Atmospheres, Vol. 2 (2003)

Atmospheres, Vol. 2 (2003) is a hush of light and air—glacial pads, haloed harmonics, and slow-blooming chords that invite your shoulders to drop and your breath to lengthen. This is cinematic ambient designed to live at any depth: as ignorable as it is interesting, a score that lets you read, write, pray, design—or simply be. It favors tone over tempo and space over speed, honoring the classic ambient ethos while carrying your filmmaker’s eye for drama and scale.

You’ll hear soft low-end cushions, long reverb tails, and barely-there melodies that feel more like memory than motif. For creators and ministers, these pieces serve beautifully as sermon bumpers, reflective moments, YouTube/Podcast underscores, and quiet study soundtracks. And for anyone who’s had a loud week: here’s a sonic room to recover your pace.

“Ambient music…must be able to accommodate many levels of listening attention…as ignorable as it is interesting.” —Brian Eno.​

Why this works: A growing body of research links gentle, slower music with reduced stress markers and faster autonomic recovery for many listeners (results vary by person and task). That’s one reason spacious instrumentals can feel like audible rest. 

Vibe in four words: spacious • luminous • contemplative • cinematic

Behind the Music — From the Artist

I built Atmospheres, Vol. 2 around a simple question: What if peace had a sound? I’d start with a single sustained chord—E major like sunrise, D major like rain-washed streets—then sculpt the air around it: a low pad for warmth, a faint harmonic for lift, a long tail to teach the ear to wait. If anything pulled you out of the moment, I softened it. If a melody spoke too loudly, I asked it to whisper.

Most of these pieces were written in the “between” hours—after filming, before meetings, when Memphis got quiet and the Spirit felt close. My rule was ruthless: if the music didn’t lower my shoulders, it didn’t make the record. Some nights I kept thirty seconds from five hours of work.

That’s ambient craft—restraint, patience, and the courage to leave space.

I also chased little “holy accidents”—a detuned overtone that suddenly felt like hope, a room noise that became a gentle drone. Those moments reminded me that grace often arrives as a subtle frequency you only hear when you stop forcing the mix. This volume, like the first, isn’t background to avoid your life; it’s background that helps you re-enter your life—present, patient, and ready.