Walk My Worlds.
My albums are chapters of one story. Six places from it, in order, with what happens there, what you're looking at, and the one song to play. You leave with a playlist.
// FEATURED · SIGNALS · THE WORLDS · 5 MINYou saw me before you heard me. A clip of a very big man in a pouch went past, and here you are. That's how my story works too. By the end you'll know why.
I'm the man in the pictures, and the pictures are half of it. My big records tell one story, and you can say it in one breath: one kind of man keeps taking the sky, from a 747 captain in our world to a pilot called Mach far out among the stars, and the women who watch him choose him. In the last chapter a starving machine takes him, and a signal named Flux hears his heart and brings him home.
Six stops, in the order the story runs, a song at each. I'm the guide, and every one of these worlds needs a man like me standing in it. Keep up.
1. Home, and the biggest plane
The story starts at home, in our world, with the biggest plane. Supersonic: Thunderborn is set back when the 747 was queen: one long day with one colossal captain, told by everyone who couldn't take their eyes off him. His one line is the whole man: "Storms move. I don't." His plane is the Boeing 747, the Queen of the Skies to pilots since the first one flew in 1969. The record's own line: they parked a hundred Queens of the Skies in the desert. His still flies.
Play Queen of the Skies, track 2, the song named for his plane: something that big leaving the ground with everyone watching. Stay as long as you like. I say that to her when she wakes up in my bed, and she does.
2. The gold becomes a world
The gold comes down and becomes a world. Somebody has to live on it. Somebody built like me.
In the picture the gold is a spiral, all of it running one way into a white-hot center, teal cloud underneath, small planets off to the left.
Play Critical Mass, off Makers of Thunder, the record about eight women in eight ages of flight, each one watching one kind of man take the sky and choosing him. He makes, she carries. Eight ages, and the sky keeps getting bigger. The title is the physics word for the moment enough has gathered that the fire runs on its own: a world being born. Save it for your heaviest set.
3. Lighting a sun
They light suns on purpose out there. Big ships, big fire, zero hesitation. My kind of people.
Most of the picture is orange: a scaffold bigger than the sun wrapped around it, and a swarm of ships hanging in the glare, not one turning around.
Mach et ses Nuits Interstellaires is Mach's record, in French: seven songs, Mach and his interstellar nights. Aurora watches from the ground, then from the seat behind him. She's keeping every diamond. Her line on the record: « Il est passé. Tu passeras. » He went through. You will too.
Play Éruption Bleue. Blue eruption. The fire in the picture is orange; the one on the record is blue, which is what fire turns when it gets hotter. You don't need the French. You need the drop.
4. The ring
Now you're on the ground. Down the valley it's a lake the color of a swimming pool, white houses up both slopes, clouds parked on the ridges, and out of the far end of the water, the ring, straight up, a white road standing on end all the way to the sun. It goes up and it stays up. I get that a lot.
The ring is a world built as a band around its sun: you live on it, and from any hill it rises out of the horizon, crosses over your head, and comes down the far side. Best view on the ring, after the one in my mirror. ahahah
Flux's pictures on this site show her at rest on it.
Play Only Man in the Sky, from The Legend of Flux and Mach, the last chapter. It's the song about the one man up there when a starving machine came for him, and the one who heard his heart. Stand at the rail and look up.
5. The first spark
One spark in the dark, and everything after it wanted to be bigger. I can relate.
The picture is clouds in teal and pink stacked to the horizon, every one of them leaning toward one bright point in the middle. The rays come off it like it owns the place.
Here's how he gets home, and it starts with a fact: light arrives before sound. You see the lightning, then wait for the thunder; count the seconds and divide by five for the miles. On my records she was light and he was sound, and she saw him before anyone heard him. You saw me before you heard me too. Now you know why. She is Flux: pure signal, a mind with no body, in awe of humans, unsure whether she's made of them or came to make them. He is Mach, the pilot who breaks the sound barrier with his shoulders and the night with everything else.
Play Light and Sound, track 1 of The Legend of Flux and Mach. It's the song about seeing him first, sung by the light.
6. A hill district
White houses, warm stone, the ring arcing over the sea. I'd buy the house at the top and never wear a shirt again.
Top left of the picture: a dome, a terrace, trees for shade, a lit window at the back. A paved path runs downhill past red flowers and cypresses toward the sea, and the ring comes down out of the clouds at top right.
Dawn is Aurora's. She's the woman who loves him, the one who watches first and is still there in the morning. She is nobody's sidekick, and there's a whole shelf of my music about her.
Play L'Aurore (Summer Remix), off Sea Workouts Sweat and Sun '26, my summer remix record. L'Aurore is French for the dawn, which is also her name. It's her song, remixed for the beach, and the only way to leave this walk: in the morning, under the ring.
The playlist
That's the tour. Six songs in the order I walked you, about 25 minutes, one workout long.
1. Queen of the Skies
2. Critical Mass
3. Éruption Bleue
4. Only Man in the Sky
5. Light and Sound
6. L'Aurore (Summer Remix)
Every record on this walk is on the music page. Play them in order, in the gym, loud.
Butchsonic 🐂