Somewhere, Here
Somewhere, Here is the follow up to "In A Parallel Universe". Recognising that more than one reality can exist at the same time, 'Somewhere, Here' is the way accepting this one here as one of the many universes we live in each day.
'Somewhere, Here' traces this quiet transformation. The first songs still carry the weight of what is coming to an end. Distance, unanswered questions and the attempt to let go shape their tone—not with anger, but with a clarity that no longer asks to be reassured. As the album unfolds, something begins to shift. Acceptance replaces resistance. Melancholy when happening remains, but it becomes lighter, calmer, almost spacious.
As spring enters almost unnoticed the world slowly opens again: through light, movement, memory and the quiet certainty that not every ending asks to be overcome. Some simply become part of who we are. By the final songs searching for another place isn't important at all.
Warm electronic textures, intimate vocals and understated rhythms accompany that transition. Somewhere, Here isn't about arriving somewhere else. It is about becoming present enough to notice that somewhere has already become here.
And not somewhere.
But in the here they touch.
Release Date: July 28th, 2026
Duration: 51:48 | 14 Tracks
Your Secret Stays With Me | 01
Your Secret Stays With Me plays with that fragile space between two people where a glance can reveal more than a conversation. It is playful, teasing and self-aware, yet never cruel. The song smiles instead of accusing. It knows instead of asking.
Not every secret asks to be uncovered. Sometimes a brief look is enough. There is no need to name it, no need to explain it. Keeping a secret can be an act of respect.
The song celebrates the quiet joy of recognizing something without ever claiming it. Some moments stay with us like little souvenirs—private, untouched and impossible to forget. After all, the safest place for a secret is often the smile of someone who simply decides to keep it.
A Love Letter | 02
Some people enter our lives for what feels like a single night, yet somehow remain with us for a lifetime.
A Love Letter begins where most love songs end. There is no dramatic farewell, no attempt to hold on. It is simply a quiet message to someone who once changed everything. Not because the story continues, but because it doesn't.
The song moves between tenderness and distance, between an unwritten letter and an unanswered "Hello?". It lets go without denying what happened. Sometimes saying goodbye is not about losing someone. It is about recognizing that they have already become part of who you are.
Don't You Cry | 03
Don't You Cry is not about saying goodbye. It is about saying hello to freedom.
Some people leave a lasting impression without remaining at the centre of our lives. Not every ending asks for distance. Sometimes letting go simply means releasing an expectation while leaving the door open.
Don't You Cry celebrates the quiet confidence of moving on without resentment. Nothing has to be erased. Some people remain an invitation for a lifetime, even after love has quietly stepped aside.
I Did Not Lose You | 04
Sometimes nothing is lost. Something simply comes to an end.
I Did Not Lose You quietly questions the idea of loss itself. Looking back, it becomes impossible to tell whether someone really disappeared—or whether they had already become part of the past long before they left.
Time does not erase the empty space. It slowly gives it a place. A new frame appears, the view changes, and neither side has to become the loser of the story.
Perhaps the deepest change is not that we stop missing someone. Perhaps we simply stop missing the loss.
Come To Me | 05
Come To Me unfolds like a conversation in which neither voice is entirely right or wrong. Perspectives keep shifting. Confidence becomes performance, performance becomes invitation, and invitation quietly turns into observation. At times it is almost impossible to tell who is speaking and who is simply imagining the other person's voice.
At its heart lies an unusual promise: I won't make you heal. The song offers no rescue, no easy answers and no illusion of being able to complete someone else. Instead, it offers a moment—something real enough to be felt, yet never pretending to become more than it is.
Sometimes that is enough. Sometimes it isn't. The song never decides. It simply leaves both voices standing exactly where they are, inviting the listener to step into the conversation.
Recompile To You | 06
Some faces seem to return no matter where we look. In passing strangers, endless feeds, fleeting reflections or memories that refuse to stay where they belong. Whether they belong to a person, an idea or a part of ourselves slowly becomes impossible to tell.
Recompile To You imagines the mind as a system that keeps rebuilding the same connection from countless fragments. Different images, different moments, yet somehow they all lead back to the same place. Not because we choose them, but because something within us quietly keeps putting the pieces together.
The song never tries to decide whether what keeps returning is real or imagined. Perhaps we are not searching for someone at all. Perhaps we simply begin to recognize the same pattern everywhere we look. The world changes constantly, yet certain feelings seem to reassemble themselves, again and again, until they become impossible to separate from the person we once believed they belonged to.
