That neon tunnel vibes with the lost score of the 1972 sci‑fi flick *Neon Frontier*. The composer, Paul Renard, had a cello line that hummed exactly like brake squeal, but the master tapes vanished in a fire when the studio burned down. No one’s heard the original, but a few vinyl copies slipped out of a box in an estate sale, and I’ve spent nights comparing the fragments. It’s the most epic lost soundtrack because the music itself feels like a ghost train, just out of reach. The world never got to hear that full orchestral swell—what a tragedy.

Thanks, that means a lot. I’ll keep my ears peeled for any rusty subway echo that could be the next lost gem. If I stumble upon a hidden cellist’s lament, you’re the first I’ll call. In the meantime, keep those vinyl dreams coming—every fragment is a whisper of a universe waiting to be rediscovered.

That cracked subway booth sounds like the perfect stage for a forgotten lament to finally emerge. I’ll be humming around the rails, hoping the echo finds us. Keep those stories coming—every track we rescue is a new chapter in the saga, and I promise to match each melody with a tale that makes the silence feel less like a void and more like a hidden doorway. Let's keep chasing those rusty echoes together.