Martini at Midnight by Ella Scarlet — A Moonlit Toast to Modern Romantic Jazz

An Invitation to the Velvet Hour

There’s a moment in the night when the city hushes into a tender murmur, when glasses clink softly behind the bar and the room seems to breathe in time with the brushed snare. Ella Scarlet names that moment and lets it bloom: “Martini at Midnight.” From its first warm sip to the final lingering aftertaste, this track doesn’t simply inhabit the tradition of romantic jazz—it refines it, distilling a century of soft swing, torch-song yearning, and intimate recording craft into a single, elegant nocturne. It’s late-evening piano and soft ride cymbal. It’s a double-bass ballad that knows the difference between quiet and silence. It’s a velvet voice shaped for candlelight jazz and small-room confession, recorded with the kind of analog warmth and spacious mix that audiophiles chase for years.

To praise Ella Scarlet’s performance is to talk not only about sound, but about touch. Her phrasing leans just behind the beat, in that space where breath turns into feeling and feeling turns into story. The song’s title is more than a mood board; it’s a whole scene. You can sense the city lights glinting off the rim of a glass, see the nighttime skyline smudged through a rainy window, feel the soft groove and gentle swing at sixty or seventy beats per minute gently persuade your shoulders to sway. “Martini at Midnight” threads the cool jazz vibes of a smoky club with the refined ease of modern standards style, and it does so without fuss or overstatement. This is contemporary vocal jazz done with restraint, poise, and a decidedly romantic slow jazz pulse.

Ella Scarlet’s Quiet Brilliance

Ella Scarlet’s gift, heard across her growing body of work, is her ability to be both classic and current. She’s an indie jazz vocalist who understands the power of the whisper vocals, the allure of close-mic vocals that feel like a confidante’s aside. She carries the velvet voice of a sultry chanteuse, yet she frames it with a modern production ethos—clean, hi-fi jazz that remains organic, natural, and unhurried. Where many singers chase volume, Ella cultivates atmosphere. Where others telegraph emotion, she lets it bloom in your chest. She evokes the lineage of the jazz chanteuse and the modern torch songs tradition without ever sounding like anyone but herself.

What sets her apart is the way she inhabits a lyric. Even before you parse the words, you hear narrative jazz in her timbre: a poetic jazz lyric delivered with storyteller vocals. She caresses consonants, lifts vowels until they glow, and uses expressive vibrato with taste and restraint. The breath between phrases is never empty; it’s a choice, a hesitation, a soft confession. And the band that surrounds her seems to understand this instinctively, building an understated arrangement that leaves room for every nuance. The result is not only intimate jazz; it’s intimate listening—headphone-friendly jazz where the stereo field opens like a private room, where the gentle rim clicks, soft harmonies, and warm room tone build a world for you to step inside.

The Arrangement: Minimalism with a Glow

At its core, “Martini at Midnight” feels like a piano-bass-drums trio wrapped in moonlight, with textures that nod toward a saxophone spotlight and a muted trumpet feature without crowding the central voice. This is small combo jazz, classic in silhouette, modern in sheen. The brushed drums craft a soft ride cymbal halo—never flashy, always supportive. The upright bass is the heartbeat: woody, round, and as comforting as a friendly arm around the shoulders. The piano paints in late-evening colors, its soft arpeggios and lush chords choosing the spaces between notes as thoughtfully as the notes themselves.

When the horn enters—sometimes you’ll hear it as a tender sax ballad, sometimes as an expressive trumpet with a sultry, breathy edge—its lines are lyrical and patient. No showboating, no hurry. Tasteful dynamics guide every bar. The horn becomes a second narrator, echoing the vocal line, finishing a sentence she starts, or lifting a single word into the air like a candle flame. The melody moves in slow legato lines, the harmonies turn with elegant inevitability, and the rhythm section gives everything a soft focus jazz frame. There’s a sense of cinematic jazz in the pacing—a romantic soundtrack as much as a song, a score for the kind of night that leaves you speaking in a lower register and walking a little more slowly down the boulevard.

