Liquid Bloom's "Eternal Horizons" arrives as a remix—Benjamin Last's Temple Step Project reframing an existing work through new production ears. The album is called Poranguí. The credits list four distinct collaborators: Poranguí Carvalho McGrew, Amani Gypsy Friend, Darpan, and Last himself as producer. It's released under Sol Creation Records' stewardship via ONErpm distribution. Since April 26, 2024, the track has accumulated over 148,000 streams on YouTube, a modest but persistent audience in an era of algorithmic scattering and fractured attention.
What makes this release worth attention is not what's explained—there is no artist statement, no creator interview, no narrative scaffolding around the work—but what remains unsaid. In contemporary music culture, especially within conscious and spiritually-oriented scenes, the artist's biography has become inseparable from the art itself. Where they trained, what moved them, which lineages shape their work—these details are considered essential context for understanding the music. "Eternal Horizons" arrives differently. It trusts the listener to encounter it without mediation, to derive meaning from the title and sound alone. In an age of narrative oversaturation, that restraint is increasingly rare and increasingly valuable.
What the Title Opens
The title itself carries weight. Eternal Horizons inhabits the language of infinity—the perpetual sight line, the spiritual edge of human perception, the notion that horizons themselves may be eternal. This vocabulary appears across contemplative traditions and conscious music circles: the idea that there is always another horizon to see, that seeing itself is a form of spiritual practice, that the expansion never stops. To call a piece "Eternal Horizons" is to position it immediately in a particular aesthetic territory, one concerned with transcendence, sight, expansion, and the meeting of the finite and infinite.
For listeners familiar with the vocabulary of consciousness-oriented music—those who move in circles where album titles reference chakras, cosmic states, or liberation—the title reads as a promise. It says: what you're about to hear is calibrated toward expansion. It's not claiming to deliver that state, but rather to gesture toward it, to create sonic conditions where such expansion becomes possible.
Reading the Production Credits
Understanding what shaped this release requires reading the production credits closely, because they tell a story about how spiritual and electronic music gets made in contemporary practice. Benjamin Last works under the Temple Step Project banner—a name that carries its own symbolic weight. "Temple" invokes sacred geometry, stillness, the spaces where spiritual practice happens. "Step" invokes movement, progress, the forward momentum of practice itself. Together, they suggest a production philosophy: taking existing material and repositioning it within an intentional spiritual context.
A remix under the Temple Step Project name is not mere technical reworking; it's reframing within a coherent aesthetic vision. When Last remixes "Eternal Horizons," he's making choices about which elements to amplify, which to soften, how to contextualize the original work within new sonic and temporal architecture. The song remains itself, but the landscape in which that song exists shifts entirely. The listener's relationship to the material changes.
The collaborators credited alongside Last—Poranguí Carvalho McGrew, Amani Gypsy Friend, Darpan—carry names that signal a global, multi-tradition approach to spiritually-oriented music. These are not the surnames one encounters in mainstream Anglo-American pop production. They point toward lineages that value world music, devotional aesthetics, and what might be called "borderless" spirituality—drawing from African, Asian, and diasporic traditions without claiming ownership of any single one. That spectrum of naming suggests a conscious approach to cross-cultural music-making, one aware of appropriation's pitfalls and attempting to honor sources while creating something genuinely new and collaborative.
The Significance of Quiet Release
The 148,000 listeners who have found this track since its April 2024 release are worth considering closely. In an attention economy where discovery is algorithmic and fragmentary, where most releases arrive accompanied by press coverage, social media strategy, and artist positioning, reaching this many listeners without conventional marketing apparatus is noteworthy. People are seeking it. The algorithm surfaces it consistently. The title and the sound alone are doing the work that press usually does.
This suggests the work landed in communities already attuned to its aesthetic—people searching for spiritual electronic music, contemplative production, borderless world music, dharmic sounds. It found its audience through resonance, not promotion. That's increasingly rare for any release, and particularly noteworthy for one that arrives with no artist statement, no origin story, no narrative to guide interpretation.
