Darren Anders

Darren Anders has spent more than half his life surrounded by noise. Thrusters, compressors, the laser biting into rock. Owner of his Argo MOLE, The Iron Gospel, he roams the asteroid fields of Stanton and the outer reaches of Pyro, carving into the void to feed a system that quickly forgets those who keep it standing.

Originally from microTech, Darren has never truly stepped away from work. His life follows the cycles of mining and refining. He almost always refines at MIC L5, then sells his cargo in the city. He has a particular fondness for Area18. The constant roar of ArcCorp, engines, announcements, hurried crowds. That continuous background noise reminds him of ships. Complete silence unsettles him. Noise reassures him.

Darren never plays for an audience. The guitar is not a profession, nor even a project. It is a pastime, something he does while waiting for a refinery job to finish, or after selling the result of several weeks of work. Sitting apart, against a wall or in a back alley, he rests Dustline on his knees and lets a few simple chords emerge. A steady, worn voice that seeks nothing more than to remain honest.

It was in Area18 that Nok heard him for the first time. Nok was leaving Astro Armada, still searching for a ship that could become a mobile studio. Turning into a narrow alley, a melody stopped him. He followed the sound, found Darren, and waited until the song ended before applauding. Then, almost without thinking, he spoke to him about a music project in preparation.

Darren promised nothing, but the faint outline of a smile on his face said more than he was willing to show.

Months passed without news. Darren returned to his cycles, to familiar routes, to sales in Area18 and refining runs at MIC L5. Then a message arrived, simple, without flourish.

It runs from October 13 to 19. Still in?

Darren hesitated. For a long time. Then he thought of his daughter, enlisted in the UEE Navy. They speak rarely. Words are scarce, opportunities to see her even more so. Maybe this track, this trace left somewhere, would eventually reach her. Not a song to impress, just a piece of himself.

Frontier Blues was born in the simplest way possible, from his daily life. A tired guitar, a voice that speaks of work, solitude, and the quiet courage it takes to keep going. A track without artifice, like something written down before it disappears.

Within SubOrbital Records, Darren has become a silent but essential presence. He passes things on without speeches. He helps without noise. He plays slowly, because time itself has never stopped moving.

Darren keeps digging. Selling. Playing, sometimes. Not to be heard, but because some things deserve to exist, even if no one applauds.