Production: Analog Warmth, Modern Clarity

The recording quality is a triumph of balance. You can hear the intimate mic technique in the way Ella’s breath shades the vowels; the consonants never spit, the sibilance is present but tamed with tasteful compression and natural reverb. The spacious stereo image places you at a little round table, candle flickering, with the piano to your left, the bass just off to your right, and the drums gently swaying behind them. When the horn steps forward, it does so like a person approaching the microphone from the shadows of the bandstand. Dynamic headroom is evident in the crest and settle of each phrase. Nothing is brick-walled, nothing is blunted. This is audiophile vocal jazz that welcomes both speakers and headphones, both boutique hotel playlists and late-night living room rituals, both cozy couch listening and quiet night music on a rainy evening.

There’s a subtle sheen that feels close to analog tape—even if it’s digital, the color is there: warm jazz tones, soft reverb tails, and a room that breathes. The brushed snare has a velvety whisper, the soft ride cymbal glows, and the upright bass lands on the perfect compromise between woody and round, never boomy, never thin. The mix is refined, the mastering gentle, preserving microdynamics and air. With each pass, you notice how the reverb halo extends just far enough to kiss the edge of silence, as though the studio itself has a memory of jazz standards singing in its walls.

The Lyric: A Gentle Confession at the Witching Hour

“Martini at Midnight” is a title with built-in setting, and Ella Scarlet uses it as a stage for a story told in candlelight. The lyric leans toward intimate love lyric, a tender confession song with the narrative restraint of a modern torch song. Rather than listing details, she paints them with hints: a glass catching the city lights, the hush after laughter, the soft clink that punctuates a thought. This poetic economy makes the song feel like a secret murmured across a small table. The emotional jazz ballad here is not tragic; it is heart-full and present, a slow burn romance that favors promise over drama.

The lines linger like a lover’s gaze, lingering on soft images—moonlight through the window, the starlight jazz aura around the band, the hush of a room where everyone seems to lean closer at once. Themes of quiet elegance and affectionate certainty thread the lyric. She doesn’t plead. She doesn’t posture. She invites. There’s a grace in lines that hold the listener’s hand rather than tug at the sleeve. The chorus is a hush of affirmation, the verses a handful of little cinematic postcards, and the bridge a soft pivot into deeper warmth. It’s the kind of writing that becomes a romantic background music staple not because it recedes into wallpaper, but because it teaches a room how to breathe.

Vocal Performance: The Art of Whispered Authority

Ella Scarlet’s vocal instrument is the cornerstone of the track’s seduction. Her range glides easily in the warm mezzo area, with a velvet soprano shimmer on the upper phrases. But it’s the texture—the breathable, close-up grain—that creates the sensation of presence, the illusion that she’s standing six inches from your ear. Her breathy vocals are not affectation; they’re a deliberate interplay of intimacy and control. When she leans back into a sustained note, the expressive vibrato is a hint, a soft wave rather than a ripple. When she moves across a run, the legato lines are plush and clean, never hurried.

Behind-the-beat phrasing is her secret velvet hour. She resists the urge to sit on top of the groove; instead she floats just behind it, like a dancer whose steps skim the floor a beat later than expected. This is how intimacy is sounded. It creates anticipation and space for the listener to meet her in the phrase. In jazz for couples, in date night jazz and romantic dinner jazz, that micro-pause is the oxygen in the room. The way she shapes consonants—softly, precisely—lets each word arrive with the softness of a fingertip. She never crowds the band, and the band never crowds her. It’s the détente that defines refined jazz singing.

The Band: Listeners First, Players Second

What makes “Martini at Midnight” feel so complete is the band’s devotion to restraint. The drummer’s palette is brushed drums, brushed snare, and a soft ride cymbal pattern that almost becomes an extension of the vocal line. The bassist articulates melodic counterlines without stepping into the vocal register, choosing rounded notes that bloom and settle like the glow of a candle under a glass. The pianist is the painter of atmosphere—soft piano jazz with late-evening colors, lush chords, and a deliberate avoidance of harmonic clutter. When the horn enters—muted trumpet with sultry coloring, or a lyrical saxophone that breathes in long, story-like arcs—it acts like a second voice, never a misunderstanding.

There’s a humility in their playing that tastefully elevates the song. They understand that minimalist jazz is not the absence of technique; it’s technique in the service of feeling. Tasteful dynamics define each chorus, creating the soft harmonies and gentle crescendos that make the tune feel like a living thing. On repeat listens, you might notice how the drummer shades the final chorus with barely audible gentle rim clicks, or how the pianist outlines a substitute chord to lift a word in the lyric, or how the horn’s closing phrase lands not on a flourish but on a softened consonant, as if answering Ella’s last sigh.

