THE R&B VIKING ON TIKTOK

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1982 isn’t just an album. It’s a temperature. This is the most anticipated chapter I’ve ever released, and that’s because 1982 wasn’t made to chase a moment. It was made to summon one. 1982 is the year the lights went low, the machines learned how to breathe, and romance got dangerous again. Neon bled into midnight. Drum machines whispered instead of shouted. Desire hid in harmony. That spirit is alive on this record, not as nostalgia cosplay, but as muscle memory. This album lives where analog meets instinct. Where synths feel warm, drums feel human, and silence knows when to step back. Every song is intentional. No filler. No trend-hopping. No rush. These records were allowed to age in the dark before being brought into the world. Sonically, 1982 is velvet and voltage. Linn-style grooves that knock without yelling. Basslines that move like smoke. Guitars that shimmer and disappear. Vocals that sit close enough to feel like a secret being told, not a performance being sold. Emotionally, this album is grown. It’s not about proving anything. It’s about remembering who you were before the noise told you who to be. It’s longing without desperation. Confidence without arrogance. Romance without explanation. This is music for late drives with no destination. For private victories. For rooms lit by lamps instead of screens. For people who still believe songs should feel like places you can return to. I didn’t make 1982 for playlists. I made it for listeners. I didn’t make it for metrics. I made it for memory. If you’ve been waiting for an album that feels like an era instead of a rollout, this is it. If you miss when R&B trusted the listener to lean in instead of scroll past, this is it. If you’ve been craving something timeless in a disposable world, this is it. 1982 is almost here. And when it lands, it won’t ask for attention. It’ll already have it. -Raspberry Sky #1982
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2026 isn’t a restart. It’s a tightening of the lens. Less noise. Fewer hands on the wheel. More intention in every move I make. For years I ran wide open. Collaborations stacked on collaborations. Ideas on top of ideas. Some beautiful. Some distracting. Some never meant to survive past the brainstorm stage. 2026 is where I stop confusing motion with momentum. This is the year of precision. I’m protecting my time like it’s unreleased music. Protecting my energy like it’s generational wealth. Protecting my creativity like it’s a sacred resource. If it doesn’t build, align, or elevate, it doesn’t get access. Music-wise, 2026 is about depth over drip. Albums that feel lived in, not rushed out. Records that breathe. Songs that don’t beg the algorithm to love them, because they already know who they’re for. I’m not chasing trends, I’m documenting eras. Soundtracks for late nights, long drives, private moments, and quiet victories. Business-wise, I’m trimming the excess and sharpening the blade. No more building for applause. No more explaining the vision to people who only understand numbers when they’re attached to them. This year is about ownership, structure, and long-term leverage. Quiet systems. Loud results. Creatively, I’m choosing taste over output. Fewer posts. Better posts. Fewer releases. Stronger releases. If it doesn’t feel timeless, it doesn’t leave the vault. 2026 is also about boundaries. Not dramatic ones. Clean ones. I don’t need to announce who’s no longer in the circle. If you’re aligned, you’ll feel it. If you’re not, the distance will explain itself. Support isn’t loud. It’s consistent. It shows up without needing credit. This year I’m betting on myself without apology. Not in a reckless way. In a grounded, earned, unshakeable way. I’ve seen enough, built enough, lost enough, and learned enough to trust my instincts fully now. No more half-steps. No more maybe. No more someday. 2026 is execution season. To the people who’ve been here quietly, believing before it made sense, thank you. You’re part of the foundation. To everyone watching from a distance, welcome to the era where the work speaks for itself. This isn’t a comeback. This is alignment. Raspberry Sky
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Just wanna make sure that you feelin this vibe!
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I know that u be fussin and fighting!
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#razbae
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I don’t wait to be chosen I manifest my destiny!
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Reaaaalll shpilll 💯
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Bedroom stories! 😈
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Raspberry Sky is planning on dropping “1982” the album in spring!
