You know, for us, *Gearborn Lullaby* isn't just an album; it’s like winding up that old music box in grandma’s attic again, but this time, it’s got gears and steam pulsing through its heart. We started this whole Flickfingers thing with those dusty old melodies, remember? Finding her old violin case filled with those handwritten tunes, our fingers just had to move fast across the strings, weaving together old-world romance with modern spontaneity. This record is taking that feeling and stretching it across time itself.

This whole album, it's a story, a time-bending gypsy-jazz-steampunk song-cycle. It kicks off right there in the attic with "Attic Sparks," where you can almost smell the rosin and feel the chill of a forgotten kiss on a violin. From there, we tumble into this brass-geared metropolis, a place where clocks don't just tell time, they remember lost love notes hidden in old instrument cases. You'll hear it in the "Gearwaltz," that uneasy dance through the city's machinery, where every shift in tempo feels like a step closer or further apart for these two estranged souls we're following. We built these songs to morph, you know? A hurdy-gurdy drone suddenly locks into a sizzling Django run, or a café-ready hook slams into something subterranean. It’s about how intimacy gets rusty, then resets, and how communal courage can be found in the rhythm of it all.

Then there's "Clockwise Fable," a hushed, resilient moment in a copper library, where minute-hands guide breathing, searching for a shared rhythm. And then, "Mercury Nerves" – that's when things really bolt. We wanted to capture that moment when you just have to break free, when you realize love isn't just a feeling, it’s a force that can actually tilt cogs in the world. It’s got that fiery bite, that determination. It all culminates with "Second-Hand Tremors," which became this rallying cry, you know, "Turn the gears, turn the fear, spin me brave, my dear." We wanted that one to just explode, to be the kind of thing you can't help but shout along to, to feel that communal bravery, a total jig through trembling memories. It just feels like us, spinning something new from what’s old.

We pushed a little on this one, stretching what we thought gypsy jazz and steampunk folk could even do. Like, in "Brass Lattice," it’s this tricky maze of sound, threads that could snap if the timbres don't hold together – it’s all about mutual support. And then "Tick-Frozen Blaze" – that's the big one, where all the clocks stop mid-chime. A flaming string quartet facing down a roaring swing band, pinning those two lovers at the fulcrum of union or fracture. It’s silence before the explosion. It was about pushing past that hesitation, finding courage, full-bodied commitment. It's the kind of soundscape that leaves you tear-streaked but electrified, because it's a fight won not just by them, but by everyone singing along. It feels like the air changes after that one.

Finally, we let the dust settle with "Soldered Silence," a quiet hum, mending broken parts, finding gratitude in the aftermath. And then, "Sparks Rewound," taking us right back to the attic, full circle, the violin case closing with fresh initials, the gear motif clicking softly under a final vow. It’s a loop, but it’s not the same loop. It’s about how memories cycle, how courage gets passed down, how connections get re-forged across eras and cultures. We weren't just writing songs; we were trying to figure out how intimacy rusts, how it’s renewed, and what powers that kind of communal spirit. We think it’s pretty important, maybe even for folks who aren't usually into our kind of racket. It feels like we finally soldered some things together, made something that sticks.