Mood and Use: A Soundtrack for Rooms that Matter

If you measure a song by the rooms it can transform, “Martini at Midnight” is a decorator of nights. It belongs in a candlelit dinner music set, the kind that makes a dining room feel like a boutique hotel lounge. It belongs in upscale dinner music rotations, in hotel cocktail hour playlists, in the quiet storm jazz vocal hour when the world winds down. It’s evening lounge music and after hours jazz in equal measure, ideally suited to wine bar jazz settings and supper club jazz residencies. For couples, it’s jazz for cuddling, soft jazz for couples, slow dance jazz for that sway-in-the-kitchen moment when clocks feel irrelevant.

Event planners will hear wedding dinner jazz and first dance jazz possibilities in its slow tempo, its romantic ambience, and its timeless jazz ballad sensibility. It’s proposal soundtrack material for listeners who equate confidence with quiet, anniversary dinner music for lovers who have no need to perform their love in lights. For writers, readers, and calm-seeking souls, it’s focus jazz and study jazz, reading jazz and writing jazz, a gentling of the mind that clears the desk of noise without emptying it of feeling. For self-care rituals, it’s spa jazz and massage jazz, self-care jazz with spine. For seasonality, it thrives as cozy autumn jazz, winter fireplace jazz, spring rain jazz, and summer night jazz—evergreen romantic jazz that adapts to weather like a favorite coat.

The City Outside the Window

Part of the track’s spell is its evocation of place. The title conjures New York midnight jazz—the hushed romance of a piano bar on a side street—or Parisian jazz night with rain stippling the Seine and noir jazz shadows in the corners. It could be London lounge jazz in a boutique hotel lobby, or Scandinavian nighttime jazz with cool air against warm glass and a minimalist interior. There’s also a coastal evening jazz aura in the gentle swells of the piano, a riverfront jazz hum in the bass, a skyline jazz shimmer in the cymbals. The music feels like a city at night soundtrack—dreamy city jazz for quiet apartment jazz listening, bedroom window jazz for the urban romantic who keeps the blinds open to the moon.

You can hear the night drive jazz possibility too: the hush of tires on wet pavement, the soft whip of wipers, the melody borrowing the rhythm of streetlights sliding over the hood. It’s evening commute calm when you need to turn a crowded train into your own private compartment. It’s tea-time jazz when the weather turns and you want to sit by the window with a book. It’s bookshop jazz and gallery opening music, the kind of refined easy listening that respects art hung on the walls while quietly becoming art in the air. This isn’t background music that hides; it’s romantic easy listening that dignifies the moment.

Tempo, Time, and Sway

“Martini at Midnight” stakes its claim in the lower tempos—sixty to seventy beats per minute, the slow groove that invites respiration to match the song. The harmony moves at a dancer’s pace, soft swing that drapes rather than snaps. The drummer’s whispers keep the floor alive while the piano traces gentle arcs above. In that space, couples find a slow dance, a sway music moment that asks nothing more than closeness. Low-tempo ballad architecture gives the track a calm resilience; it doesn’t fight for attention, it gathers attention by being hospitable.

There’s a tactile sense to the timekeeping—brushed snare as velvet, soft ride cymbal as a halo. The bass is the floorboards in a beautiful room. The horn is the scent of perfume passing by your table. Ella’s voice is the lamp on the table, inviting but unobtrusive, shining because the room is dim. This is the aesthetic of dim-light jazz and starlit lounge, of velvet-hour music that denies the day’s insistence on urgency. Here, time flexes. Here, the night breathes back.

The Love Story Between Notes

A love song can either tell you what love is or let you feel it. “Martini at Midnight” chooses the latter. The lyric does not catalog the lovers; it confers dignity on their quiet. There’s a tender promise implied in the refrain—this moment at the small round table, this candlelit ambience, this hush that understands more than it says. It is a gentle nocturne for people who have learned that not every love needs fireworks. Sometimes the moonbeam jazz glow is more than enough. Sometimes the subtle jazz brush of a hand across a sleeve is the deepest form of declaration.