Sol Creation Records and Intentional Curation
Sol Creation Records, the label stewarding this release, appears to embrace a specific philosophy about what it supports and why. The name itself—Sol, the sun, the center, the fundamental principle—suggests intentional curation. Not every song secures placement there. That "Eternal Horizons" is held within Sol Creation's catalog implies it met a threshold of quality, alignment, and artistic vision. The label's stewardship is a form of endorsement that operates without needing explicit explanation. In this sense, Sol Creation stands as a co-author of the release's meaning: we know the track matters because this particular steward chose to bring it into the world.
Remix as Spiritual Form
The remix, as an artistic form, deserves serious consideration in spiritual music contexts. In casual discourse, "remix" can connote superficiality—a quick reworking, a trend-chasing repackaging. But serious remix work is reframing in the deepest sense. When Benjamin Last, through Temple Step Project, takes "Eternal Horizons" and remakes it, he's engaging in the same act that remixers have always performed: repositioning existing material, allowing different elements to emerge, contextualizing it within new sonic and temporal architecture.
Think of it as analogous to how a spiritual teacher might reframe an ancient teaching for a contemporary audience. The teaching itself—its essence, its DNA—remains intact. But the landscape in which that teaching exists shifts entirely. The student's relationship to the material changes because the context has changed. That's what a respectful remix does. It honors the original while creating something that couldn't exist without both the original and the remix artist's intervention.
The Power of Unmediated Encounter
For someone encountering this track without prior knowledge, without artist biography or creative statement to guide interpretation, the experience remains wholly available. Press play. The title invokes expansion, horizons, infinitude. The production architecture—the choices Benjamin Last made in orchestrating sound, space, and time—either confirms that invitation or complicates it in interesting ways. The credits reveal global collaboration. Whether one knows who Darpan is, whether one recognizes Amani Gypsy Friend's sensibility in the work, becomes secondary to what the track communicates directly through sound: here is a vision of horizons, offered through electronic music, crafted by hands that understand spiritual aesthetics from the ground up.
This approach—allowing the work to speak without mediation—creates a different kind of listener. Rather than arriving with interpretation pre-installed, the listener must be active in deriving meaning. They must sit with the music, let it work on them, develop their own relationship to what "eternal horizons" means in the context of their own life and practice. That demands more of an audience, but it also respects them more fully. It assumes they're capable of meeting art without guidance, of finding resonance without explanation.
Authenticity in Lineage
That authenticity of lineage matters enormously in music that positions itself as spiritually-oriented or consciousness-advancing. In traditions built on guru-disciple chains, regional specificity, or deep engagement with particular contemplative practices, the source and credibility of the creator shapes how the work lands with listeners. The fact that the credited artists are not the usual suspects from mainstream music industries suggests these makers come from elsewhere, answer to different references, operate from different assumptions about what music can do and what it's for.
There is no cultural appropriation here, no outside dabbling in spiritual aesthetics. These are the names and credits of people who appear to live within the worlds they're creating music from. That matters. It's one reason the work found an audience of 148,000 without needing press to explain its credibility—listeners could sense that credibility in the names themselves, in the production choices, in the choice of label.
Where to go from here
"Eternal Horizons (Temple Step Project Remix)" is available through ONErpm and Sol Creation Records across all major streaming platforms. Those interested in exploring further can investigate the album Poranguí, where this track sits within a larger artistic vision. The collaborators' names—Liquid Bloom, Benjamin Last, Temple Step Project, Poranguí Carvalho McGrew, Amani Gypsy Friend, and Darpan—remain available for research, for tracing the lineages and communities from which they emerge, for understanding where this particular vision of "Eternal Horizons" originated.
The work itself remains the final word: a title that opens, a sound that unfolds, a horizon that extends, perhaps, eternally. In an era of narrative oversaturation, of artist biopics and origin stories, of music packaged with its own pre-digested interpretation, this restraint—this trust in the listener to meet the work without mediation—becomes something of an act of grace. It allows the music to be what it is without explanation. It asks the listener to be active, not passive, in deriving meaning. That stance is increasingly rare in contemporary music culture. It's worth honoring by listening, and listening again.
