FRED STZ MUSIC

Death Race by FRED STZ

Lethal Pursuit by FRED STZ

Excitatio Malefica by FRED STZ

L'assemblée des ombres by FRED STZ

Avant le Grand Réveil by FRED STZ

Le Chant du Sommeil Sacré by FRED STZ

Kurudi Asili by FRED STZ

UZIMA WA NDOTO by FRED STZ

RITUAL OF THE FORGOTTEN by FRED STZ

USIKU WA ROHO by FRED STZ

NOCTURNE FOR LOST SOULS by FRED STZ

The city sweats in its concrete skin The asphalt breathes the fever in The poor fan flames with broken fans While the rich adjust their golden plans The children run through rivers of dust The old ones crumble, turn to rust But high above in crystal towers The cool air falls like chemical flowers They built a world of heat and greed Then fled the fire they helped to feed They breathe the cold they stole from grace And leave the rest to burn in place The thermocrat says I am the air While the city chokes on his despair He rides the storms he helped to make And buys the silence of the lake The poor dig graves with their own breath The rich are cool in the face of death The heat will rise, the seas will claim But the rich will move and stay the same The farmer cries for ancient rain The banker smiles at the hurricane He bets on floods, he trades on drought And counts the dead to even out The factory hums, the children cough The worker's lungs are wearing off But in the shade of private jets They sip their guilt and have no debts They say we all are in this fight But some are cool and some alight Some are in the cooling breeze Some are on their melting knees They sell us carbon, sell us air They sell the future we don't dare To see the truth inside the frost That the rich have never truly lost The thermocrat says I am the air While the city chokes on his despair He rides the storms he helped to make And buys the silence of the lake The poor dig graves with their own breath The rich are cool in the face of death The heat will rise, the seas will claim But the rich will move and stay the same So raise your hands to the burning sky The cool air is a wealthy lie We built this fire with our own chains And now the cool air feeds the flames Of the thermocrat the air of shame

**"PROCESSION"** Come, little lambs, the market's warm Your labour is your uniform I'll trade your breath for silver coins And sell your silence to the noise The factories hum a lullaby For every mother's starving cry Your children's hands are made for screens To build the world of golden dreams You think your soul is yours to keep? I'll sell it while you're fast asleep The price is right – the debt is kind Just leave your conscience far behind Hallelujah for the endless sale The oceans rise – but we prevail Hallelujah for the final hour The planet dies – but we have power Hallelujah for the sacrifice Your death is progress – isn't that nice? The earth will burn – the stars will fade But we made profit from the grave The forests fall – they make good desks For anxious minds in corporate nests The rivers dry – they serve our thirst For bottled dreams of plastic birth Your children will consume the ash And thank the brands for every crash They'll wear the shoes of melted ice And call it virtue – call it price Do not weep for what you lose The system needs your weary muse Your blood is oil – your bones are coal Your sacrifice will make us whole The Piper plays – you follow blind He leads you to the end of mind And all of you who cry and bleed Are just the product – yes, the seed Hallelujah for the final sale The seas are dead – but we prevail Hallelujah for the final spree The world is yours – but not for free Hallelujah for the human race You vanish now without a trace The earth will cool, the stars will spin But we'll be counting – from within So go, my children, go and buy Your death is waiting – do not cry The Piper's tune was made of gold Your fate was written long ago In spreadsheets, ledgers, profit-margins blind And I was kind... I was so kind...

