"Biko Baby" Review: Cozy Riddim and Yadozie's Soulful Collaboration
There is something peculiar about how nostalgia sneaks up on us—how a melody can remind you of a place you’ve never been, a lover you’ve never had. “Biko Baby” is that kind of track. Cozy Riddim, the Nigerian beat sculptor, teams up with Yadozie, whose voice feels like it’s dipped in molasses and honey, sticky and sweet but slow enough to catch every drip. Together, they’ve carved a space where love doesn’t ask for anything but understanding.
The heart of “Biko Baby” is a plea—a prayer for connection, for closeness. Yadozie croons not just for affection, but for the rhythm of a community, the beat of a shared history. As his voice rides the carefully crafted Afrobeats-rhythm-meets-R&B-silk backdrop, it’s clear that this is about more than affection. It’s about recognition, about seeing each other in the chaos of life, like two tiny boats trying to find the same lighthouse.
Cozy Riddim (Producer)
The music itself plays a game of hide-and-seek between old and new, traditional African pulses tapped like the veins of the land, woven with more modern, almost western, influences. But they don’t clash; they flirt. Dancehall inflections make brief visits, like guests at a party who know they don’t need to stay long to make an impact. Cozy Riddim shows he’s a producer who breathes in culture and exhales innovation.
Credit: Yadozie (Vocalist)
Could this song be performed at a wedding or just on the corner of a street market? Absolutely.
But here’s the thing: while life imitates art, right now, “Biko Baby” feels like the kind of art that imitates life back, in complicating yet comforting ways.
Uncommon Addiction's "Setting The Night On Fire": A Cathartic Blaze of Sound
There’s nothing quite like the smell of molten guitar riffs in the morning. You don’t get that from a perfume bottle; you get it from “Setting The Night On Fire,” the latest release from Uncommon Addiction. This isn’t just music—it feels more like a meteor about to crash into a lake of gasoline. The sky’s the limit, right? Well, Santiago Abad wants you to look through the clouds and realize that it’s raining grief and anger, and it’s not stopping anytime soon.
The instrumental rock/electronic fusion here reminds me more of a burning cathedral than a song; towering and jagged, yet eerily empty, like there are ghosts in the reverb. Pablo Amador’s drums pulse erratically, as if keeping time with a broken heart, while his bass growls beneath like the murmur of old regrets. You can practically hear the heavy breath of frustration between the rolls.
Uncommon Addiction’s “Setting The Night On Fire”: A Cathartic Blaze of Sound
It’s obvious that grief is the petrol fueling the engine of this track—grief, loss, and all the emotional road rage that comes with it. Anger, at first sharp and fiery, mellows into sorrow through dynamic shifts that feel like emotional weather patterns. One moment you’re caught in a storm of distorted guitars, and the next you’re floating in space, haunted by Ula Wordaz’s sleek production that lets the guitars wail like a widow at midnight.
The song doesn’t seem to offer answers—only catharsis. Is this release about letting go or burning down the memories? Maybe both? It’s like Joan of Arc with a distortion pedal: blurring the line between destruction and salvation.
In the end, “Setting The Night On Fire” doesn’t burn out—it smolders in the back of your mind long after it ends.
Big Steppers Music Group (BSMG) artiste Amerro Twist has recently unveiled his highly anticipated studio Extended Play, G.O.G, short for Genesis Of Glory. This 6-track masterpiece not only marks Amerro Twist’s debut EP but also serves as a testament to his artistic maturation, musical evolution, and ongoing dedication to delivering exceptional tunes for his loyal fanbase.
A sneak peek of the track ‘Aza Money’ featuring Dare Mame Beat has already been creating ripples across social media platforms, generating excitement and anticipation ahead of the album’s official release.
In addition to Amerro Twist’s solo tracks, the album features special guest appearances from renowned artists such as BAM Nation’s Kooko and Fali Finest on the track ‘Kuntrumu’ and Great Awa on ‘Sudwe’. These collaborations bring a fresh and distinctive dimension to Amerro Twist’s signature sound, showcasing his versatility and ability to seamlessly blend different styles within his music. By collaborating with these artists, Amerro Twist not only demonstrates his growth as a musician but also solidifies his position as a rising star in the competitive music industry.
With the release of G.O.G, Amerro Twist proves that he is not just an artist on the rise but a formidable force to be reckoned with in the music scene. His ability to captivate audiences with his unique style and meaningful lyrics sets him apart, establishing him as a promising talent with a bright future ahead. As fans eagerly await the full album release, the buzz surrounding Amerro Twist and his latest project continues to grow, cementing his place as a standout artist to watch in the music industry. Production credits to A.T Riddims and Dare Mame Beat Get It here
Kasar and Medikal Find Love On New Song "Akosua Cinderella"
Lynx Entertainment-signed artist Kasar teams up with celebrated Ghanaian rapper Medikal on his latest single. Titled “Akosua Cinderella,” the song runs on the theme of love and romance.
Produced by Rockstar Made It, the song is the expression of the joy of that comes with finding love. Kasar sings about how long he has searched for her and how exceptional she is to him. To him, Akosua is an embodiment of everything he desires in his dream girl. His excitement led him to show her off to everyone and anyone.
Medikal comes in with his own rendition of serenation with catchy rap lines as he echoes the joy that comes with finding his Akosua Cinderella.
Stream Akosua Cinderella by Kasar featuring Medikal is out now on all platforms here
TheSubstance Drops Stunning Visuals For ‘Black Skin’
Rising Jamaican singer-songwriter TheSubstance has unveiled the official music video for his powerful new single, “Black Skin.” Released on February 14th, this heartfelt love song personifies and glorifies African women, celebrating their beauty, strength, and resilience.
Since its debut, “Black Skin” has made a significant impact, amassing an impressive 2 million streams across various digital platforms. The song’s universal appeal and poignant lyrics have resonated with listeners worldwide, establishing a deep connection that transcends borders. Particularly embraced by influencers and women on TikTok, the track’s reach and impact continue to grow. TheSubstance’s dedication to honoring African women through his music is evident in “Black Skin,” which serves as both a tribute and a celebration of their enduring spirit. The accompanying music video visually captures the essence of the song, enhancing its powerful message.
Reinard Bryan, known by his stage name TheSubstance, is a Jamaican songwriter, performer, and recording artist born on October 14th, 1988. His musical journey has been marked by notable achievements, including a nomination for Best New Artiste at the Clarendon Music Awards in 2012, where he ultimately clinched the esteemed award, affirming his position as a promising artist within the industry.
In 2015, TheSubstance released his 10-track EP, “Spiritual Insomnia,” showcasing his versatility as both an artist and songwriter. This release highlighted his ability to deftly navigate the dual roles of performer and lyricist, offering insight into the depth of his creative expression. Currently refining his artistry at Audio Traxx Studio in Old Harbour under the guidance of Lamar Thompson, TheSubstance continues to produce noteworthy tracks, including “Fools in Love (Pt. 1 & 2)” featuring Saine, “Steaming,” “Soaring High” featuring TruVice, and “King For You.”
