Music was always a presence. It lived in the house, moved through the rooms, something you could feel before you understood it. His mother would dance from one room to the next in rhythm with the sound, and somewhere in that motion, it stuck.

What started as comfort and familiarity slowly turned into something more personal, something he needed to return to, something he needed to shape for himself.

By 13, he was documenting everything. Ideas, lyrics, beats, each one recorded down to the exact minute it arrived. Not out of habit, but instinct. Over time, it became a system.

“I did not know it then, but I was building a map.”

Those entries turned into more than 150 completed songs, spread across journals, notebooks, and loose pages. A living library of what his life sounded like.

Now that work has started to move on its own. The catalog exists beyond the page, playing through bars and venues, circulating through rooms and cities, finding its way into places it was never directly placed. People are asking for vinyl, for pieces to hold onto, for something physical to represent what they are hearing.

This is no longer a debut. It is the point where the notes begin to dance on their own.

Built alongside collaborators, shared spaces, and different creative circles, the sound continues to evolve. Each moment and person along the way has added richness, depth, and color to what exists now.

And the scene is still unfolding.