The robots are our friends. But the relationship can get a bit monotonous at times. And violent. Get this song at Bandcamp. This is the final entry in a series of tracks that did not make the album. Sign up to find out when the album drops, and stay tuned!
You just want an excuse to dance. KOLN • Bandcamp • Lyrics This is the penultimate entry in a series of outtakes that did not make it onto the album "Damn Poets", to be released soon. (It is implied that the tracks on the album are superior to these outtakes. This is true.) If you like my songs, I would very much appreciate if you'd consider leaving your email. You will not be spammed; you will be among the first to find out when Damn Poets drops.
There was once a girl, but that was long ago. A letter to a past love, recorded in one take with four microphones. KOLN • Bandcamp • Lyrics
Second in a series of outtakes from the forthcoming Kings Of Last Night album, "Milk" is about keeping your head high, even if you have oil in your lungs. It features electric piano and a found mandolin. KOLN • Bandcamp • Lyrics
Apologies for my absence — again. I will be releasing an album under the moniker Kings Of Last Night this year, and I want to share with you an outtake, a B-side if you will, a sketch of a song that didn't make the album but deserves to be played on the internets. That song is "Pilot", a story of aviation, extended metaphors, the fourth wall, and disaster. External links: KOLN • Bandcamp [more inside]
The new album is more or less finished, so I thought I'd offer you guys another sneak peek. A shoot-from-the-hip rock song - Let's drink to the things that died too soon.
No, really, do.
A portrait of my old neighbourhood in The Hague, where I lived until it was up for demolition and subsequent gentrification.
Given that there are many Jeff Buckley tributes already out there, and that I wasn't really that familiar with his work until not too long ago, I thought I would write an homage to someone I didn't really know - and plagiarize some of the existing tributes in the very first line.
On the trappings of being a songwriter, and the fleeting nature of things. Ripping pages from the poets you admire.
It's not an awful life / with not an awful lot to do / but I think an awful lot / of you.
We're just blowing our own horns. We're just growing our own horns.