After the Noise is the next yxcs album by Marlowe Blake and friends — a record about what is left once the room empties: the applause gone, the pride laid down, and the engine that still refuses to stop. Album in production; new tracks appear here as they are finished.
The room still full — applause, borrowed voices, a night that refuses to end, and the first cracks under the surface.
The room empties, the applause dies, and what is left is a man alone with his own heartbeat — a stripped-back reckoning with who you are when nobody is watching.
Marlowe Blake
The board goes dark, the coat is by the door, and one warm note refuses to leave the room. A ballad about what keeps trembling after the song, the words and the years have all gone quiet.
Marlowe Blake
The suit comes off in the elevator and the city hands him back his own voice. A night-drive confession about the man daylight never meets — and the hour that always knows where to find him.
Marlowe Blake
A midnight duet with Nia Amara over a driving low end: two voices trading verses about refusing to power down when the whole city does.
Marlowe Blake
Nia Amara
One reckless night undoes years of doing everything right. No excuses, no blaming the drink — a man facing the wreckage he made, and deciding to earn his name back day by day.
Marlowe Blake
No slammed door, no final scene — just two people losing pieces of each other night after night, until the distance becomes the room they live in.
Marlowe Blake
A house party that refuses to end, with Zara Cole — coats still on the sofa at four in the morning, the record kept rolling, and two voices agreeing that nobody is going home.
Marlowe Blake
Zara Cole
What the drive takes: the honest take, the pressure, the loneliness denied, and every argument won at a price.
Nia Amara keeps the red light on and the tape running. A lifetime spent turning thunder into silk, undone in one live pass — the rough edge left in, saxophones drawing constellations around a truth she won't edit.
Nia Amara
A hard-won anthem that refuses to romanticise the struggle: the weight left cuts as well as brilliance, and the shine was paid for underground.
Marlowe Blake
Two people insisting they are perfectly fine apart and contradicting themselves line by line — a call-and-response with Luna Reyes about the word neither of them will say first.
Marlowe Blake
Luna Reyes
Two voices at five in the morning, with Kairo Vance, agreeing on what the mirror is for: close enough to remember every wrong turn, far enough that it can't take the wheel.
Marlowe Blake
Kairo Vance
A ballad of regret — one hour back, one chance to say the words pride swallowed the night she walked out the door.
Marlowe Blake
He puts on the coat his father left behind and finds the note in the lining. Keep the warmth, leave the weight — honouring where you come from without inheriting the silence.
Marlowe Blake
A duel with Victoire Cazal where both keep score and both lose: every argument won, and the love spent paying for it.
Marlowe Blake
Victoire Cazal
The room empties: the ghosts get the floor, presence replaces volume, and healing turns out to be loud.
He stops running from the hallway and turns the old room into a dance floor. Every abandoned version of himself gets the floor for one night — memory without weight, the past invited in but never allowed to lead.
Marlowe Blake
Zara Cole takes the room without raising her voice — sunset gold on the west side, a bassline doing the talking, and the quiet certainty that the deepest wave moves the strongest wall.
Zara Cole
Healing arrives loud, not quiet. Lyora steps outside to a bus, a radio and a boy drumming on a parked car — and finds the street kept singing while she was gone, holding a place for her inside the song.
Lyora
The city wakes without asking what for. No verdict, no applause — just daylight pouring gold across the evidence, refusing to forgive or condemn, and handing back the road.
Marlowe Blake
Deep in the pocket, the whole room leans in. A horn-lit groove where love arrives not as lightning but as one small movement landing exactly where the beat should be — and the man who always planned his exit finally stays for the downbeat.
Marlowe Blake
Close every file, change every name: it still follows you out. A duet with the aftermath, where every perfect exit leaves somebody behind and the truth keeps moving long after the escape.
Marlowe Blake
The album closes on what outlasts the room: a chair that remembers how you leaned, a coat that still carries a shape. A last chorus sung by the whole cast — proof that nobody disappears entirely, because everybody leaves a sound.
Marlowe Blake
The album is still in production. New tracks are added to this page as soon as their artwork and lyrics are finalised.