In early December 2024, I pushed it out into the vast digital ocean of streaming platforms, not really knowing what to expect. It was exciting. Slightly terrifying. Deeply motivating.
Releasing that album felt like opening a door. Not just to listeners, but to myself as a creator. Once it was out there, something shifted. The pressure was gone, and the flow began. Over the course of the year that followed, I made a lot of new music. More than I ever expected to.
And here’s the truth: much of that music will never be heard.
Not because it’s bad. But because not everything needs to be released. Some tracks are sketches. Some are experiments. Some are moments that made sense at the time but no longer feel essential. Creation, I’ve learned, isn’t just about making things—it’s also about choosing what not to share.
That said, not all of it was meant to stay hidden.
Over the past months, I’ve gone back through a large part of this growing catalog of songs. Listening carefully. Revisiting ideas. Letting time do its work. With some distance, patterns began to emerge. Certain tracks still stood strong. Others revealed potential they hadn’t quite reached the first time around.
This process became a kind of curation. A personal audit of a year’s worth of music-making.
Some of the tracks I selected had been released before, but they didn’t feel finished. So I returned to them—adjusting arrangements, refining textures, improving balance and atmosphere. Small changes, sometimes. Big differences in how they breathe.
Other tracks, on the other hand, had never seen the light of day at all. They’d been sitting quietly, waiting. And listening to them now, it felt clear that their time had come. These songs deserved to exist beyond my hard drive.
After weeks of reviewing, tweaking, polishing, and sometimes letting go, a collection slowly took shape. Thirteen tracks. Each one chosen deliberately. Each one representing something essential from the past year of music.
You could call it The Best of AERIALIS K 2025.
And in many ways, that’s exactly what it is.
But instead of a retrospective label, the collection found its own name: Seagull.
Why Seagull? Well, one of the tracks is called just that. But that’s not the only reason. It’s kind of like the album feels like that moment when you lift above the noise. Not escaping it entirely, but gaining perspective. Looking down at what you’ve made, what you’ve kept, and what you’ve left behind. It’s about movement, distance, and clarity—without losing connection to the ground below.
Seagull is not tied to a single genre. It reflects the way I work: mood-driven, image-based, atmospheric. Music as scenery. Music as a space you step into rather than something that demands your attention. Some tracks lean ambient, others more melodic, some carry a sense of motion, others are almost suspended in air.
What unites them is intention.
Every track on this album earned its place. Not by popularity, not by algorithms, but by resonance—by still feeling right after time had passed.
At the time of writing, Seagull is on its way to streaming platforms and will also be available on Suno.ai. It won’t be long now. And when it lands, it won’t be presented as something brand new in the traditional sense, but as something carefully distilled.
A year of work. Thirteen tracks. One album.
So if you’re ready for a focused, curated listening experience—if you enjoy music that values atmosphere, space, and subtle evolution—keep an eye out. Seagull is approaching.
And this time, it’s not about pushing something out into the unknown.
It’s about releasing what remains after everything unnecessary has been stripped away.
UPDATED JANUARY 3RD 2026
The album – SEAGULL – released on Sumo.ai today!
Follow the link to listen!