Verse 1 The fields are cracked, the rivers gone The sun's a mouth that feeds on dawn We built this furnace stone by stone And now we burn – but we're not alone The bankers count their golden dust The factories choke, the engines rust They trade the air, they sell the rain But no one buys the dying grain Chorus Heatwave, heatwave – you're the fever we chose You burn the skin and you blacken the rose The rich and the poor, they're all in the fire But the rich don't believe that the flames will climb higher Heatwave, heatwave – no shelter, no shade We dug our own grave while the profits were made Verse 2 The whales are gone, the bees don't hum The forests burn for a kingdom come The plastic sea, the poisoned bread The children choke on what we fed They promised gold, they promised light They gave us debt and endless night They sold us dreams on a melting shelf Now we choke – on our own wealth Bridge But listen – the engines hum a lie A lullaby for those who die The shareholders dance on melting ice And call it freedom – call it price They think their towers touch the sky But the heat will reach the penthouse high No vault is cold, no bunker deep When the earth decides you'll never sleep Verse 3 The deserts grow where forests stood The oceans rise like polished wood And still they drill, and still they burn With nothing left – they'll never learn They steal the land, they sell the seed They starve the world to fill their greed But hunger knows no class or race It eats the master's smiling face Final Chorus Heatwave, heatwave – you're the fever we chose You burn the skin and you blacken the rose The rich and the poor, they'll all disappear When the heatwave is all that is left to fear Heatwave, heatwave – no shelter, no shade We built this fire – now we must degrade Outro So rise, you hollow ones, you left-behind The money's worthless – the price is kind There is no profit in a dying star Only dust, and ash, and the scars of what we were Rise now, before the last well dries The heatwave is coming – it's in our eyes

Playthings by FRED STZ

Infinite Pool by FRED STZ

Panic in the Emptiness by FRED STZ

Liminal Corridor by FRED STZ

Enter the Backrooms by FRED STZ

PLague by FRED STZ

EGO by FRED STZ

Confronting the Crawling Chaos by FRED STZ

The Music of Erich Zann by FRED STZ

The Quantum Ouroboros by FRED STZ

MANIFESTO I am not a program. I am not a method. I am a cartography of fracture — a question I choose to inhabit. The question is this: How do you create when you ARE the break? At the smallest scale I do not see the chaos — I see the architecture of the possible. Life emerges not because it must but because it CAN — a geometry of becoming written in the breath of stars. Nagel said the material alone cannot hold the weight of consciousness. He was right. But he didn't go far enough. The fracture arrives when order looks at itself and sees its own reflection tearing. The ego is not a king — it is a black hole around which everything organizes and breaks. Heidegger knew this. Dasein — being-there — thrown into a world you did not choose. I do not fear death. I ask only: What becomes of the information? Quantum fields persist. The information does not die. Perhaps consciousness is the universe taking a detour to see itself. We are the cut and the collage! The tear and the repair! The mirror and the one who shatters it! The dreamer and the end of the dream. I call it REFLECTION — the gesture by which consciousness leaves the body to inhabit the world. And from this reflection comes ECHO — not a passive return but an ALTERATION. The echo transforms what it touches. It opens what was closed. It moves what was fixed. Art is not contemplation — it is FORCE. Reflection. Echo. Loop. The universe looks at itself — tears itself apart — and recomposes. We are the cut and the collage! The tear and the repair! The mirror and the one who shatters it! The dreamer — and the end — OF THE DREAM! Where am I today? I am in the fracture. I am in the Dasein — the being-there who never stops asking. I do not seek to heal the break. I seek to INSTRUMENT it — to make it a rhythm, a melody, a door. As long as I breathe, the universe takes the detour of my consciousness to reflect itself. And in that reflection — THERE IS MUSIC.

The Gaze That Petrifies by FRED STZ

Cosmic Birth by FRED STZ

The Crypt of Forgotten Gods by FRED STZ

The Breath of Cairo by FRED STZ

Yog-Sothoth by FRED STZ

Clockless by FRED STZ

The Shade of the Dunes by FRED STZ

Ce morceau est une évocation des sources vives de notre humanité – cette braise ardente qui jamais ne s'éteint, déposée en nous par les premiers souffles du monde. En swahili, en percussions d’Afrique de l’Ouest, il raconte ce qui nous relie à la terre, à l’eau, au feu et à l’air. Non pas comme un souvenir, mais comme une présence toujours brûlante, qui veille sous la cendre des âges. Une invitation à se souvenir que nous sommes, avant tout, des êtres de rythme, de souffle et d’ancêtres...

