Oxygen Coach by Lullibus

"Oxygen Coach" started as a simple hum on a late-night bus, just us trying to make sense of those bleary shifts and the quiet hum of everything. You know the feeling—that deep ache in your bones, the smell of ethanol and lavender, the world seen through a haze. This whole album is just our way of documenting that feeling, taking those weary moments and turning them into something you can hold onto. We never set out to reinvent anything, just to get it all out.

From the very first track, "Late-Shift Sway," you’re on that coach with us. We layered those slowed-down neonatal monitor beeps because, well, that's the sound of life, isn't it? Faint and constant. And the apologies? We just couldn't shake them. That's how love felt sometimes on those shifts: something you squeezed in, then felt bad about. We let the bass throb, a steady pulse under everything, like a quiet comfort.

Then the bus started changing. On "Spirit Clock-In," it felt like everyone around us was asking the same question, a shared query passed down the aisle: "Where does the spirit clock-in?" We even stitched in some chants we heard out on the depot platforms, because it stopped being just about us. It started being about everyone carrying that load. It’s got that restless organ nudging you, pushing you from doubting yourself to feeling like you're part of something much bigger.

You’ll hear us whispering on "Lavender Sorry," almost too tired to speak, over a bass that just lulls like a hospital cradle. The raw chest vibrations we caught with stethoscopes? That’s just how it felt, deep down inside. And the rusted tram rails and spring-tank chimes, those are the everyday sounds of trying to keep it together.

"Saline Waltz" is when things really started moving, literally. We imagined drip stands rattling along the aisle, the whole bus swaying in a slow, tired rhythm, almost a protest in its own way. It's about finding a kind of grace in the mundane, in the shared experience of just getting by. That revolving muted brass, it just keeps circling back, pulling you along.

By "Monitor Communion," everything sort of clicks into place. Those blinking monitor digits, the communal breath, that returning question, "Where does the spirit clock-in?" — it just felt like a sacred moment. We stripped it all back to just one isolated beep, just to force that collective inhale, that moment of suspended animation before it all bursts back. It’s intense, that mix of ache and raw gratitude.

Then there’s "Oxygen Hymn." That’s the peak, the gasp for air. We cut the sound completely for a full bar because sometimes, you just need to breathe, to really fill your lungs before you can explode into something new. The horns on that track just felt right, like a collective sigh of relief, a moment of triumph over everything that grinds you down. We wanted it to feel like a rebirth, something that sticks with you long after it’s gone.

After that, "Brass of Relief" lets you settle back in. The horns are back, but softer, gentler. It's the recovery, the decompression. We needed that space to breathe, to let the tenderness seep back in after everything.

"Sleeves Unbuttoned" is a quiet moment, a promise. We're showing the bruise rings where the watch used to be, singing about not carrying the ward alone anymore. It’s just us, trading lines, a quiet understanding growing.

And finally, "Clock-Out Promise." The morning light starts filtering in through the open windows. Those slowed beeps from the very start, they’re back, but they sound different now, a little brighter, a little more resolved. It’s about the shift ending, yes, but also about that feeling of shared humanity, that quiet gratitude. We wanted to leave listeners with that sense of shoulders dropping, that collective clock-out, together.

This whole process felt like we were building a moving chapel, a place for all the frazzled souls out there. We just tried to capture what it feels like to find beauty and connection in the grind, to turn the mundane into something quietly profound. We hope it feels like a cotton blanket for your ears, a soundtrack for those moments when you need collective care the most. It’s just honest, that’s all.

Our bass cradles. Voices soothe. Lovers rock & dub that feels like a warm blanket when you need it most.