With the release of “Black Skin,” TheSubstance solidifies his position as a rising star in the music industry, dedicated to uplifting and celebrating African women through his art. This release not only showcased his musical prowess but also highlighted his ability to deftly navigate the dual roles of artist and lyricist, offering a glimpse into the depth of his creative expression. A tireless work in progress.
Is Paul Arendt secretly Laurel Canyon’s time-displaced messenger, or has he simply found a wormhole between Andalusian streets and the corner of a smoky, unhurried blues bar? “Theo”, the enigmatic single from his unfolding concept album “Forty Years in Babylon”, certainly leaves you wondering. Or maybe, just reflecting. Maybe you’re both the listener and the prism through which contradictions refract, casting erratic beams of doubt and clarity onto your kitchen walls at 2 a.m.
In this modern tavern of tangled beliefs and shaking heads, “Theo” pits an unnamed speaker—our guide through the forest of faith—against a forlorn, skeptical voice that considers miracles to be nothing but tricks of dopamine or, worse yet, lazy neural circuitry. The song dances between faith and filaments of doubt as if it’s tango night at Hemingway’s forgotten bar. Arendt’s Spanish guitar, that perfectly picked-out spine of the song, floats above the debate like an old friend who refuses to take sides.
It feels like a conversation taking place below the surface of reality, that moment where intuition meets the cold brick wall of science, and both squint at each other awkwardly—and respectfully. Arendt manages to pull this conversation not from tired philosophical tomes but from lived experience: You can almost taste the humid air of some lost garden, or hear the shuffling feet in a classroom where our beliefs refuse to stay seated.
Arendt, armed only with his guitars and poetic lyrics, doesn’t aim to resolve these cosmic debates, but to host them. His gentle fingerpicking—sophisticated yet strikingly grounded in an ancient sense of rhythm—acts as the vessel for an emotional conversation that veers dangerously close to a Socratic dialogue at times, minus the academic pretension.
In that sense, “Theo” might actually be a postmodern campfire song. You’re huddled close, watching flames hold their shape for only a moment before splintering. Just like the debate itself, the simple and raw backbone of the song resists being pinned down. It’s hard not to recall Federico García Lorca’s duende—the ethereal mystery behind music and art that can’t be explained, only felt. But then, somewhere between the verses, Arendt’s rational atheist friend is likely sneering at Lorca, attributing him no more than a poet’s wild chemistry.
Can one speak of spirituality without sounding preachy? Can we defend science without seeming closed off? These questions bubble up as the song weaves its story. You wonder if the characters in “Theo” are just two sides of you, or perhaps two strangers pressing elevator buttons to different floors, neither in control of where the building is going. Maybe the point isn’t to choose one side after all but to acknowledge the beauty in both approaches—the elegance of cold calculation in one hand, mystical flickers in the other.
The Enigmatic Beauty of Paul Arendt’s “Theo”
A notable heartbeat of the song is that it doesn’t resort to shouting its stakes. Arendt’s voice is tender here, like a hesitant storyteller who isn’t out to convert you one way or another. We get the sunset playing on the speaker’s faith, the atheist uncovering their layers of human conditioning with scientific care, and even fleeting glances towards synchronistic moments—as if the random stumbles of existence might mean something, even if we never understand what.
In this, Arendt channels something primal, yet unnervingly modern—both an echo from centuries-old pilgrimages and a whispered criticism from 21st-century laboratories. Somewhere in the cavernous spaces between his notes, you half expect Schrödinger’s cat to saunter out, wearing a crucifix and a calculator, purring ambiguities.
Music this tangled deserves space to breathe, and “Theo” gives you exactly that. It’s not trying to drown you in the noise, but instead, it invites you to crack open the windows of your mental house. Let the warm breeze of open-ended dialogue roll in. Imagine that.
It’s fitting that the song doesn’t answer the key question: is the universe stitched together by threads of intention or just bouncing atoms in chaotic ballet? The beauty of “Theo” lies in its unwillingness to simplify; rather, it lets the contradictions rest beautifully unresolved, like the sweetest poetry or a physics problem with too many variables.
And as the final chord rings out into a kind of shimmering horizon, you’re left pondering: What’s heavier? The rational mind or the soul’s shapeless desire for meaning? Maybe it’s neither. Maybe the weight is in the windows we open, not the questions we close.
"Gelo": Francesca Pichierri's Chilling Ballad of Resilience
Cancer isn’t made of sharp edges. It’s cold.
Francesca Pichierri’s “Gelo,” though, isn’t about screaming at the walls—it’s more like a conversation with frozen air, quietly cracking open grief and resilience. You know that feeling when you realize winter’s really just an endless night? Yeah. That’s where “Gelo” begins. Its cinematic, almost dreamlike production doesn’t shout. It lingers. Drips. Unexpected instruments flutter in the distance like moths around a distant streetlamp.
Cancer could be sung in any language, but here, in Pichierri’s native Italian, it feels raw in a way that English rarely allows—each syllable holds weight like it knows what it’s carrying. The song isn’t just a narrative about ovarian cancer (a theme heavy but not unfamiliar), it feels like a transmission from a place kicked out of time, personal experience blurred with collective alertness. The production is cold, sure, but not sterile. It breathes—soft instruments wind in and out of textured, almost velvety vocals. Her voice? Sometimes fragile, sometimes strong—an intentional juxtaposition, just like the human body under siege.
“Gelo”: Francesca Pichierri’s Chilling Ballad of Resilience
You might oversimplify “Gelo” as alternative pop, but that’s like calling the Sistine Chapel a painting. Soulful, jazz-tinged… indie? Experimental? Sure. But more importantly, it’s a quiet protest against silence. It rebels, intimately. And yet it’s not all pain and paralysis—there’s an eerie sliver of hope, woven into the darkness, a reminder of prevention, a statement about understanding what’s happening inside us, outside us. The vulnerability transforms into something more, well, human—fractured maybe, but never truly broken.
And in the end? “Gelo” doesn’t offer answers—just like life or a body in rebellion—it instead asks, what kind of warmth will you build when the cold creeps in?
Do you remember that moment when a bird flies past you, its wings cutting the air, and for the briefest second, you’re not sure if you’re watching hope flee or return? That’s the sensation Michael Kumar seems to capture with his latest single, “Fly.” It’s not a song about wings, not in the traditional sense — it’s a song about escape and finding broken pieces of yourself in mid-air. And while most tracks about break-ups tend to lean toward the ‘sad boy with a lonely guitar’ trope, Kumar swerves into something more like abstract emotional painting, using sound instead of canvas.
