внучка друзей сестёр Уайльдс) + те же сотрудники Бюро.
в очереди: "The White Knight Moves"
Вот теперь хочется отдохнуть. 73ал за полгода — это немного подвиг. Язык произведений — английский, будет и русский пересказ каждой.
Продюсер: прощай, бета (2026-02-17)
Продюсер переходит на новые модели. Всё, что накоплено непосильным трудом было сгенерировано в нём по сю пору, нужно или скачать не позднее 19-го февраля, или забыть о существовании тех треков. Ниже официальное письмо. И да, они там дают тамошних фантиков (кредитов) за моральный урон.
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Трубы Ленга (2026-02-13)
Любите ли вы регги с примесью Лавкрафта, как люблю его я?
Miskatonic Valley Radio — Tubes of Leng
Miskatonic Valley Radio — Tubes of Leng
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Wilds sisters — Silver Moon (2026-02-11)
Новые варианты колыбельной "в невозможных жанрах". Хотя начнём с самого что ни на есть возможного.
Wilds sisters — Silver Phonk, opus 2678
Wilds sisters — Silver Phonk, opus 2678
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Wilds sisters — Silver Phonk Blues, opus 2682
Wilds sisters — Silver Phonk Blues, opus 2682
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Слова
Softly, softly, silver moon,
Humming such a quiet tune,
Floating where the clouds drift by,
Lantern in the evening sky.
When the daylight fades to grey,
When the birds have flown away,
Then you climb above the hill,
Softly, softly, calm and still.
Little owl upon the bough
Sees your gentle glowing now,
How could she have found her way
If you hid your silver ray?
Through my window, pale and round,
Pouring light without a sound,
Watching while I close my eyes,
Till the morning starts to rise.
As you sail from dusk to dawn,
Keeping watch till night is gone,
I will sing this little tune —
Softly, softly, silver moon.
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Wilds sisters — Wheesht An' Road (2026-02-01)
Ещё один трек из озвучки второго (среднего) произведения про них, "Дорога в Бостон".
Wheesht An' Road, opus 2672
Wheesht An' Road, opus 2672
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Слова песни
The bairn's awa' tae dreamland noo,
Wheesht, wheesht, the road is lang,
We sang the hollow intae her hairt
An' noo she sleeps wi'oot a pang.
Chorus:
Wheesht an' roll, wheesht an' roll,
The van is hummin' doon the miles,
We left the mist, we found the road,
An' noo we're tradin' tears for smiles!
Ten years we walked where time stood still,
Through courts o' lichts an' whispered names,
But here's the road, the rain, the sky—
The mortal world's got sweeter claims.
Chorus:
Wheesht an' roll, wheesht an' roll,
The van is hummin' doon the miles,
We left the mist, we found the road,
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