The door is open.
Scarlet Amber
coming soon...
In a place where the light slants low through worn glasses, where the air hums with stories too fragile for daylight, Scarlet Amber lives in-between. Where melodies curl like smoke from a forgotten dream, and every chord carries the weight of a humble confession mumbled at last call.
This is music carved from raw honey and highway dust, a sound that lingers like the phantom of a half-remembered tale. It’s the ache of a porch swing at midnight, the spark of a match catching in the dark. Not quite country, not quite pop, but something that slips through the cracks—unpolished, unhurried, and alive.
Come closer. Listen. These are unwashed barroom fairytales—and they’re just beginning.
The two of us—Cecilie on vocals and Thomas on guitars—are writing the first chapters of this story. The door is open.
Somewhere between midnight and morning, a conversation began. Not with words, but with melodies humming themselves into existence while coffee cooled and streetlights flickered outside the window. This is how it began: a collaboration of two, a shared silence. A guitar case propped open like an invitation. A notebook filled with a hundred and fifteen songs, a decade of crossed-out lines that finally got it right.
These songs carry the scent of rain on hot pavement, the electric charge before a summer storm. You can hear it in the way the acoustic strings bite back when played too hard, how a vocal line can be both a whispered confession and a siren’s call. The raw, unshaped truth of chords has found its voice.
There are footsteps on the stage now. Microphones are catching the full force of a vocal take. The songs themselves are no longer pacing empty rooms, barefoot and unfinished. The core of our sound is here, waiting.
These songs are lit matches tossed into the wind. Some will burn out. Others might catch fire in ways we can’t yet imagine. But first, they need air. They need ears. They need you to tell us which ones burn true.
is here.
The music exists now—raw, restless, alive in its solitude. But this is only the first whisper of what it might become.
The two of us—a woman with a voice that can cut through stone and a man with a guitar to tell the rest of the story—have found each other in the quiet before the storm. It’s Cecilie and Thomas now, the start of something that feels both inevitable and entirely unknown. We’ve come together to take these melodies, born in solitude, and give them a new life.
A drummer’s hands, somewhere out there, already keeping time to rhythms they don’t know they’ll play. A bassist’s fingers, absentmindedly tracing a groove that will one day anchor these songs without realizing they’re rehearsing for us already. The vision is for more, but for now, the conversation is between a single voice and six strings. This is where it all begins.
This is the fragile, thrilling part—where every decision ripples outward. Rehearsal rooms will smell of sweat and old carpet until the melodies feel like second nature. There will be nights when it all clicks into place, and others when we’ll wonder if we’ve been chasing smoke.
The recordings will evolve—shedding skins, growing sharper teeth. What’s tentative now will find its swagger. What’s polished might get roughed up again on purpose. We’ll argue about reverb and laugh at how seriously we take these three-minute worlds we’re building.
And the audience—that’s the greatest unknown of all. The strangers who’ll mouth these lyrics back to us like secrets they’ve always known. The ones who’ll lean against the bar, nodding like they’ve been waiting for someone to say it exactly this way. The quiet listener alone in their kitchen, letting the song fill up the room while dinner burns.
It’s all out there waiting—the missteps and magic, the van breakdowns and van triumphs, the unexpected turns that’ll make us look back and realize this was always the path. The music’s ready. The rest is about to begin.
Tell us which songs follow you home. Which ones itch under your skin. The journey starts with what you hear in them now.
is here.