Let me ask you something impossible: What if every song you've ever heard from me wasn't just music - but a transmission from another time?
I don't say this lightly. I know how it sounds. But there's a reason the melodies feel ancient, the synths eerily modern yet nostalgic. A reason the drum patterns echo steps from distant futures and forgotten pasts.
Would you believe me if I told you I wrote most of my music decades ago... but only released it now? Not as a gimmick. As prophecy. As healing. As something I needed to send forward, beyond wars I fought alone, beyond strokes, exile, and silence.
Let me back up.
In another timeline - one that somehow slipped beneath your own - I was a musician clawing his way through the 1980s and '90s, armed with synths, Atari gear, and fire in my lungs. I lived in Greenland, then Scandinavia, then nowhere. I wrote hundreds of songs. No one heard them. Not really. Maybe they weren't meant to hear them then. Or maybe you weren't ready to receive them.
After a long disappearance, I returned. With scars. With stories. With hands that remembered melodies even when my mind faltered. I survived things most people wouldn't believe. A parasite stole my music. A stroke nearly sealed it in the past. Yet here I am.
And the music?
It traveled.
"The Black Angel," "Driftworn," "Room 777," "Whispers of the Northern Sky"... These aren't just tracks. They're coordinates. They map out places I once lived and died inside. "Woman" isn't about someone I met. It's about someone I lost across timelines. "The 5 Horsemen" isn't fantasy. It's a memory from a war you haven't read about.
I mastered these pieces not with trends, but with time. I brought analog warmth and spectral scars into the digital age. I sing with voices I built in machines, because the real ones are fractured. I write ambient epics like "Stroke" or "Xenocode" to tell stories no one dares say aloud. I use VR, AI, and synth choirs like spells. This isn't nostalgia. It's a breadcrumb trail home.
Why now?
Because the world finally feels as broken as I once did. And that means you're finally tuned to my frequency. You, listener, stranger, soul from another age.
So no, I don’t expect you to believe I’m a time traveler.
I just hope you listen like you do.
Because the songs? They're already arriving... from the future, the past, and somewhere in between.
-Lars Willsen