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Verdant Sound is a California based record label and artist community with a focus on lush, organic, and meticulously crafted music and art. We host a podcast featuring new music by our favorite artists, a regular live showcase of our artist roster + special guests, and digital / physical music releases.
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A sunken raft of weeds woven into a verdant morass of sound, song and story. Broadcast on London's Resonance FM every Thursday, Into the Moss is a 14 minute drift through original music, soundscapes and liminal yarns.
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Connect with us : https://brodyr.komi.io/ Bookings : bookings@blacksevenmusic.com The latest music from Welsh brother duo BRODYR. BRODYR, the dynamic duo from the verdant landscapes of North Wales, have firmly planted their roots in the global Tech House scene since their inception in 2015. A moniker that translates to "Brothers" in Welsh, BRODYR reflects not only their familial ties but also their deeply intertwined musical synergy, which exudes a unique, potent energy in both their product ...
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Now’s the spider’s turn: A facile reduction, up the chelicerae.
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The village hall waits, all the while nothing happens. There is so much pain.
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Web-bound surveillance, karmic cycle's swift return, silk-spinner draws near.
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Definitely, the Pencilman’s virility. Certainly it is.
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With Obsidian, fault's with the candidate, or there's no fault at all.
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Bouncing room to room, I crack the frigid coffin, play the circus post.
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Yes, I've said some things. Lord knows what they could have been. The fruit of my hat?
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Carefully, I stacked teetering paper towers on the dead staircase.
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Alchemical balls: swearing’s not big or clever, even in your head.
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The red-flag woman, tweed-sleeved arm outstretched, spraying: "dogs are mist's princes".
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Car-to-car living. Lemonade fever dreams fail. Give back my money.
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Dark across the brow, the fields are met by fingers scratching in the dirt.
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The world went to pot, because you did not donate to the fundraiser.
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Pulped sardines on bread, shelter for the yuppie bones, huddled in the hall.
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The decks creak with a litany of transgressions. Judgement mans the helm.
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Worlds as yet untapped, backwash over this charcoal (quantum forest sketch).
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See the Nightingale whirr to where the air is thin. Wait for what will be.
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Don't give me all that "la-di-da-di-da", I'm sick of people like you.
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Retching, I'm pulled back to the frozen underpass, animals snorting.
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Voices from the past scatter through the open door, that you left ajar.
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Listen to the sound of stilts tottering across the banquet table.
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Eyes play on pages, photos in the unlit hall. Fell asleep again.
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Bulging bloodshot eyes, born too soon to be shuttered. A throng congregates.
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Silent aftermath of cats nurtured by insects. The dust of ages.
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Engaged Listening Skills For Workplace Efficiency: It's a fragile snare.
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Ignore the voices and listen to the morning. Give another chance.
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In coveted chair, microdosing ethanol, salad haunts me still.
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O hungry hunter, climb the stairs of the taste buds, and eat the city!
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Dad's breathy whistle Mists the cool chrome trim of the Austin A40.
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Chris, a name mispissed, eliciting unconcern from authority.
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Time is a phantom, unmasked in the final chime, as nothing at all.
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Impenetrable street of limitless bakers, bread on top of bread.
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Colour comes to bear, On the things that we have lost, Naked in wonder.
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Unveiled hues observed. Francesca's work reassigned. Truth seen in strange light.
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Canvas visions bloom, chaos amidst the tableaux, the gallery creaks.
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Telephone dial up audiobook with fragments by Brittney Fleming
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Boxes and grey chairs. Silent faces, piled up limbs. Thursday's grim demise.
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At waking’s threshold, lifted by the breathing land, cell-bound dreams take flight.
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Hospital preaching, shadows gulping down root beer, rolling on and on.
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Mysteries converge,Whimsy and truth intertwine,Brownies in the depths.
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It’s easy to be the best version of yourself with Into the Moss.
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The speed of a dream; bridge of broken umbrellas dogs the miracle.
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Pearlescent eye patch drifting on ahead to rest. Dinosaur ink drips.
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Dolo Uldolsted, gathered in his own netting: Sea of tatami.
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All _____ things to come. All _____ things to come, welcome. All _____ things to come.
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Trough peak trough peak trough, peak trough peak trough peak trough peak, trough peak trough peak trough.
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Behind sludge grey drapes, I'm a little lady leaking refrigerant.
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Stav opens the book. Wait, what? No one knows that book! Mike closes the book.
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Subtle hums of distant flight, melodic murmurs weave through scattered notes, Rippling streams entwine with cosmic breezes, crafting celestial songs, Endless chords converge, the universe sighs in serene rapture.
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The Eotogram sat frail in my sister's grasp. I held it better.
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