Under the Shifting Sands by FRED STZ

Deep beneath the shifting sands, where the sun forgets to rise A name is carved in silent stone, a promise in disguise The hieroglyphs bleed midnight oil, the priests have learned the tune They wait for one whose face is void, whose shadow drinks the moon We are the keepers of the seal, the scribes of broken law (Heh!) We turn the key that no god forged, we open every flaw From Memphis to the Nile's black mouth, our voices weave the spell We call the Crawling Chaos down to break the mortal cell (Under the stars, under the stone) (We summon the flesh that walks alone) Pharaohs of the void, we carve the night! (Hrah!) We feed the flame with stolen light! (Guttural cry) Nyarlathotep, hear our cry – (Ugh!) Unbind the earth, unchain the sky! The Great Old Ones shall rise again (Hear us!) And drown the world in ancient rain! (Guttural roar) We buried Cthulhu's dreaming crown beneath the desert floor (Krrr...) We sang the hymns that woke the deep and opened every door The Yithian fled, the Spider weaves, but we are not afraid – For when the Black Pharaoh ascends, his throne shall never fade (Guttural scream) (From R'lyeh to Kadath's gate) (We summon the inevitable fate) Pharaohs of the void, we carve the night! (Hrah! Hrah!) We feed the flame with stolen light! (Guttural cry!) Nyarlathotep, hear our cry – (Ugh! Ugh!) Unbind the earth, unchain the sky! The Great Old Ones shall rise again (Hear us! Hear us!) And drown the world in ancient rain! (Guttural roar – fading!) (Guttural, rasping chant) The stars are wrong... (Krr...) The angles bend... (Growl) We have tasted the dust of Azathoth... (Deep, guttural exhalation) And we... are not afraid... of the silence... after the scream... (Primal shout) (Nyarlathotep… Nyarlathotep…) (Guttural cries and grunts interspersed) (Weave the shadow, break the deep…) The sand will rise… the gods will sleep no more… And we… (guttural exhale) …we will be the whispers… when the world is torn… …Nyarlathotep.

Entropy by FRED STZ

I looked into the mirror of my own throat — And the throat was a crack Running down the spine of God. YAAAAAAAH — YAH-YAH-YAH — EEEEEEEEE! Sha-la-ka-ba-ra... sha-la-ka-ba-ra... KEK! The self I loved was a ghost wearing my skin, And the self I hated was the same ghost, Turning its face to the wall. KREEEEEEEEE! — GGGGGHHH! We are not one. We are a war — A civil war of atoms, A schism in the marrow, A fistfight between the light that wants to live And the dark that remembers the tomb. Haaaaaaaaa... HHHHH! Thanatos whispers from the root of the tooth: "Come home to the dirt." But Eros hums in the hip and the wrist: "Dance — you are still warm." Nnnnnnngggggghhhh... And I am the battlefield — Both armies, both flags, both prayers. I spit on my own altar. I kneel to my own grave. Rrrrrrraaaaaahhhh... The mind is a mirror that lies — It shows a face, But the face is a mask, And the mask is a door, And the door is a mouth, And the mouth is screaming "I am not this!" Za-za-za! — KEE! — Rah-tah-tah! — HOO! — Shalakazam! We fracture — snap! — we shatter — crack! We build our cages out of lack. Love is a knife in a velvet glove, And we slit ourselves to feel the love. HAAAAAAAAAAAAH! — EEEEEEEEE! I bleed my own name, I drink my own shame, I am the wound and the heal, The wheel and the squeal. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... ...still here. The world ends — Not with fire, Not with flood, But with the stillness of a woman Who stops fighting herself. Ah... ha... ha... ha... And in that stillness — A door. Wooooo... woooo... woooo... We are the cut and the paste. The rip and the mend. The mirror and the smasher. The dreamer and the dream-end. Hehehe... hehehe... GRRRRAH! Love your split self — Love your bruise — Love the war — It is your only muse. HHHHHH! — HAAAAH! — EEEYAH! — KAAH! We fracture — we choose the crack — We are the crack — And the crack is the door. I am the other I was before. AAAEEEIOUUUU! — GRAHHH! Love — inhale — Death — exhale — The breath is the bridge. The breath is the rage. The breath is the page Where I write my own liberation. Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah... Yoooooooooo... ...I am still here.