Backed by Romain’s drums, which alternately cradle and jar the rhythm like a heart that can’t quite make up its mind, and John’s bass, grounding everything while daring you to find solid footing, “Fly” feels like an attempt to look trauma square in the face. But then again, maybe it’s an avoidance, or is it understanding?
The ambiguity is part of its charm — much like self-discovery, there’s no straight line. Kumar weaves modal scales into his songwriting, a choice that both disorients and soothes, like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces only to find that maybe the beauty lies in the gaps.
Michael Kumar Takes Flight with “Fly”
The strings aren’t just instruments here, they feel personified — pulling, stretching, healing, unraveling. Kumar is less interested in providing easy emotional closure and more in soundtracking the loose ends we all carry.
If “Fly” were a painting, it’d be a Rothko bathed in twilight — at once soothing and demanding contemplation. Perhaps, that’s the real magic here. It’s not about what you feel so much as how it makes you *want* to feel.
Healing isn’t linear, and “Fly” seems to hum that back to us, over and over.
Blue Orchid Reaction's "Tiny House": A Sonic Sanctuary
If you’ve ever tried brewing coffee while attempting to balance on a pogo stick, you’re already halfway to grasping the chaotic grace of Blue Orchid Reaction’s latest single, “Tiny House.” There’s a strange convergence here, a dance between claustrophobia and freedom—a theme perhaps only the last three years of pandemic-induced isolation could give birth to.
Paul Rice’s vocals come at you like a late-night journal entry you weren’t supposed to find. His guitar weaves through the song like a train switching tracks in the fog — one moment smooth, the next jagged. On the bass, Dominic Firth whispers and roars, often in the same breath, crafting a foundation that feels more like a heartbeat than an instrument. Meanwhile, Alex Chadha drums with the stubborn insistence of a dripping faucet in a small room—constant, present, impossible to ignore. And Mathew Armstrong’s guitar sweeps through like an unexpected gust, shaking the walls right when you thought you had things figured out.
Blue Orchid Reaction’s “Tiny House”: A Sonic Sanctuary
“Tiny House” explores the fragility of human connections when the walls literally (and metaphorically) close in around us. There’s a resignation to confinement, sure, but also an element of peace hidden in corners you might miss. It’s not quite a howl at the moon, but maybe a sleepy murmur into a pillow. Hope? Or maybe just the acceptance that chaos is its own kind of beauty.
Fleeting yet dense, this song feels like one of those urban parks encircled by skyscrapers—stillness and ceaseless energy at odds yet somehow coexisting, bizarrely harmonious.
On a planet that sometimes feels like it, too, is shrinking underfoot, “Tiny House” may just be the song of the boards creaking under the strain—fragile, but still standing.
Picture this: you’re staring at your reflection in a night-black mirror, and suddenly, it blinks back.
This is “The Rabbit Hole.”
Guided by Ashlee’s voice—woven like thread through the labyrinth of MORI’s electronic universe—you aren’t just hearing soundscapes. You’re slipping into a parallel realm where identity isn’t fixed, and losing control isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The synths float by like ghost ships on an alien ocean, while subtle beats pulse under the surface, like a too-steady heartbeat when you’re on the verge of something you can’t quite name.
MORI, the 21-year-old digital sorcerer who pieced this together, seems less like a producer and more like some alchemist crouched over a cauldron, blending Rap, R&B, and Rock in a way that, frankly, feels like we’ve been swimming in these genres wrong all this time. The air he crafts is minimalist but swollen—cyber-nostalgia dressed in melancholia. It feels eerie and beautiful, but not like some synthetic dream. No, it’s more like stepping out into the cold desert of reality only to watch it dissolve in front of you.
Down “The Rabbit Hole” with MORI
And the themes—solitude, uncertainty, inner war—they don’t shout at you. They’re not high school locker angst. They’re quieter and darker, a bit like Kafka wandered into a Tron reboot and lost his only map. The song moves on the edge of an existential cliff, with the idea that maybe falling is the only real option.
Is it a banger for the club? No. It’s a pulse for the thinkers, the dreamers, and the people who see the glitch in the system and aren’t sure they want to fix it.
Don’t ask what’s at the bottom of “The Rabbit Hole.”
Samantha Rae's "The High Road": A Pop Country Journey of Self-Discovery
There’s something about the way Samantha Rae’s voice moves that feels like an unexpected road trip through a familiar landscape you’ve never taken the time to truly see. “The High Road,” her debut album, isn’t here to hold your hand—it’s more like that friend who hands you a map and points to the horizon. A route lined with dusty emotions, gut-punch love, and the fork where you either break down or break through.
Teamed with Jay DellIsola on production, songwriting, and a steady rhythm of drums and acoustic guitars, Rae takes a well-traveled genre—Pop Country—and somehow nudges it in directions it seems to resist going. Vocally, she doesn’t simply ride the waves of the genre; she churns them, stretching the soulfulness of country but bending it with rock grit and pop polish.
The messages here are heavy with weight but light on expectation; Rae doesn’t preach, she prompts. Whether it’s the exploration of self-discovery or the complexities of love bouncing between melody and memory, there’s an undercurrent of resilience. It’s as if every note says, “even the cracks in the pavement have something to teach you.” Themes of empowerment surface repeatedly, like fenceposts guiding the listener on this introspective journey, yet they sidestep any hollow motivation-speak—it’s the grit of real growth, not the glossy self-help kind.
Samantha Rae’s “The High Road”: A Pop Country Journey of Self-Discovery
But here’s where it gets interesting: the album’s production taps into something intimate yet expansive, like a handwritten note found inside a skyscraper. That’s probably the magic of working out of a home studio, capturing all the rough edges and the tender moments without dressing them up too much.
Is “The High Road” groundbreaking? Depends on where you’re standing. But it feels necessary—like a warm wind before a storm that never quite breaks.
Kerian von Heyden's "Final Horizon": A Sonic Journey
Can we talk about the sound of a train leaving the station? That hum before the clatter begins, the anticipation of movement. I bring this up because Kerian von Heyden’s debut single, “Final Horizon”, feels a bit like standing on a platform, watching an old memory slip away. But unlike the melancholy you’d expect from a scene like that, there’s also this undercurrent of… hope wrapped up in digital beats and angelic vocals.
The track blends electronic movement with vocals that sit somewhere between a whisper and a proclamation. Kerian, a solo artist from Leipzig, seems to have borrowed some of the heart-thumping techniques we might recognize from heavyweights like Alan Walker or Calvin Harris—but here’s the twist: the vibe isn’t pure club. No neon-stuffed ecstasy rush. Instead, there’s this subtle brush of nostalgia. Imagine if Billie Eilish wandered through an old photo album with a sense of purpose, but every time she turned a page, a synthesizer chimed in agreement.