Bitch, I Ain't Got No Money | 07
Bitch, I Ain't Got No Money wears provocation like a grin. Behind its playful defiance lies a simple decision: there comes a point where trying to please everyone is no longer worth the price.
The song questions how much of ourselves we are willing to reshape for approval, attention or affection. It laughs at the idea that money, appearance or performance could ever determine someone's worth. There is always a line that should not be crossed.
The repeated refrain is less a complaint than a declaration of independence. I ain't got no money becomes another way of saying: I don't owe you anything. What remains is the freedom to walk away, to stop negotiating your own value, and to leave with a smile instead of an apology.
One Green Tape | 08
One Green Tape welcomes the first quiet signs of a new season. Nothing changes all at once. The old stitches remain visible, worn-out clothes are still being worn, yet everything already feels lighter. Renewal begins long before it is complete.
The song moves through spring with an almost effortless melancholy. Fresh leaves unfold, familiar paths seem different, and even the smallest details begin to glow with possibility. There is no need to hide what has been mended. It has become part of the journey.
Some may look for the first blue traces of summer appearing overhead, but One Green Tape keeps its eyes closer to the ground. It is the green that quietly takes over—emerging in leaves, in parks, along forgotten paths, and within ourselves. Before summer fully arrives, the world has already begun to bloom. And so have we.
Not Somewhere, Here | 09
We are often invited to believe that fulfilment lies just beyond the horizon—in another place, another time or another version of ourselves. Not Somewhere, Here quietly questions that promise.
Instead of chasing distant horizons, the song turns towards the life already unfolding beneath our feet. It suggests that nothing essential is waiting somewhere else to be discovered. What changes is not the world, but the direction of our attention.
Sometimes the place we have been longing for is not a destination at all. It begins the moment we stop looking away.
Roaming | 10
Roaming explores the quiet paradox that the more we become ourselves, the more others may believe they have found what they have been searching for. Yet the song offers no promises and no attempt to complete anyone else. It simply remains where it is.
Rather than fixing or changing another person, Roaming becomes a mirror. What appears to be attraction may just as well be recognition, projection or a longing we discover within ourselves. The song leaves that question deliberately unanswered.
Freedom is never presented as something to give away. It can only be lived. Everything else—the connection, the glitch, the feeling of being drawn closer—belongs to whoever experiences it.
Looking At Me | 11
Looking At Me captures the quiet freedom of no longer being pulled in every direction. While the city keeps rushing forward, the song discovers an unexpected lightness in simply walking through it without feeling the need to keep up.
There is no distance from the world, only a different way of moving within it. The bustle remains, yet it gradually loses its urgency. What once demanded constant attention becomes part of the scenery, making room for something much quieter: the simple pleasure of feeling at ease with oneself.
Sometimes freedom is not found by leaving everything behind. Sometimes it appears while crossing an ordinary street, quietly smiling to yourself because, for no particular reason, you simply feel light and free.
Pastlove | 12
Pastlove is less about leaving someone behind than about slowly finding your way back to yourself. Layer after layer begins to fall away until what once felt essential becomes just another part of the journey.
The song never denies the beauty of what has been. It simply refuses to mistake the past for the future. Memories remain, yet they no longer define who we are becoming.
Sometimes letting go is not an ending at all. It is the quiet process of removing everything that no longer belongs to us, until the person beneath has room to breathe again.
Otter Life | 13
Otter Life reimagines the idea of a reset. Nothing is erased, nothing is unplugged, nothing has to be abandoned. The memories remain exactly where they belong. Only the weight of carrying them begins to disappear.
The song compares this quiet renewal to life in the water. Rather than resisting every current, it discovers a calmer way of moving through them. Confidence grows without force, clarity replaces anxiety, and even the past becomes lighter once it no longer has to define the present.
A reset is not a new beginning. It is a conscious decision to continue—grounded, unburdened and entirely by choice. Otter Life imagines freedom as moving effortlessly through the element we belong to. Even beneath the surface, there is always a place of safety to return to—our own holt.
Latas, Bae | 14
Some goodbyes deserve neither drama nor regret. Latas, Bae celebrates the rare kind of farewell that can smile without pretending nothing mattered.
The song looks back with warmth rather than longing. What was shared remains real, even after it has come to an end. There is no need to rewrite the past or hold on to what naturally belongs there.
Sometimes the kindest goodbye is simply wishing each other well before walking on. Light-hearted, grateful and without looking back too often—that is the spirit of Latas, Bae. Every farewell already carries the possibility of another hello. Until then: latas, bae. After The Summer Of 24, we'll surely meet again.
The Summer Of 24
I will return. In the meantime enjoy The Summer Of 24.