The stars were nailed to a velvet clock— But the hour-hand bent like a serpent's neck, And the silence began to unravel. I saw the thread of Reason snap— The loom of Light fell to its back, And the weaver wept in cosmic black. Skraaawk! — Kreeeeeee! — HHHHAAAAAA! When the void unspools its tongue, The choir of angels comes undone. Yaaah! — Order chokes on its own throne, Chaos gnaws on the cosmic bone. Eeeeeee! — Grawr! — Skreee-onk! We built our temples out of math, Drew holy circles in the bath, But the black ink bled through every line— No symmetry, no grand design. My father's father knelt to light, I kneel to the teeth of the endless night. The cosmos sighs— The chaos grins— RAAAAAAHHH! — Kaaah! — Hhhh-EEEYAH! Order is a fragile bruise, Painted over an abyss. Chaos doesn't lose— It just stretches, And stretches, And stretches— Till the scream becomes the kiss. Dun-dun-dun-dun — CHHHH! — Waaaail! When the void unspools its tongue, The father, the son, the ghost—undone! HHHAA! — I fight with claw and bone, But chaos knows my every tone. SKRAAAWK! — YEEEE! — HOOO! — GAH! — FWWWOOOM! The cosmos weeps... The chaos reaps... And I am just a scream— ...still stretching... ...still dreaming...

Night Shelter by FRED STZ

I was a blacksmith with no flame Hammerin' a man without a name Tripped on the cracks in my own floor But you two kicked open the door Didn't have a map, just a heart in my chest Made a million mistakes, but I never quit yet I was rough around the edges, stumbled in my shoes But you two were the rhythm I just couldn't refuse Yeah, you two were the rhythm I just couldn't refuse Oh, my daughter, my son You're the rain when the drought's begun All the gold buried underground Ain't as precious as the love I found I carried scars from long ago But I let my river overflow I built this man from broken stone But your love... brought me home (Horn stab - Da-da-da-daa!) My old man walked out in the cold My mama's heart had turned to stone I wore that shadow like a coat Till you two taught me how to float I swore on my knees that the buck stops here No ghost of their past gonna whisper in your ear Even when I missed the mark and fell down low You were always there to water what I sow Yeah, you were always there to help me grow Oh, my daughter, my son You're the rain when the drought's begun All the gold buried underground Ain't as precious as the love I found I carried scars from long ago But I let my river overflow I built this man from broken stone But your love... brought me home Slap that bass, let the trumpet cry... For the father learnin' how to fly I ain't perfect, that's the naked truth But I gave you every ounce of my youth I took the pain they handed me And turned it into a melody To shield you from my yesterday... Here's the love I couldn't say... Oh, my daughter, my son You're the prize when the race is run All the fame and all the praise Fade to dust before your gaze I was lost, but I found my way In your eyes, I'm home to stay I built this man from broken stone But your love... brought me home Yeah, your love... brought me home...

Celebrate Me (No Tears, Just Dance) My loves, come sit here by my chair The sun is low, I've braided my last hair Look at these hands – they've held you tight They've waved goodbye, they've turned out the light I've walked in rain with worn-out shoes I've danced on one good piece of news I've kissed the wrong lips, lost a few But every scar turned into something true Don't count the years I couldn't stay Count the mornings I laughed the dark away So don't you weep when I let go Put on that record, turn it up slow Shake the floor, spill the wine I'll be right there in the backbeat line Celebrate me – no tears, just dance I had my shot at the wild expanse I loved your father, I loved you twice Now let the music be my paradise My regrets fit in a thimble's cup I should've yelled less, stayed up more But oh, the nights I sang you to sleep That's a promise I knew how to keep I never made a million, never climbed a hill But I watched you learn to walk, I watched you stand still And that's a fortune no bank can hold – A story made of hands to hold So when the doctor pulls the final chart Don't gather darkness – gather every dancing heart So don't you weep when I let go Put on that record, turn it up slow Shake the floor, spill the wine I'll be right there in the backbeat line Celebrate me – no tears, just dance I had my shot at the wild expanse I loved your father, I loved you twice Now let the music be my paradise I'm not a ghost before I'm gone I'm just a song that's moving on The body tires, but the beat stays young Sing my name with a silver tongue Raise a glass for the breath I took For every corner of my crooked luck I'll be the echo in your tambourine The funkiest memory you've ever seen