Kerian von Heyden’s “Final Horizon”: A Sonic Journey
Thematically, “Final Horizon” is riding that strange line between what was and what’s next. It’s steeped in the human experience of endings, yet instead of basking in sorrow, it tilts its face towards new beginnings, squinting into the future. Have you ever stood in a room after everyone’s left and thought, “Well, that chapter’s over?” But then you get this flicker of excitement for whatever’s behind the next door? That’s where Kerian seems to want us—to embrace the space before the next leap.
What’s wild is that this track was born out of a trip to Italy. You can sense it in the pacing—the relaxed Mediterranean dust contrasting with robotic beats. Like strolling through Florence but imagining future skyscrapers on the horizon. Technological, sure, but there’s this undeniable organic warmth.
By the end, “Final Horizon” doesn’t demand answers. It invites you to sit with that little tickle of ambiguity, like staring at the clouds until they form and unform shapes. A single, sure. But it’s really more like the first note of an unfinished chord.
Let’s talk about shedding skins. Snakes do it. So does Cormac, though his transformation, thankfully, involves less slime and scales. “The Joker & The Queen” isn’t just a song anymore. It’s a moment. A delicate exhale where Cormac, once defined by that crystalline boy treble voice, now uses layers of his new-found richness to embody something more… velvet, maybe? Vocally, it’s like watching someone step out of a shadow into the light.
The card game metaphor inherent in the song? It’s there, sure, but somehow under Cormac’s rendering, the stakes feel higher. Henry Facey’s guitar chimes in, both gentle and firm, while Dominic Ferris’ piano is the steady hand on the roulette wheel, spinning slower and slower until the ball lands: love. But not the glittering, flawless kind you find in glossy rom-com montages. No, this love is a bit worn around the edges, marked with vulnerability and that squishy thing none of us like to talk about—feeling enough, just as you are.
From Treble to Triumph: Cormac’s Transformation
It’s fascinating, really, that Cormac’s very journey from angelic boy-singer to this pop-contemporary vibe feels like its own card metaphor. The kid who had all aces, now opting for humility and a quiet wisdom. He’s bet his treble voice on evolution, and the cards he’s holding today—well, they’re a different kind of royal flush.
There’s something beautifully raw about how he doesn’t over-polish the song. Where other voices might puff up and inflate the drama, Cormac keeps it understated. It’s in the space between those downplayed notes where you hear everything—the unspoken dialogue between someone letting go of old insecurities to find their place in the world again.
How often can a cover feel like both a homage and a declaration of self? Cormac offers us a subtle dive into authenticity, and just for a moment, perhaps, we see the joker in all of us—yet we’re still someone’s queen. Or king. Maybe even just… a wild card.
Gianfranco Malorgio Ventures into the “Dark Night” with New Single
If Picasso had ever picked up a guitar in the damp ambience of a moonless alley, perhaps it would sound something like Gianfranco Malorgio’s “Dark Night.” This isn’t music as much as it is a portal—the kind you find accidentally after slipping through the cracks of reality and landing in an eternal, elusive dusk.
Malorgio, usually content to shred his way through Gypsy Jazz with his Hot Club Roma compatriots, steps into something far subtler here. It’s orchestral but feels like it’s questioning the very notion of orchestral. It exists between breaths—like that half-second before diving underwater or waking from a dream you’re trying to remember. The Manouche elements are present—if only faintly—but instead of driving forward like a high-speed train, they ebb and flow, as if they too are searching for something.
The elegance is undeniable. But don’t mistake this for a starched-collar affair. “Dark Night” blends suspense and grace in ways you wouldn’t expect from someone who’s spent most of his career bouncing sprightly rhythms off café walls.
Gianfranco Malorgio Ventures into the “Dark Night” with New Single
There’s also danger here—a noirish quality that tinges each note with suspicion. And yet the overall effect… transcends slick surface emotions. Much like peeling oranges during an existential crisis: simultaneously absurd and completely appropriate.
The single feels cinematic without being tethered to any specific film genre—this could score everything from French arthouse existentialism to Christopher Nolan-style mindbenders to… dare I say, late-night infomercials promoting kitchen gadgets no one needs—but everyone buys anyway? Yes, “Dark Night” fits there too: equal parts tension and allure.
And maybe that’s Malorgio’s intent. Perhaps he’s suggesting that we all wander lost on some dark alleyway between eras—only pausing briefly to hear the distant strum of possibility.
The act of flying without wings has been a persistent human dream for centuries. Not quite Icarus, but Tim Camrose—Manchester’s own soul-stirrer—takes flight on a more metaphorical level with “Fly Again,” a quiet anthem for anyone who’s hit rock bottom and wondered if the view will ever change from down there. Weirdly enough, it reminds me of those scenes in disaster movies where everything’s burning, and the hero physically has to get up. The message here? You don’t need explosions; sometimes, it’s about the soul rising up.
Camrose, whose voice feels like Sunday afternoon warmth after a week of thunderstorms, weaves through the verses with that familiar conversational cadence. But it’s the entrance of the Collectives Gospel Choir that subtly flips the script. Gospel harmonies, like a collective exhale, swoop into the mix not like a bulldozer of sound—it’s softer than that—but lifting, as though they’re singing directly into your dusty corners, the ones you forgot needed clearing out.
Soaring with Tim Camrose’s “Fly Again”
The guy’s not just chewing on platitudes here. There’s a deep-seated challenge in “Fly Again.” It says, “Yes, the world’s chaos, and you’re not invincible, but maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to be.” Philosophically, this could be akin to stitching together the faith of a gospel choir with Manchester’s factory grit. Toss in a dash of Camrose’s velvet acoustic strums, and boom—it’s less a revival tent and more like a kitchen table conversation with your wiser future self.
Take it as an unintentional footnote to all that generational trauma talk we’ve been having lately. If music were a relay race, this track would be passing the baton just in time.
And sometimes the baton isn’t fancy. Just functional enough to keep you running.
From Studio to Stage: How House of Allegro’s Evolution Defines Their Growth
I just had an opportunity, as you know I listen to the new tracks, to take a closer look at the track “Evolution” by House of Allegro, and I must say, they’re off the hook. The combination of Michelina from the USA and Alec from the UK presents an incredibly interesting combination of UK Future House and American dance music.
The most memorable aspect of House of Allegro is how they are able to perform in such a cohesive manner since they each have their own musical background. Michelina has exposure from the side of the entertainment industry while Alec has technical production experience. The outcome is 11 tracks that are as upbeat as they are moving.
This is why one could consider “Evolution” as an appropriate title for the album in question. This is particularly the case with songs where one can really notice how their sound has evolved over the years. They have stuck to that alt-pop / house music foundation that fans adore but there is clearer, crisper sound.
It is also important to note that House of Allegro has been quite active this year and releasing many tracks independently and/self-releasing. That kind of work ethic is beginning to translate into the recognition of labels and even winning remix competitions.
