Shellshock Waltz | Ceremonial Soul-Funk Trance | Dark Baritone Ritual Beat

Описание: You’re not here by accident. No one dances the Shellshock Waltz unless they were summoned. This song isn’t a performance. It’s a memory you’ve avoided, a trance you’ve entered before, a loop you’ve traced in dreams that never belonged to you. The sound moves like a possession—ceremonial, paranoid, drenched in sweat and soul. Every element is intentional: the reversed choral echoes, the baritone sermon, the trap percussion dragging your feet into ancestral rhythm. This is how I speak when silence refuses to do the job.

Let me make this plain: Shellshock Waltz is not about war. It’s about the residue. It’s about the spiritual aftermath of every choice that looked logical at the time. This is the sound of rituals gone mechanical. The waltz you never asked to learn, but your feet already knew. This is what it means to carry blood in your breath and keep dancing. We’ve all heard the phrase “shellshock” thrown around like dust—but have you ever lived with it? Not as a veteran of war, but as a veteran of your own decisions? Of the betrayals that loop back around in disguises—wearing your voice, your hands, your face?

I made this track because I had no choice. I woke up hearing bells that didn’t exist. I walked circles I couldn’t explain. The rhythms came before the melody, the vocals came before the words. I wasn’t writing—I was remembering. The body knows before the mind accepts. Trauma is a composer, too. You think you’re in charge until the beat drops and your knees give out. That’s how this was born: in surrender.

There are voices hidden in this mix. If you listen close, you’ll hear them—faint, like memories you’re not supposed to access. Some were recorded years ago and left in fragments on purpose. They are not ghosts. They are the moments between decisions, the pauses before mistakes. I didn’t edit them to be heard. I edited them to be felt.

When I say “one step forward, leave the rest behind,” I mean leave behind who you thought you had to be to survive. I mean move in three because the ground is too broken for four. This waltz is for those who’ve outlived every plan they made. For those who told others to run while secretly hoping someone would turn back for them. You didn’t fall behind—you stopped on purpose. You needed to see who noticed. And when no one did, you kept moving.

Somewhere inside this song is a scream. You’ll know it when you find it. It’s not in pitch—it’s in presence. It’s when the rhythm tightens like breath in your throat. That’s the moment of knowing. When the song stops being sound and becomes ritual. A spiral you don’t escape, only learn to name.

Ask yourself—who drew your spiral? Whose voice said “go” the first time you fled? You think you’re dancing away from danger, but maybe the danger is you. Maybe you summoned this whole room. Maybe your heartbeat is the metronome that opened the doors.

I don’t ask for fans. I ask for witnesses. This is your memory, too. It always was. The Shellshock Waltz doesn’t end—it pauses in loops, waiting for you to hear it again. And when you do, ask why you still feel alive. Ask what part of you refuses to be buried.

This isn’t music. It’s medicine made out of the wound. Play it loud. Let the ritual remember you.