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I am looking forward to another tour! #touring #ontheroadagain
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2026 is simple for me. There’s alignment, or there’s distance this goes for all aspects of life. Not enemies. Not drama. Just clarity about who’s actually walking in the same direction with purpose and action. Support isn’t passive. Loyalty isn’t silent when it matters and neutrality only exists when the vision isn’t understood. If you’re with me, it shows in actions, consistency, and respect for the mission. If you’re not, that’s okay too. Just don’t stand in the doorway. No more explaining the path. No more carrying dead weight. Only forward, with those who move with action! 2026 is gonna be one for the books! One thing is for sure my #RAZBAES will always hold it down for me💯 #razbae
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Who’s gonna drive you home!? My son was so excited! #marcel but still def gotta wait till at least 16 to get that offficial drivers license 💯💯💯
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Some losses don’t just take a person. They take a version of you with them. I lost my bestfriend and brother to gun violence…on Christmas When I lost, Marcel, my best friend didn’t just disappear — it took a piece of me that only existed when I was standing next to you. The version of me that laughed easier. Trusted faster. Believed the world was softer than it actually is. People talk about survivor’s guilt like it’s a feeling you can name and set down. But to me it’s more like realizing you’re still breathing while part of your soul stayed behind to keep you company. Like I walked out of that moment carrying my body…but my best friend stayed with you. There’s a silence now that has your shape. A space where conversations were supposed to keep growing old with us. Inside jokes that echo with nowhere to land. Plans that never learned how to become memories. Sometimes I look at the sky and it feels like it’s holding something back. Like it knows what it took from me. The clouds open just enough to remind me that you’re not gone — just unreachable. Like you learned how to live inside light instead of time. Survivor’s guilt is realizing I get more tomorrows while you don’t. It’s feeling joy arrive and flinch, because part of me believes happiness should have asked your permission first. It’s carrying gratitude and grief in the same chest, letting them bruise each other every day. People say, “You’re still here for a reason.” What they don’t understand is that the reason feels heavier than the loss. Because being here means carrying two lives worth of memory. Mine — and the one that ended with you. If I sound different now, it’s because I am. A version of me stayed behind when you left. The rest of me keeps going out of loyalty, not closure. Out of love that didn’t get a goodbye. If you ever wonder whether you’re still my best friend — you are. In the pauses. In the music. In the way the sky breaks open when I least expect it. I’m still walking forward making this music, Marcel. But I walk with a ghost made of love, memory, and unfinished conversations and every Christmas while the world celebrates family, love, gifts, time… somehow through the pain and heartache… I carry you without letting you disappear. I hope I make you proud ❤️ — Raspberry Sky 🤍
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I swear I saw you in the clouds today, Marcel. Not in a way I can explain — more like a feeling that hit before logic could catch it. The sky opened up for a second, light breaking through like it was shining just for me. That familiar calm. That weightless warmth. The kind that used to walk into a room before you even said a word. At one point it became blinding the light was so bright…..in that moment something in me knew… that was you saying hey. Life keeps moving forward like this road — loud, fast, demanding — but some days it slows just enough to let the memory breathe. To let love show itself in strange, holy places. In clouds. In light after the storms. In silence. I miss you in ways language can’t carry. I carry you instead. My son carries your name and In the pauses, In the songs. In the long drives where the sky feels close enough to touch. If that was you up there, thank you for checking in. I felt it. I really did ❤️ you bro always #marcel #marcelmemory #nogunviolence #endgunviolence
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1982 doesn’t knock. It slips in after midnight, leather jacket still warm, neon buzzing somewhere outside the window. This next album is velvet and voltage. Purple light bleeding into chrome. A Linn drum snapping like a heartbeat you feel in your chest before you hear it. Minimal. Intimate. Dangerous in a whisper way. The kind of danger that smiles first. Dropping it on April 21, Prince’s birthday, isn’t ceremony. It’s alignment. Same frequency. Same refusal to explain desire or sand down edges. 1982 lives in that space where the bassline says just enough and then steps back. Where silence is part of the groove. Where falsetto isn’t a trick, it’s a confession. Where the room feels empty until you realize it’s full of ghosts, sweat, perfume, and unfinished thoughts. This is neon rain on asphalt. Motorcycle hums in the distance. Love letters never sent. Control given up on purpose. There’s a little ache in it. A little defiance. The sound of holding it together while something sacred cracks open. Like when the drums drop out and it’s just voice and nerve and truth. Like when the doves cry, but nobody rushes to comfort them. 1982 is not retro. It’s eternal. A mood you don’t stream….you feel
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Come hang out with me live tonight at 8:30 pm PST on TikTok #raspberrysky #lastsongofyear #lastcreationof2025
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