The album is already getting attention from Public Pressure, as well as booking the group gigs around London. I was happy to see it because this is one fine independent act which I think will make it big soon. If you enjoy dance music with elements of pop and house beat, I would suggest checking out “Evolution”.
All in all, House of Allegro appears to be on the rise, and I would like to find out more about their future steps. They have a style that I believe can appeal to a broader audience, better described by the tagline ‘It’s not just country music anymore’.
What inspired the concept behind “Evolution”? How does it reflect your artistic growth? Initially, our goal was to release some of our more DJ-friendly tracks that we were playing in our sets, like “My Turn” and “Move Like That.” As we’re constantly producing music almost every day, we realized we had around 10 finished tracks that would take too long to release individually as singles. After releasing a single each month for six months, we decided it made the most sense to bring all these tracks together into an album!
How did it differ from your previous works? Previous singles and eps were all a product of where we were as artists. The production in this album has been a great improvement after Alec got some great mentorship in mixing and mastering from the London Sound Academy (LSA). This before was almost guess work which sometimes worked sometimes didn’t. Whereas now it’s more of a formulated thought through process to level out the dynamics, as well as the structuring and arrangement of the songs being more thought through to carry the emotion of the songs.
The title “Evolution” suggests change. How would you say your sound has evolved on this release? Michelina actually came up with this name instantly and it stuck, usually we would have a few days of bouncing ideas. The reason behind the name Evolution is it represents our evolution as in growth and also our evolved style as a duo. Also, the mixing quality, sound choice, the progression through the songs, all feel much stronger than our previous work so we thought this name to be a good fit. – its all about our journey of growth and what we feel works!
What were some of the biggest challenges you faced while creating “Evolution”? This album has been the smoothest and easiest release so far. Some of the songs were created in just one day, such as Fugly, created at Qube studios initially on the basis of a joke. When we really enjoy what we are creating the the process works very quickly.
Other songs such as Move Like That took a bit longer as we waited for collaborating artists to trial parts. Ultimately for this song we used the sample ‘Move Like That’ for the rap which worked best during live performances. The great thing about collaboration is even if it does not work, we still have made some connections that we know can work for future songs.
Other songs such as Serenity were a long process as the original was 5 minutes long. Having to cut this and keep the best bits was a challenge in restructuring. Our last struggle, which is still not resolved, is a typo in the name Heartbreak Goes Like.
So this song originally was called Heartbeat Goes Like… hence the lyrics, but it was spelled wrong in the release, it is still ongoing to get this updated but for now there are some versions known as “Heartbeat Goes Like” and some as “Heartbreak Goes Like” – but I don’t think anyone would notice ha ha and its about the song itself so we are not stressed. Having to get in contact with the distributor as an independent artist is not the easiest task though!
Michelina actually came up with this name instantly and it stuck,
How does “Evolution” fit into your overall discography? Do you see it as a continuation or a departure from your previous work? Evolution is a continuation from our previous work. We are not set on limiting ourselves to any specific genre but we wanted this more future house/garage album to be a bit less experimental. Our last few self released singles – Goodbye, and Where Are You Going Now, and Lucky One all had a LOT going on – which could have been a bit of a sacrifice on dynamics.
For this album we wanted to strip back a bit from that, keep a solid bass and drums with complimenting vocals and instruments, and not overdo it. We notice that some of the best songs out there may only have 3-4 elements, so have realised the necessity of simplicity.
Were there any new instruments or production techniques you experimented with on this song? We recently got a vintage plugin called Vibes Rewind – on Kontakt 7, which is tape recorded samples taken from old analog synths. This plugin has a lot of character, and is used on a couple of the songs. This and FabFilter Twin 3 for some of those basslines.
For the drums on most tracks we layered about 15 different drums, approximately 4 hi hats, 2 shakers/riders, 2 tambourines, 2 snares/claps, two kicks; all cut with surgical EQ-ing as to stop phasing issues, then on top of that we layered some interesting FXs as percussion, then added some Ableton shapers onto reverbs and other effects to really spice it up – then pushing the majority of this through sends and parallel compression, not to mention some panning techniques! This complex process creates a huge range of sound from what may sound like some simple drums, keeping the beat evolving throughout.
Some other mixing techniques included a lot of LFOs on certain points on the EQ creating a subtle morphing effect on the instruments, as well as Gating techniques and heavy sidechaining using Kickstart which we love. When it comes to the mixing, this is the first release after Alec had finished his mixing and mastering course at LSA.
He has been formulating the mix in a much smoother way, starting the songs off with the mix in mind, keeping the loudest individual track volume (usually the kick or vocal) below around -8db before mastering, which gives enough headroom for this process. The mastering was done with Ozone 11, and removes any guess work. There is a long chain that Alec uses on Ozone and adjusts it for each song depending on the dynamics and sound.
What do you hope listeners take away from “Evolution”? Listeners can expect a juxtaposition of authentic, polished, high-energy dance tracks, with euphoric, emotional drops, and a bit of light-hearted fun thrown in. We hope they take away a variety of blended House of Allegro ideas transformed and solidified into songs in a meticulous order.
Looking ahead, how do you see this album influencing your future musical direction? This album was something we needed to get out of our system and share with the world, giving our listeners a chance to enjoy our music at shows and revisit it on streaming platforms. Once this promotion period wraps up, we’re excited to focus more on DJ sets and live performances. So far, we’ve only accepted a few gig requests and haven’t actively pursued this side of our career.
While this approach hasn’t been the most effective for promotion, it has allowed us to dedicate our time to refining our sound and building a discography of over 25 songs—all created in less than a year—with even more in the pipeline! As always, we’re open to exploring new collaboration opportunities along the way.
Moving forward, we have two signed House and Garage singles scheduled for release in the coming months. Following that, we’ll be diving into a backlog of unfinished dance songs that will still feature elements of our signature House and Garage sound, but with a stronger focus on Michelina’s incredible vocal talent. We aim to release these tracks in early 2025 to kickstart the new year with a bang!
Lastly, if you could describe “Evolution” in three words, what would they be? Bold, Forward-Thinking, Fun.
Behind the Music: La Need Machine’s Uplifting Journey with “The Mountain”
I was able to listen to La Need Machine’s latest track “The Mountain” and I must admit that this sounds like a rather strong piece of music. This particular group from Seattle has gone a notch higher with this one, their newest release. What I noticed as soon as I tuned in to “The Mountain” is how La Need Machine manages to merge different genres and subgenres.
It has some elements of American music, some Indie Rock, Folk Rock, and even the bit of of Alternative Country. With this, it is easy to see that the combination can become intricate when in the wrong hands, but they manage it exceptionally well. The song begins with this beautiful strings part accompanied by a chilling piano that sets the mood right off the bat.
It creates an engaging mood right from the onset. What is most prominent, however, are those catchy tunes and soaring harmonizations that have been trademarked to La Need Machine. But when it comes to lyrics, “The Mountain” has quite a kick. It is all about the ability to be selfless – a message which seems quite meaningful at the moment especially given the divisions that seem to be growing in many societies.