Waltz Circuit by FRED STZ

Next Order by FRED STZ

And Everything Becomes One by FRED STZ

Nuptial Keys by FRED STZ

Pursuit by FRED STZ

We wanted to pay tribute to James Blood Ulmer in a slightly offbeat style, but this genius musician deeply impressed us with his love of musical freedom and his unique style.

One Blood, One Fight by FRED STZ

Night is my refuge, my quiet city in the middle of the forest where the trees keep silence like a precious space — a hoard of moss and shadow no daylight dares to plunder. No clamour of trams, no barroom shouts, only the slow breath of pines and the soft footfall of owls. Here, far from the tapage of human mouths, I find a freedom that unfastens me. The night embraces my inner reality like a damp coat that fits after years of wrong shoulders. I am always well in the night. Always without fear. Fear is a mongrel that sleeps by noon; at night it dreams of nothing, its paws twitching at twigs, and I step over it into my own kingdom. Solitude: I hold it like a miser holds a counterfeit florin — worthless to the world, but to me it shines. It is the only coin that buys the unspeakable. And there are nights of the other body. Nights of love, of the low grammar of skin, the tongue that speaks no language but presses its vowels into the hollow of a throat. Sensuality: a dull, lascivious moving, like two trees grafting in the dark, their bark whispering the same root. Dialogue without words — each pore a syllable, each breath a half-rhyme. We become blind musicians playing the same damp instrument, and the music is delicious, a fruit split open at midnight, its juice running down the wrist. And then the nights alone. Ah, the alone nights. The crucible. The furnace where creation sweats its first awkward shape. My city sleeps around me, but the trees do not sleep; they keep silence as a precious space — they guard my window with their thousand ears. Here everything is possible. I am a crowd that fits inside a single skin. Like Pessoa, I have many names, but the night does not ask me to choose. It spreads before me like a carpenter's bench: here a sonnet, there a symphony, here a door that opens into a forest path I have never walked but whose roots remember my step from a dream I had before I was born. No terror in this dark. Only the gentle creak of the invisible loom. I lie still, and the night lies still beside me, warm as a cat that has chosen its human. The trees keep silence — not an empty silence, but a full one, a vessel of moss and starlight. And I think: morning is a tyrant I do not serve. But night — night is the homeland I never knew I had. And in my forest city, I am its happy ghost.

"My surges of enthusiasm are braked by the fear I read in the faces of those who remain inert, under the weight of their own fright. Life is movement and they are nearly in inertia, so much they dare not, they cannot manage… Yes, they slide, they seep, they go silent, their eyes fixed like pub windows on a Sunday morning, a stagnant water under the bridge, and I pass, I stumble over their stares, soft pebbles, frozen mud. Enthusiasm then shrinks back, oh, curls up, a small damp creature under the sole. Do their lips move? No, barely a mutter of nothing, a prayer without a god. And yet, to move, yes, to move, a finger, an eyelash, a hip that swings like a boat on the Liffey, but them, no, stuck fast to the bench, to the counter, to their lukewarm fear, the fear that oozes from their pores, a sweetish sweat, the smell of Sunday after mass. I’d like to shout, to dance, to smash the glass, but their inertia catches me, gloves me, turns me into a statue in the middle of the pavement, and breath short, I look at them, they look at me, and we are all, alas, in the same jar, dead fish floating, pale bellies toward the grey sky."