Claux is an anonymous sound project existing somewhere between trip-hop, ambient pop, and cinematic electronica.

It began as a private studio experiment — fragments of voice, field recordings, and dusty drum loops stitched together as a kind of therapy. Over time, those sketches became a world: songs that hover between consciousness and sleep, emotion and detachment.

The music carries traces of 90s alternative, the ghost of Thom Yorke’s isolation, the warmth of analog tape, and the fractured beauty of forgotten mixtapes. But Claux isn’t about nostalgia for its own sake — it’s about how memory distorts, decays, and reshapes who we are.

The creator remains unnamed by choice. The anonymity isn’t a gimmick; it’s an act of preservation — allowing the project to exist without ego or context, a vessel for sound and imagery that can be interpreted freely.

Claux is not seeking fame, only resonance. Private previews are shared selectively, through a small network of listeners who value texture, emotion, and honesty above visibility.