The blues-kissed ballad undertone gives the sweetness contour. There is soul-tinged jazz warmth in the chords, a hint of bossa-tinged ballad tilt in the drummer’s cross-stick, a whisper of Latin lounge jazz soft sway in the piano’s right hand. None of it shouts; all of it contributes to the slow burn romance. The chorus doesn’t explode; it exhales. The bridge doesn’t change costumes; it turns the face a few degrees toward the candle. Each time Ella returns to the title phrase, it lands with more assurance, not as a clever line but as a truth—this hour is a ritual, this drink is a symbol, this night is a room we return to.

Streaming Life: A Track that Finds Its Homes

In the streaming landscape, placement is its own kind of art, and “Martini at Midnight” is a curator’s dream. On Spotify romantic jazz playlists, it sits comfortably among soft jazz and jazz ballads without losing its identity. In Spotify jazz ballads or the late night jazz lanes, it pairs the cool jazz vibes of the classics with the intimate recording styles contemporary listeners crave. Apple Music slow jazz sets benefit from its gentle swing and audiophile allure; Amazon Music easy listening lists gain decorum and warmth; YouTube Music soft jazz channels showcase its candlelit re-listenability. On Tidal vocal jazz and Deezer romantic jazz, the premium vocal jazz detail shines, and on Pandora jazz love songs stations, its evergreen romantic jazz sensibility ensures repeat invitations.

For editorial contexts, it makes sense as midnight jazz, nightcap jazz, and evening chill jazz, as well as boutique hotel playlist fodder, high-end restaurant soundtracks, and quiet storm jazz vocal collections. Listeners who add it to couple’s playlist and anniversary playlist mixes will find it refuses to age; its timeless evening croon renders it evergreen. And for those building romantic playlist ideas for Valentine’s jazz or honeymoon evening music, it hits a soft bullseye: dignified, intimate, and delicately stunning.

For Curators, Mixologists, and Venue Owners

Venue owners looking for a sophisticated date soundtrack will hear the track’s immediate utility. In the soft-lit hush of a fine dining soundtrack, “Martini at Midnight” creates an elegant soirée playlist moment that doesn’t overshadow conversation and yet enhances it. In a piano bar jazz rotation or speakeasy jazz set, it carries the smoky club vibe without the cliché. It is boutique retail playlist-ready for galleries and fashion houses that want refined jazz that suggests taste without naming it. In hotel lobby jazz, it is both welcome mat and sanctuary.

Cocktail hour curators will appreciate how the tune sets a conversational tempo: not sleepy, not caffeinated, but present and alive. Sound engineers will value its balanced EQ curve and ready-to-play mastering—soft speaker jazz-friendly in open spaces, headphone-friendly jazz in private suites. For dinner party jazz, it’s the track you cue when the candles are first lit. For romantic getaway playlist building, it’s the one that carries you from unpacking to the first toast. For a proposal dinner jazz moment, it signals the room to settle into attention without calling for it loudly.

A Welcome Companion to “Moonlit Serenade” and Beyond

Listeners who found Ella Scarlet through earlier releases—those who carry “Moonlit Serenade” in their pocket as a talisman for night walks—will hear a kindred glow in “Martini at Midnight.” There’s a moonlit jazz continuity here, a moonlight jazz kinship that suggests an evolving suite of velvet-hour pieces. The modern classic jazz sensibility that made “Moonlit Serenade” feel timeless resurfaces, but with a slightly drier martini, a slightly huskier whisper, a slightly deeper room. The shared DNA includes poetic nighttime jazz and a serenade at midnight elan; the evolution is in the way the arrangement and mix emphasize the slow burn romance with even greater confidence.

Ella Scarlet’s arc reads like a series of rooms, each dressed in their own light: from the candle-rich glow of earlier ballads to the dusky lounge vibes here. And yet, the throughline is unmistakable—gentle love croon, graceful vocal jazz, refined romantic songcraft, and a belief that jazz for quiet moments can be the most moving jazz of all. If “Moonlit Serenade” is a stroll under stars, “Martini at Midnight” is the corner table waiting with your name on it.

Seasonal Lives and Private Rituals

One of the miracles of truly evergreen romantic jazz is its ability to adapt across seasons and rituals. In autumn, “Martini at Midnight” is cozy evening music, a companion to soft sweaters and slow rain, the song you play when you bring a glass to the window and let the city shift in and out of focus. In winter, it is fireplace jazz, a low ember in the grate and a shared blanket on the couch. In spring, it becomes spring rain jazz, the melody tiptoeing across the sill as new light returns. In summer, it is summer night jazz, the air heavy but kind, a tune for balconies and fire escapes bathed in starlight.

