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Songs My Mother Taught Me

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, CLASSICAL, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, ORCHESTRAL, PHILOSOPHY, VOCAL

INTERPRETATION: SONGS MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME

Charles Ives believed in the power of interpretation. There are countless perspectives to look at a single melody line from. One might be smooth and gentle, while the other rigid and chaotic. How a melody line is interpreted is also entirely subjective. This piece is our tribute to Charles Ives’ philosophy on music and what he did with it. Original lyrics by Antonín Dvořák, interpreted by Ives, then interpreted by MYCST.

Charles Ives believed in the power of interpretation. There are countless perspectives…

0073,electronic, experimental landscapes, nostalgic, vocal, poetry, orchestral, classical, piano, strings, violin, cello, art, peaceful music, lake michigan, charles ives, antonin dvorak, acoustic, old, victorian era, period, modern music

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Great Branding

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, CINEMATIC, CLASSICAL, ELECTRONIC, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, MUSIC, ORCHESTRAL

<a href="http://memoriesyoucanswimto.bandcamp.com/track/great-branding">Great Branding by Memories You Can Swim To</a>

SONG: GREAT BRANDING

True or false: Great branding is really the DNA of a product or company, manifested through various media in ways that the public can recognize and understand.

DNA: The fundamental and distinctive characteristics or qualities of someone or something, especially when regarded as unchangeable.

0131,electronic, electronic, acoustic, orchestral, branding, dreamy, festival, synth, synthesizer, homeless, bum, raw, unfortunate, violin, cello, big, anthem, ambient, reverb, piano, instrumental

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to

True or false: Great branding is…

Barely Exist

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, BEST OF, CINEMATIC, FOLK, INDIE, LIVE PERFORMANCE, MUSIC, PHOTOGRAPHY, RAD, RECORDING, VISUAL ART, VOCAL

SONG: BARELY EXIST

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

0053, acoustic, hike, life, confused, self help, irish jig, folk, fast, catchy, upbeat, hammer on, hammer off, singer, songwriter, cinematic, pop, vocal, video, performance, live, black and white, bandaid, guitar

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Barely Exist (instrumental)

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, BEST OF, CINEMATIC, FOLK, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, LIVE PERFORMANCE, MUSIC, PHOTOGRAPHY, RAD, RECORDING, TOP STORIES, VISUAL ART

SONG: BARELY EXIST (INSTRUMENTAL)

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

0054, acoustic, hike, life, confused, self help, irish jig, folk, fast, catchy, upbeat, hammer on, hammer off, singer, songwriter, cinematic, pop, instrumental, video, performance, live, black and white, bandaid, guitar

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

Goodbye Home (instrumental)

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, ALL VIDEOS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, RAW, VISUAL ART

SONG: GOODBYE HOME (INSTRUMENTAL)

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls
Pink noises coming from above and all around
The scent of stale chips and old spinach
Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls…

0042, electronic, experimental landscapes, acoustic, instrumental, raw, room, alone, family, lost, money, distorted, guitar, synth, feedback, mic, noises, glitch, organ, ethereal, reverb, spacey, dark, slow tempo, adolescence

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

On Raglan Road (instrumental)

By admin | ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, AMBIENT, BEST OF, ELECTRONIC, FOLK, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, INTERPRETATIONS, MUSIC, NOSTALGIC, POETRY, RAD, YOGA

INTERPRETATION: ON RAGLAN ROAD (INSTRUMENTAL)

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

0052,electronic, experimental landscapes, single, best, important, featured, greatest hits, nostalgic, instrumental, poetry, patrick kavanagh, dubliners, folklore, irish, synthesizers, synth, electric guitar, interpretation, cover, coldplay, texture, pattern

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license, licenses

To Help You Stop Smoking (instrumental)

By admin | ACOUSTIC, ALL CONTENT, ALL SONGS, BEST OF, COLLABORATIONS, ELECTRONIC, EXPERIMENTAL LANDSCAPES, INDIE, INSTRUMENTAL, MUSIC, RAW

SONG: TO HELP YOU STOP SMOKING (INSTRUMENTAL)

A rad collaboration with our friend, Josh Tabbia at Already Dead Tapes.

0046,electronic, acoustic, experimental landscapes, experiment, weird, raw, spacey, driving, intimate, hybrid, interesting, unique, guitar, instrumental, electric, cool, bass, distorted, fx, sound design

music, producer, audio, mycst, memories you can swim to, license

Charles Ives believed in the power of interpretation. There are countless perspectives…

True or false: Great branding is really the DNA of a product or company, manifested through various media in ways that the public can recognize and understand.

DNA: The fundamental and distinctive characteristics or qualities of someone or something, especially when regarded as unchangeable.

True or false: Great branding is…

…really the DNA of a product or company, manifested through various media in ways that the public can recognize and understand.

DNA: The fundamental and distinctive characteristics or qualities of someone or something, especially when regarded as unchangeable.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

…injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

I get my vitamins through the guitar strings. Fuck…

…injections. Also, when someone forces you to make a slick recording, go in the other room with a cheap microphone and record your own version behind the blood-sucker’s back.

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls Pink noises coming from above and all around The scent of stale chips and old spinach Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls…

Cracks and holes in Victorian walls. Pink noises coming from above and all around. The scent of stale chips and old spinach. Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Dug deep into my family past.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay – O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay – When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

A rad collaboration with our friend, Josh Tabbia at Already Dead Tapes.

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Cracks and holes in Victorian walls
Pink noises coming from above and all around
The scent of stale chips and old spinach
Don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m keeping my head down

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare…

…that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay –
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay –
When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.