The chorus is catchy and memorable: “I’ll climb the highest mountain, I’ll swim the widest sea”. It is a very strong form of affirmation of the desire – and the intent – to give of oneself, whether in terms of time, affection, or encouragement.
Fortunately, I was able to communicate with the band members about the song, and it was interesting to know more about its creation. The band has always been popular for its contribution to charity which makes it easier to feel the same giving tone while playing this piece of music. We also talked about how their sound has changed with time.
One thing’s for sure, they are not complacent – they challenge themselves to create new and important narratives in their music. If you are into deep, progressive rock music with a message, definitely, check out ‘The Mountain’. This tells a lot about the direction La Need Machine is taking and I am eager to find out what more they have in stock for us.
Is there a story behind your stage name?
Al: La Need Machine represents our opposition to greed. Brian: La Need Machine is supposed to stand for humans and how we all have instinctive needs that are driven by our basic survival instincts.
Where do you find inspiration?
Elise: I draw inspiration from personal experiences, or things that feel important/have had a significant impact on me.
What was the role of music in the early years of your life?
Brian: Early on in life I was obsessed with making my own compilation CDs called “Brian’s Favorites” that would be songs taken from various CDs that my parents had.
Are you from a musical or artistic family?
Elise: My family is very musical, on my mom and my dad’s side. Al: Yes, my mom always sang in church and encouraged me to play guitar.
Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry?
Elise: I feel like it was a path that I wanted for myself. But I did grow up watching and even performing with Tim Noah and Cyndi Elliot.
How did you learn to sing/write/to play?
Elise: I initially started learning piano from my dad, but then I started taking actual lessons from Cyndi Elliot. Cyndi was also my first voice teacher. I’ve had many different voice teachers over the years. And I first started songwriting lessons with Tim Noah. Brian: I started piano lessons when I was 5 and then did choir all throughout high school. I got a guitar when I was 14 and then wrote my first song when I was 15. Al: I taught myself because I loved Rock and Roll so much I was not going to be denied!
What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform?
Elise: I think it was Kenny Loggins. I only remember him singing “Your Mama Don’t Dance and Your Daddy Don’t Rock and Roll” though. Brian: My first concert was Lifehouse back in 2010 at the Evergreen State Fair and it was a fantastic first show. Al: Elton John!
How could you describe your music?
Al: We don’t like to be confined by boxes or labels, but we have a mix of Americana, Folk Rock, Early Rock and Roll, Indie Rock, and Alternative Country.
Describe your creative process.
Brian: For me songs usually come very suddenly to me, so whenever I get them in my head I almost feel that I have to rush to make sure that I get all the ideas in my head out there before they leave.
What is your main inspiration?
Elise: I’m mainly inspired by my Grandma Helen, who was an excellent piano player and singer.
What musician do you admire most and why?
Elise: I really admire Carole King. She was a hired songwriter starting in her teens. Most people probably don’t know how many hit songs she wrote for other artists. She wrote Locomotion and Natural Woman, among others. Brian: Probably Nick Drake. I just think it’s clear that he always put the art first when it came to his creative process. He put out three perfect albums and even though a lot of people never understood him while he was alive and wanted him to take a different route with his music, he never compromised. To me that’s the most beautiful thing that an artist can do.
Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career?
Al: I would say it has evolved as the music I listen to has evolved. We started out as a punk band, became more Rockabilly, and now have meshed into Indie Rock and Americana.
Who do you see as your main competitor?
Brian: I don’t really see us as having any competitors specifically. I am very much a peaceful soul and competition to me is frivolous.
What are your interests outside of music?
Al: Distance running! And I really love relay races like Ragnar and Hood to Coast!
If it wasn’t a music career, what would you be doing?
Elise: Maybe a historian of some sort? I’ve always enjoyed learning about history. Brian: I am currently working as an Uber/Lyft driver.
What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? Al: getting attention from people in the industry, and then having them follow through on what they say they will do.
If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be?
Elise: How restricting it is with artist creativity. I also don’t like that you more often than not need a lot of money to get to a professional level. Brian: Something needs to be done about paying artists better than streaming services do, but in order to have a better system to pay artists a lot of restructuring of the entire music industry would need to take place and I don’t see a better system coming along for the time being at least.
Why did you choose this as the title of this project? Al: Well, we live in Seattle and Mount Rainier is omnipresent. And when you think of tasks that you could do for someone, I think everyone can identify with climbing a mountain. Why would you do it – because they needed you to.
What are your plans for the coming months?
Elise: Touring! Brian: Live gigs and recording some new songs.
Do you have any artistic collaboration plans
Al: Sure we have many collaboration plans, but our co-collaborators don’t know we exist right now. We would love to do an Indie Americana song with Taylor Swift!
What message would you like to give to your fans? Elise: If you struggle with mental health, you’re not alone.
'I Forget Myself' Goes Hard On Latest Album ' Some Err Then Winter'
I recently got an opportunity to interview I Forget Myself– a South African born, Hong Kong based musician, famous for his contribution in the field of alternative rock. Although his seventh studio album Some Err then Winter is a new release, it’s becoming apparent that this man is a fortunately growing musician who is also a talented multi-instrumentalist and producer.
First of all, what made me most surprised during our discussion was the fact that I Forget Myself is a combination of various kinds of music. He’s going to be combining punk, metal, and good old hard rock with the style that will sound familiar and new at the same time. It may not be the easiest task to accomplish, though he does a splendid job at it.
We got to talk about the making of “Some Err then Winter,” and I was curious to learn more about his process. Songs like the “Osmanthus” and “Sweetness” one really illustrate how he is capable of creating such intricate and strong pieces. His contemporary music style has a depth that forces the listener to listen again and again just to pick new elements.
Another interesting topic of discussion that I wanted to explore was his work with Kyle Reece Williams on drums for an extended period of time. There is no doubt that this collaboration gives more depth to the musicality and makes it appear thicker and richer. What I could clearly decipher underneath, both in the song and in our conversation, is the raw spirit of I Forget Myself: the unapologetic pursuit of the avant-garde.
For him, formula does not suffice – all his albums seem to indicate that he is progressing forward through experimenting with different tunes. In a general note, for lovers of the genre of alternative rock and who are tiring of the usual tunes, “Some Err then Winter” is a good tune to listen to. It is a perfect example of how modern rock music can be aggressive and introspective at the same time.
They are worth keeping an eye on because no one would ignore talent and unique creativity as shown by I Forget Myself. By the time the band is recording their seventh album, the man’s not tired or complacent to take risks. I’m looking forward to seeing what he does next.
Is there a story behind your stage name? I put my music before everything, who I am is irrelevant in a fame-obsessed world.
Where do you find inspiration? I generate my own inspiration and consistently challenge myself to be better.