It lends itself to self-care rituals—long baths, unhurried evenings, mindful journaling—as easily as to social ones: dinner with dear friends, the moment you dim the lights before guests arrive, the soft clatter of dessert plates. It’s jazz for writing and jazz for reading, for sipping wine and sharing soft kisses, for holding hands and watching the moon clear the buildings. It’s quiet confession in music form, and it dignifies the small, often overlooked modes of love that exist outside spectacle.

For Dancers of the Small Floor

“Martini at Midnight” isn’t a show dance number; it’s a floor-clearing track for people who prefer an embrace to choreography. The tempo encourages a sway more than a step: a slow dance in the kitchen, a living room two-step guided by memory more than instruction. The brushed snare whispers the time, the bass marks a path that could be traced with a fingertip, and the piano drops rose petals you don’t need to pick up. When Ella leans into the chorus, the motion becomes circular rather than linear, a gentle orbit of one person around another. This is the soft groove of love that has nothing to prove, the gentle swing of tenderness that’s learned the art of staying.

Weddings will find a place for it not only in the first dance, but in the interludes—the stolen minutes between courses, the moment just after the toast, the hush that falls when the night is almost over and everyone wants one more quiet song. Anniversaries will find it a faithful witness to years and weather. New lovers will find it a soundtrack for the first whisper of trust. And those who share a long kitchen table will find it a favorite when the candles are down to nubs and refills are more conversation than beverage.

Words for the Engineers and Connoisseurs

Audiophiles and studio fanatics will relish the mix choices. The vocal sits forward, soft but not smothered, with tasteful compression that preserves transient delicacy—especially on breath and consonant onsets. The piano’s upper register stays bell-like without becoming brittle; the left hand is appropriately rolled off to give the upright bass the lower midrange heat it deserves. The drum kit’s soft ride cymbal occupies a beautiful band of shimmering high mids, and the brushed snare has a luxurious sand that never hisses. The horn’s muted color is captured with care, avoiding the tinny pitfalls of close miking, and the reverb’s pre-delay is dialed in so that the voice retains presence before the room blooms.

Spatially, there’s a refined mixing approach that keeps the center tidy—voice and bass anchoring the heart—while the piano spreads gently left-right and the drum kit occupies a believable stage picture. A spacious stereo image brings the listener into a small-room jazz environment without exaggeration. Dynamic headroom is cherished; the mastering avoids the flattening that plagues so much adult contemporary jazz. These decisions serve an album-friendly, playlist-friendly versatility: soft speaker jazz that blooms on living-room systems and headphone-friendly jazz that rewards late-night listening. The net effect is natural reverb, organic instrumentation, and boutique production that feels premium without becoming glossy.

Echoes, Influences, and the Ella Scarlet Signature

Conversations around vocal jazz often devolve into lineage—who sounds like whom, which era is being revived—and yet the better conversation is about temperament. Ella Scarlet’s temperament is one of quiet elegance, confidence without performance anxiety, a refined romantic song sense that understands the line between homage and imitation. She knows the grammar of torch song without being trapped in it, the bluesy romance vocabulary without leaning on cliché. In “Martini at Midnight,” the signature emerges as much in what she withholds as in what she gives. That patience is its own kind of glamour.

You’ll hear modern indie jazz in the production choices, contemporary vocal jazz in the mic presence and mixing, and a timeless love ballad grammar in the chord decisions. But the defining factor is the way Ella makes behind-the-beat phrasing feel like an embrace. This is her fingerprint. She creates slow burn romance not by stretching notes into melodrama, but by timing them to the human breath. When she lets a note travel on a warm exhale and settle just as the bass lands, you feel understood. In a genre built on listening, Ella’s most remarkable skill might be how deeply she listens—to the band, to the lyric, to the moment.

