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Songs from After Certainty
The same questions, carried in another register.
40 songs
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Listen
The same questions, carried in another register.
40 songs
Explore songs →Loading songs…
40 songs shown.
French-house vocoder anthem: returning to the same question and the same person, but nothing identical—again, differently.
East Coast alt hip-hop cypher: three rappers and a robot argue that the same picture changes with the frame—check your angle.
Hindi–English trip-hop: ठहरो ज़रा—wait before naming silence, before the first story closes into certainty.
Psychedelic art-pop parable: Gerald moves a road sign six feet, everyone follows reasonably, and the world forgets its name.
Theatrical space-rap battle: Certainty vs Question, with mission-control swagger interrupted every time confidence outruns the evidence.
Early-seventies psychedelic soul-funk: truth slips in barefoot through the side door while your polished speech and shining shoes wait on the front steps.
Warm nineteen-seventies soul: big bright numbers on a darkened wall tell a true ending while erasing the thousand hands that actually carried the game.
Lo-fi bossa nova duet in Portuguese and English: one shared street becomes two weathers of meaning, with a soft plea to stay long enough to look again.
Smoky nineteen-fifties jazz torch ballad: a low contralto asks for silence, maybe, and unfinished meaning before anyone seals the night as simply true.
Late-night alternative R&B: desire tangled with projection, begging to hear what you meant instead of the finished story invented from a shiver or a silence.
Moody British alt-hop spoken word: comfort among similar voices dresses up as truth, then awkward difference arrives as free additional data worth leaving room for.
Arabic maqam vocals and trip-hop rap argue over one moon on broken water, then open a house chorus where honest disagreement itself becomes a third, shared thing between them.
Nocturnal Latin electronic with Spanish vocals and trumpet: PASA chants laughs, fears, and mother-phrases traveling hand to hand, refusing to return unchanged.
Euphoric-then-dark synth-pop: three voices pass kindness, fear, custom, and power through each other until inheritance becomes a conscious choice about what keeps moving.
Neon techno J-pop at club tempo: three voices chant NOT YET while Japanese verses catch the mind writing a finished story from one glance, and English hooks keep every answer playfully provisional.
Atmospheric jungle and drum-and-bass: a cool voice begs before you finish as chopped replies, reposts, and reactions outrun meaning, ending dryly on Can I finish?
Cinematic Krautrock industrial: deadpan commands about patterns proving plans, empty control rooms, and “alignment” that is only robots approving other robots.
Experimental French math rock: clipped mantras, shifting meters, and sudden silences insist the stop is part of the groove, and that the small error knows something.
Thick nineties grunge: inherited rooms, yearly paint over spreading cracks, and a raw shout that dead reasons still hold the walls long after anyone recalls why they were built.
Claustrophobic emo and post-hardcore: temporary emergency measures hum in the walls forever, and ABSURDITY IS DIVINE lands like a bitter prayer to inherited fear.
Uneasy late-nineties art rock: badges, rating faces, and captchas accept an almost-you, while something that would not fit the question surfaces for a second and vanishes.
French retro-futurist art-pop: cheerful bureaucracy meets a door that sticks—Mardi is not a valid value on the form.
Nocturnal British indie: microwave blue light, a cracked cup, and love that keeps going after nothing dramatic happens—just checking, half-asleep, that you are still there.
Early-2000s psychedelic indie: an astronaut who can see every ocean and border still needs someone on Earth to check whether the fern is still alive.
Woozy Mellotron psychedelia: a three a.m. moon scare softens into probably fine—enough uncertain reassurance to leave the curtains open and let the night continue.
Hypnotic seventies space rock: white paint, sleeping levels, and a sparse refrain that the grain remains under every closed line, filled hole, and measured wall.
Dark eighties and nineties synth-pop: a restrained baritone grants provisional trust—I believe you tonight—without forever, contract, proof, or the power-fantasy of certainty.
Glacial Icelandic post-rock: a fragile voice chants Nóg—enough—to see, answer, and keep hands open without demanding peace, proof, or a final complete picture.
Minimal chamber pop with piano and strings: a glowing city from the hill resolves into one late window—somebody specifically, not a symbol or a shade.
Ethereal Celtic new-age hymn: a soft vow to keep learning to see, stay, and leave wonder inside beliefs, claiming no final window and no final view.
Whimsical seventies confessional folk: an atrocious roadside blue rooster cup becomes the quiet archive of a long love’s real remembered kindnesses and bargains.
Mississippi Delta blues haunted by lo-fi chiptune: a predictive shadow sits in your chair, knows your trail and purchases, and still never learned your walk.
Rootsy country-folk porch wisdom: welcome the backseat lecture from here to Chapel Hill, but keep your hands on your own wheel and leave room for what you have not learned.
Deep roots dub reggae: delayed vocals insist that every cost pushed downstream still lands—somebody, somewhere, carries the rest of the night.
Noir theatrical piano blues: an ex-weatherman hoards broken barometers and storms that never came, warning not to confuse odds with what happens after all.
Speakeasy swing duet: sly Miss Maybe and pompous Mister Sure trade brass-stab jokes about overreading winks, silence, and “fine,” until comic certainty briefly cracks into not-sure.
UK garage–zydeco story-song: everyone saw something different, and the tale stays right—until further notice.
Decadent art-funk satire: smug falsetto certainty that already knows what every pause and silence means—obviously.
Dark cabaret art rock: halo and monster enter on cue while applause and booing pretend to be evidence, until the lighting itself is finally distrusted.
Sunlit Swahili choral anthem: we do not know everything and do not see everything—INATOSHA—and still we go together with open hands and open eyes.
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