What was the role of music in the early years of your life? I played in punk bands as a teenager, was in a signed post-hardcore band and taught music in my twenties, music has always had a special and important place in my life.
Are you from a musical or artistic family? Yes, almost every family member on my maternal side is musical in some way.
Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? If you’d like your music to be heard then participation is not really a choice.
How did you learn to sing/write/to play? I took lessons for a few years, first in rock guitar and later in jazz bass.
I took lessons for a few years, first in rock guitar and later in jazz bass.
What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? It’s difficult to remember exactly but I do remember vividly watching Seether as a young teenager at a tiny local club in Johannesburg where we are both originally from, when they had a different name and before they blew up.
How could you describe your music? Modern rock infused with elements of alternative, punk, metal and other sub-genres of rock at times.
Describe your creative process. I usually write a song from start to finish in one sitting.
What is your main inspiration? To have as many people hear and enjoy my music.
What musician do you admire most and why? Any musician who can make a living playing music, as it is becoming increasingly infeasible.
Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? Sure, take a listen to my seven albums over the last four years and you will clearly hear that evolution.
Who do you see as your main competitor? I don’t see anyone as competition, all professional musicians are kindred spirits to me.
What are your interests outside of music? Regular stuff like exercise, hiking, reading, painting, studying, gaming, travelling. Same as everyone else I guess.
If it wasn’t a music career, what would you be doing? I have an actual career in a completely different field as music alone sadly can’t sustain the majority of artists today.
What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? The oversaturation of the industry and hobby bands releasing thousands of songs per day obscuring professional work.
If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? Artists should be paid much more by streaming services and make 99% of the profit, with the providers perhaps taking a maximum of 1% of earning, when in reality it’s the inverse.
Why did you choose this as the title of this project? Why not. The title doesn’t really matter over the music.
What are your plans for the coming months? Promote my current release and work on new music, business as usual.
Do you have any artistic collaboration plans I am still collaborating with long-time friend and incredible session drummer Kyle Reece Williams.
What message would you like to give to your fans? I write, record, produce and promote everything myself. This is no small task. Through word of mouth, I hope those who enjoy my music will actively share it with their friends who may have similar tastes in music and more visibly show their support for my work on social media.
A Journey into the World of Hawaiian Pistoleros; Unveiling 'Something Strange'
I was able to immerse myself in the album called “Something Strange” by the Hawaiian Pistoleros, and it is surely an odd one. This is a country/Hawaiian music band originating from Angers, France and they seem to have found their own special kind of music.
Something that I found most fascinating about “Something Strange” is how the band is able to shift you between these two completely different terrains. It’s like one second you are in Hawaii spending time at the beach and the next thing you know you are lost in some creepy town that might have been designed by David Lynch.
I wonder, it is quite a fascinating achievement. The album is ten tracks long but it feels like each song is making slight contributions towards each band’s identity. You have tracks such as ‘Crazy Shaky Dizzy World’ on the one hand, and then you have serious tracks like ‘Out of Tune. ’It was also quite surprising that they recorded this album on a remote island by involving Coconut Island and MaAula Records.
It’s clear that they’ve incorporated island vibes but with those crazy Slavic and Americana hints. Mostly, the pedal steelwork adds this great layer to their sound, for instance. This, of course, shows that the Hawaiian Pistoleros are not limited to a single genre of music.
Their direction may be subversive and innovative but they can never fully escape that melody that has been associated with sunshine. I would especially recommend this song to anyone who likes music that has an unconventional approach and unconventional structure that takes the listener on a journey. This is the kind of an album that gets better with more listens because each song will unveil something new each time.
I was able to speak to the band about the album and was interested to know how these songs were written and what the inspiration was behind them. They have some brilliant ideas on their sleeves, so it will be fascinating to know what they have in the pipeline.
Can you tell us about the creative process behind “Something Strange”? How did this album come together? SS is the first attempt of the band to record its own songs. We were used to play and arrange songs together, but even if we separately write music and songs in various projects, we had never composed songs together before, so this process took about 2 or 3 years between the first proposals and the first recordings
The title of the album, “Something Strange,” is intriguing. What inspired the name, and how does it reflect the themes of the album? At first, SS was simply the title of one single song, more or less inspired by a scene in a movie, especially that line: « some say they saw a green light in the woods ». The song evokes mysterious disappearances in a small and peaceful town. But after we finished the record, we thought it could perfectly fit the entire album: in this case the « strangeness » refers both to the stories told in the songs and to the musical and production choices we made. The main idea is « there is something to hear (to see?) behind the obvious » : an underworld, or a double meaning…
Hawaiian Pistoleros has a unique sound. How did you incorporate your signature style into this album while also exploring new musical directions? It’s hard to define how we did it, but in fact, it was the trickiest ambition of this record : How to sound « different » while we are using some well known musical genres such as country or hawaiian music types, among our influences…
The making of the album was quite long and complex, and many decisive choices were made in the studio during post-production.
Are there any particular songs on the album that hold special meaning to you? Can you share the stories behind them? The making of the album was quite long and complex, and many decisive choices were made in the studio during post-production. Two songs particularly reflect the mutation of the group and its ability to create music together: Something Strange and Pukalani. In these 2 songs, it is a real collective work, where the musical ideas were developed together in the rehearsal room and during the recording, with a lot of research and dialogue.
How has your sound evolved in “Something Strange” compared to your previous work? Were there any new influences or experiences that shaped this album? The previous recordings (1 LP and 2 Ep) were undoubtedly more “classic” in their aesthetic with the search for a vintage sound which recalls our influences (on MAMS there were even some mono recordings taken with a single microphone in the room!). For SS, we worked in a different way by favoring studio work, and seeking a more “produced” sound with more contemporary references such as Timber Timbre or Andy Shauf for example, far from Honky tonk country or 1930s Hawaiian music!
“Something Strange” touches on various themes and emotions. What message or feeling do you hope listeners take away from this album? SS’s songs are sometimes marked by a certain melancholy, or a form of nostalgia, but humour is never far away, like the idea already evoked of strangeness: perhaps beneath the surface, something else is hidden, much more surprising… This is what some of the characters who run through the songs suggest, like Suzie, or the three-legged dog
Looking ahead, what are your plans for promoting “Something Strange”? Can we expect to see you on tour, and if so, what can fans anticipate from your live performances? The tour started last year and continues this fall (the shows are regularly updated on our social media). The live performance is quite dynamic and allows our singer Vincent to humorously develop the common thread that runs through the album: the disappearance of Suzie, and the band’s wanderings to go looking for her… We also learn a little more about the mysterious 3-legged dog…
With this album, what do you feel is the next step for Hawaiian Pistoleros in terms of musical exploration or growth? SS was a first compositional experience for the group, and we can’t wait to start another album with new compositions!
