"Exodus"

Travel has always been my favorite form of time travel. A plane ticket, a playlist, a story — any one of them can transport you. And as someone who has always loved music from all corners of the world, I’ve found that sometimes the most powerful journeys don’t require a passport at all.

Recently, I was transported somewhere entirely new through a single song.

I’m excited to share a brand new release from Magus (pronounced may-jus). Their latest single, “Exodus,” arrives February 20th via Language of Stone, and from the very first listen, it felt like stepping into another world.

Magus is the new project from Greg Weeks, co-founder of Espers, who recently released his solo LP, If The Sun Dies. With Magus, Weeks shifts into a darker, more cinematic landscape — one that feels both ancient and eerily present.

Conceptually, “Exodus” draws from folk-horror and literary influences like The Second Coming and Ozymandias, weaving poetry into sound. But what truly carried me away was its atmosphere. The track hums with the psychedelic textures of 70s rock, echoing the expansive, hypnotic qualities of Pink Floyd and the shadowed weight of Black Sabbath. It feels dusty and cosmic at the same time — like wandering through a desert at twilight under a sky that doesn’t quite belong to this era.

Lyrically, the song critiques modern-day politics, but it never feels heavy-handed. Instead, it unfolds like a story told around a fire — symbolic, layered, and haunting. It’s the kind of music that makes you close your eyes and forget where you are. For me, it was an immediate departure from the everyday.

Magus consists primarily of Greg Weeks and Jessica Weeks and hails from Philadelphia, though their sound feels border less. The single comes from their forthcoming debut LP, Music For Mandrax, mixed and mastered at Miner Street Recordings — and if “Exodus” is any indication, the full album promises an immersive, almost ritualistic listening experience.

This is what I love most about music and travel — the way they blur together. A melody becomes a landscape. A lyric becomes a doorway. A song becomes a journey.

“Exodus” didn’t just play in my headphones. It carried me somewhere. And that, to me, is the magic of loving travel in all its forms — sometimes you don’t have to leave home to feel worlds away.