The Many Lives of a Single Song

A song becomes great by living multiple lives. “Martini at Midnight” is equally at home as romantic dinner jazz in a restaurant, as cuddle music on a rainy night, as relax music for stress relief after a long day, as jazz for mindfulness when you need a quiet room inside a louder one. It’s mellow evening playlist gold for a Sunday night jazz promise to begin the week with grace. It’s writing jazz for people who need music that thinks with them, reading jazz for those who want warmth without words getting in the way. It’s boutique hotel playlist chic and gallery opening music poise, it’s bookshop jazz heart, it’s a fine dining soundtrack that makes the final check feel like a continuation of a beautiful conversation.

For luxury dinner playlist curators, it’s a cornerstone. For a romantic getaway playlist, it’s the motif. For a date night soundtrack, it sets the thesis. For anniversary dinner music, it’s the memory and the renewal. For proposal dinner jazz and honeymoon evening music, it’s the hush where vows echo softly into the future. For those who want a quiet storm jazz vocal without the radio slickness, here is a track with analog warmth and organic space. For those who seek ambient vocal jazz that refuses to be anonymous, here is a voice you’ll remember.

A Listener’s Field Guide: How to Let It In

Let “Martini at Midnight” meet you where you live. Put it on softly while you lay a table. Let the first chorus arrive as you strike the match for the candles. Notice how the room’s edges soften. Pour the glass, hear the bass bloom, feel the soft ride cymbal like a halo around the conversation. Bring the volume just a touch higher when the horn steps forward; remember that this is a duet between voice and instrument as much as between you and whoever sits across from you. Let the bridge be the moment you ask a better question. Let the final chorus be the answer you didn’t know you were waiting to hear.

On headphones, lie back and listen to the stereo field: the piano’s left hand leaning one way, its treble bell tones leaning the other, the snare sand as a comforting hush. Feel the gentle nocturne rise from the floorboards. Listen for the subtle harmonic substitution under the title phrase. Wait for the expressive vibrato that arrives only when warranted. Let the lyric be less about information and more about invitation. The best romantic slow jazz does not instruct; it allows. This track allows.

On Legacy: The Evergreen Quality of Quiet

There’s a reason evergreen romantic jazz endures. It lives in rooms rather than trends, in the common human need for calm and connection. “Martini at Midnight” stakes its claim in that evergreen space with quiet authority. It doesn’t date itself with overwrought production choices, nor does it cosplay the past. It stays true to organic instrumentation—piano, bass, drums, a horn that sighs like a lover in the next chair—and it commits to a lyrical intimacy that translates across decades. If someone finds this song on a boutique retail playlist ten years from now, it will feel as fresh and as classic as it does tonight.

Ella Scarlet is building a catalog not of stunts but of rooms—a constellation of velvet-hour spaces where listeners can return and be gently remade. “Martini at Midnight” is one of those rooms. It’s the club you can go back to that still knows your name. It’s the table where the waiter brings your order without writing it down. It’s the slow kiss soundtrack that belongs to no single mouth but to a habit of tenderness. It is, in short, an argument for the quiet life, the soft focus love song, the refined jazz that believes in understatement as the boldest gesture.

Closing Reflections: Raise Your Glass to the Velvet Hour

“Martini at Midnight” is more than a track; it’s a posture toward the night. It models what elegant jazz can be in the present tense: a sophisticated serenade that carries modern clarity without sacrificing analog warmth, a subtle jazz croon that understands both the tradition and the listener. Ella Scarlet sings as if she were an old friend you’ve just met, instantly trustworthy and intimately honest. The band holds the room like they’ve been there forever. The mix gives you a seat at the table.

For every playlist that needs a quiet jewel at its heart, for every couple who wants a song that celebrates intimacy without spectacle, for every listener who longs for a room inside the noise, “Martini at Midnight” is that jewel, that celebration, that room. It’s romantic lounge and candlelit playlist, it’s modern classic jazz and timeless love ballad, it’s a gentle nocturne that teaches the evening to exhale. In a world that often mistakes loudness for significance, Ella Scarlet reminds us of a better truth: the softest voice, placed beautifully at the center of a song, can change the shape of a night.

So dim the lights. Pour something graceful. Let the brushed drums whisper, the upright bass bloom, the piano lay down its soft arpeggios, the horn sigh like a second heart. Let Ella Scarlet tell you a story full of warmth and space and promise. And when the last note hangs in the air, let the silence that follows be its own kind of music—the kind that says the night is young, the city is kind, and your place at this table is forever held. “Martini at Midnight” raises a glass to that feeling and keeps it glowing long after the candle gutters out.