Nikita Noebel records under the name Walilamdzi, a project rooted in Berlin but drawn to landscapes that stretch far beyond the city. The music sits in that space between instrumental songwriting and film score: guitar-driven, slow-burning, shaped as much by atmosphere as by melody. Noebel calls each set of songs a “chapter,” small arcs that hold together before he moves on, and Nothing Lasts Forever Anyway arrives as the second piece of his first chapter.
The track began as a lullaby but swelled into something heavier. His 1956 Gibson Les Paul with a Bigsby tremolo gives the tone a human shake, while Miro Rabier — a friend since seventh grade — adds charango and handled mixing and mastering. The charango is crucial, softening the guitar’s weight with a dry resonance that feels fragile. Together, they build something sparse but cinematic, like the sound of a desert scene before the plot turns.
Influences like Daniel Lanois, Gustavo Santaolalla, and Neil Young linger in the background. The song moves between intimacy and scale without forcing either, leaving room for the listener to sit with its tension.
Nothing Lasts Forever Anyway doesn’t ask for attention so much as offer space. It feels less like a single in the traditional sense and more like a fragment of a larger story, a film waiting for images. As Walilamdzi continues to release these chapters, the project is positioning itself toward sync: a natural fit for quiet, wide-open cinema, streaming dramas, or meditative documentaries where the setting carries as much weight as the dialogue.
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