It starts quiet—just a pulse in the dark—and before you know it, SAVARRE has you staring straight into the parts of yourself you usually avoid. Art of the Bleed isn’t here to comfort you. It’s here to shake loose the pieces that have overstayed their welcome.
Released in 2020, the track runs four and a half minutes but feels like a much longer reckoning packed into a small frame. It doesn’t go for a quick hit. Instead, it builds slowly, layering tension until you’re right there in the middle of it—somewhere between the storm and the calm that follows. The guitars lean heavy, the rhythm carries a deliberate weight, and then there’s Shannon Denise Evans’ voice—low and steady one moment, breaking wide open the next.
Evans, the mind behind SAVARRE™, has a background that stretches far past the studio. She’s a creator in many forms—author, playwright, composer, screenwriter, choreographer—and you can hear that sense of scope in how this song moves. It feels less like a single and more like a scene pulled from a bigger story. Every word lands with a kind of lived-in truth: “Feel the fire run through your blood, give the feast to the wolves you feed…” It’s not a line you sing to be clever; it’s a line you write because you’ve been there.
She’s spoken about how this song changed meaning for her over time. When she first wrote it, she thought it was about one thing. Later, she realized it had predicted her own process of breaking apart and rebuilding—losing what didn’t fit anymore, letting go of people and dreams that had shaped her but couldn’t carry her forward. That’s the bleed in the title: the pain that comes before becoming.
The production, handled with Dylan Glatthorn and Alex Venguer, leaves room for that story to come through. It doesn’t drown the voice. It doesn’t push for drama it hasn’t earned. There’s shadow and grit, but also moments where the air clears just enough for the melody to feel almost weightless. That push and pull keeps the song from sinking into the dark—it makes the darkness useful.
Art of the Bleed stands on its own and asks you to meet it where it is. That independence runs through their catalog—tracks like Scars and Awake carry the same DNA: a mix of heaviness and reflection, never fully polished down, always leaving room for a real moment.
Listen to “Art of the Bleed” here: https://open.spotify.com/track/7ekAP5khOaAgiRY9ZYHuGl
There’s also something to be said about the way Evans sings. She’s not performing distance—she’s right in it. There’s a rawness in her delivery that keeps the song human, even when the arrangement stretches toward something larger. It’s not about flawless takes or studio gloss. It’s about letting the edges show.
Art of the Bleed might not be the song you put on when the room is full. It’s the one you reach for when things are quiet and you’re sifting through what’s left. It doesn’t hand out answers. It doesn’t say the pain is worth it in a tidy way. It just holds that space where something has to end before anything real can begin.
And that’s why it sticks. Because whether or not you’re in that place now, you’ve probably been there—or you will be. This song doesn’t make the fall easier. It makes it honest.
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