Never Under by Quillkeys

We started this whole thing locked away in that old converted weather station, not really planning for any grand statement. It was more about seeing what would happen if we just let the constant shifts in barometric pressure guide our synthesizers, letting the planet itself breathe through the circuits. And what slowly came out was 'Never Under.' For us, it’s not just a title; it’s a commitment, a quiet vow to keep breathing when everything feels heavy.

You’ll hear it in the patient, unfolding tones—gentle pulses and warm synth choirs that feel less like music and more like a space you can step into. We worked hard to make something inviting, without harsh edges, where you can simply exist within the sound. It’s an album that tells a story, almost like a diary written in air pressure. From the very beginning, in what we came to call the Weather Chapel, where every barometric contour felt like a promise refusing to be erased, through those unavoidable moments of doubt, and finally towards a luminous acceptance without ever giving up the will to stand.

The emotional weight here isn't about shouting; it's about resonance. You can feel it in the way the air gathers courage, how lines of pressure are sung like psalms, or the slow ache of a compass-choir guiding those who feel lost. There's a particular anchor in the album, a clear message you’ll recognize in the chorus: “I won’t go under—I breathe with the mountain, I rise with the tide.” That line holds a lot of what we were trying to say about what it means to keep going, softly but surely.

We even managed something we haven’t quite heard before: a swelling passage that feels like a storm building, truly immense, but instead of breaking, it just opens into this vast, luminous quiet. It became a powerful moment, showing how resistance can transform into pure, devoted presence. This whole journey through the Weather Chapel, with its prayer-like isobars and pressure-bells that ring like soft horizons, became a way for us to explore spirituality and existence in a very personal, grounded way. We hope it settles deep, offering a sense of quiet monumentality, something that might reveal new layers with each listen and resonate long after the last note fades.

Three musicians lock themselves in a converted weather station, letting barometric pressure control their synthesizers. What emerges are patient, breathing tones that unfold over half-hour spans—music born from the planet's own respiratory system.