Vowelbloom by Stammelody

*Vowelbloom* started with a single thought: what if hesitation wasn't a flaw, but a way in? We wanted to build a place where lost vowels, those words that catch in your throat, could find their own forest, their own voice. It became a trembling folk-tale, really, from the first shy morning light to the hard-won sound of dusk. We imagined the old myth of Echo, cursed to only repeat, but here, every stutter blooms into something confident, something that soars.

You'll hear our string quartet, of course, but it's often close enough you can almost feel the horsehair on the bow, thanks to Aras wiring contact mics right to the instruments. And those dismantled answering machines? They feed into granular tape units, making every fingertip slip or scratch a fragile halo that just lingers. Leona, she’s brought her medical-grade tuning forks, their pure tones threading through like distant bells, and those ‘stammel-phrasis’ moments – her own faltered consonants morphed into bowed glissandi – they’re in there, a pulse. There’s a quiet piano, some brushed percussion that feels like breath, and then the post-rock swells, giving you something to hum, something to pull you along. And that F-sharp drone. It’s always there, a steady hum that finds its way into your temples.

About halfway through, "Echo Finds Her Name" hits. It’s this wordless, three-note chant, almost like a primal hum, over a surge of chords. It just builds and builds, right where you feel it most, designed to stick with you. It’s the heart of everything we were trying to do: taking that vulnerable feeling, the one that makes your chest tight, and turning it into something powerful. We’re hoping it resonates, that people feel it enough to make it their own, turning anxieties into a shared moment. We wanted to see if hesitation could actually drive rhythm, not just hinder it. It’s a quiet attempt to reframe what 'disability' means in a classical setting, folding in folklore and making it all just… accessible. Something you feel in your ribs, long after the last note fades.

We breathe life into every hesitant pause. Strings and tape weave raw moments, a hum you feel.