Brick

Brick was fifteen when his father was killed during a Vanduul attack on the mining outpost where he worked.

What remained were ordinary traces: messages, work transmissions, jokes, and small pieces of a life that had never expected to become memories.

Writing became the place where Brick could say things he rarely said directly.

On stage, he is never louder than necessary. He is not aggressive or theatrical. He simply seems to know exactly how much space a line needs.

That restraint follows him away from the microphone. Brick has little interest in interviews or promotion, preferring to let the songs speak for themselves.

He first heard about SubOrbital Records through The People’s Radio. He contacted the station, sent over a few recordings and texts, and eventually they reached Nok Varen.

Transmission grew from the things his father had taught him without ever calling them lessons.

Already Free turns that same attention toward Levski — not as a symbol of rebellion, but simply as home.

Brick does not write manifestos.

He writes about people who keep things standing.