The music industry is constantly evolving. How do you see “Something Strange” fitting into the current musical landscape, and what do you think sets it apart? There is such a diversity of proposals today, that it’s difficult to answer (it’s hard to tell)! We think that the band has pursued a rather unique approach since its beginnings and that we are modestly trying to trace our own path with as much sincerity as possible… Above all, we hope that this approach can be heard in our records and that it will seduce the public!
Jarre Acoustique: NiMO’s Journey from Synths to Piano
I recently had the chance to dive into NiMO’s latest album, “Jarre Acoustique,” and it’s quite an interesting project. NiMO, whose real name is Jeroen van der Wiel, released this album on August 24th as a tribute to Jean-Michel Jarre, the legendary electronic composer.
What struck me about this album is how NiMO has taken these iconic electronic tracks and reimagined them for solo piano. It’s a bold move, especially considering NiMO’s background in rock music. He’s been in the industry for over 25 years, working with artists like John Hayes and Ian Parry, so this acoustic approach is quite a departure from his usual style.
The album features 11 tracks, all acoustic piano renditions of Jarre’s work. It’s fascinating to hear these electronic compositions stripped down to their essence. NiMO’s approach really brings out the core melodies and harmonies in a way that reveals the “soul” of Jarre’s music.
One of the standout tracks for me is “Chronologie Part 3,” which features Patrick Rondat, Jarre’s long-time guitarist. It’s a nice touch that adds an extra layer of authenticity to the project.
I had the opportunity to chat with NiMO about the album, and it was interesting to hear about his creative process. He’s a self-taught keyboard player and composer, and his career has spanned multiple genres, from progressive rock with his band Odyssice to experimental electronic music. This project, though, is something entirely different.
NiMO shared some insights into the challenges he faced during production, particularly in adapting these complex electronic compositions for solo piano. It’s clear that this was a labor of love for him, combining his passion for Jarre’s music with his own innovative approach.
For fans of Jean-Michel Jarre or anyone interested in the intersection of electronic and acoustic music, I’d definitely recommend giving “Jarre Acoustique” a listen. It’s a unique take on some classic compositions, and it showcases NiMO’s versatility as a musician.
“Jarre Acoustique” has a unique title and sound. What inspired the concept behind this album, and how did you choose the direction for its acoustic elements? Well, in the late ’90s, I started to fantasize about what it would sound like when tracks like Enthicolor or Second Rendez-Vous would be adapted and performed by a symphony orchestra. In 2006 we saw the release of the Symphonic Jean Michel Jarre by the City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra, and to me, this was a bit of a disappointment to me, the arrangements weren’t dramatic enough.
I would have completely re-approached the song as a real classical piece. Now they did an easy one-on-one transfer to orchestra, and I see it as a missed opportunity. So I dismissed that fantasy. Fast forward to 2018 when I saw this video on YouTube by a classically trained pianist performing his interpretation of the first four Oxygen parts. And that intrigued me. That was done exactly the way I expected to be done. And amazingly enough, the Jarre tunes were still strong in that stripped-down piano version, without all the layers of synths and effects. Just one pure analog piano. And that planted the seed.
Is there a particular narrative or theme that runs through “Jarre Acoustique”? How do the tracks connect to each other to tell a cohesive story? No, there is no such concept used. When selecting songs for this project I did try to avoid the obvious ’hits’ and choose in the first place the already dramatic songs. Further in the process, I raised the bar a little higher and selected the less obvious songs, that were more challenging, such as Stardust and Oxygene 17.
This album places a strong emphasis on acoustic sounds. What motivated you to explore this stripped-down approach, and how does it differ from your previous work? Electronic music is commonly regarded as machine music. No soul, no depth, just programmed notes. But I noticed this was different in the music by Jean-Michel Jarre. By reducing the many layers of sounds to one analog piano, I tried to expose the soul in his music.
This is in total contrast of my other work. With Odyssice, I wrote and played progressive rock, with Thirteen and my work for Ian Parry my sound became more heavy and bombastic. My latest other work is more experimental EDM, again with multiple layers of sounds and synths. But I love the contrast with this piano album, and I really loved working on this project because of its simplicity and beauty.
With Odyssice I wrote and played progressive rock, with Thirteen and my work for Ian Parry my sound became more heavy and bombastic.
Could you take us through your songwriting process for this album? Were there any specific moments or experiences that heavily influenced the lyrics and melodies? First I had to learn the core melodies, discover the harmonies, and understand the accompanying chords and rhythms. And then transfer this to one single piano, played by only two hands but without losing sight of the essence of the song.
That was also an interesting challenge. Only with the track Second Rendez-Vous, it was impossible to reduce the playing to just two hands without leaving out major melody lines, so I decided to arrange it for four hands (à quatre mains).
I’ve always been an admirer of the piano works by Claude Debussy, especially songs like Clair De Lune, Reverie, and Arabesque I + II and I few years back I discovered the works of Dustin O’Halloran and Yann Tierssen. These pianists influenced me to choose for a romantic direction for the arrangements because I think the piano has it’s best moments in that style. Plus tracks like Souvenir Of China and Gloria Lonely Boy fit this style perfectly.
Who were the key collaborators on “Jarre Acoustique,” and how did their contributions shape the final sound of the album?
When the recordings were done and I was working on the mixes, the green light came from Jarre and his management. So the whole thing became really serious from that point on. And I started to realize that I wanted something special on the album, something that would surprise the fans. So one morning I got the idea of inviting Patrick Rondat to play acoustic guitar on one track.
Patrick was Jarre’s live guitarist from 1993 until 2005 and he happened to play on two of my songs, which I wrote for Ian Parry’s ’In Flangrante Delicto’ album back in 2020. So there was an almost direct line although I’ve never met or spoke with Patrick and I had no idea what his response would be to my proposal. Well he turned out the be a great guy. He loved my version of Chronolgie 3, which I’d sent to him.
He told me that the song is very special to him since it was the very first song he worked on when he was invited by Jarre to participate on the Chronologie album in 1993. It took him no more than two weeks to find time and re-arrange his parts from the heavy electric guitar to the gentle acoustic strings of his Ovation guitar. He even did more playing than I asked for and that gave me the ability to let the acoustic guitar shine in that song and, at one point, created a beautiful question-answer play between the piano and guitar.
The instrumentation on “Jarre Acoustique” seems thoughtfully curated. How did you decide on the instruments and arrangements for each track? The choice of instruments was obvious, since it’s a piano album. I choose the Yahama CFX Concert Grand Piano for not only its warm sound but also for its fresh and clear sound, especially in the high notes.
Once working on a song I could ’hear’ the arrangement, I could hear the right bassline melody to accompany the leading melody. I’m not classically trained, I never took piano lessons, I can’t read notes, it was like the arrangements were just floating around me and I only had to catch them.
What were the biggest challenges you faced while creating this album, and how did you overcome them? I had some trouble with the piano sound. It had a soft crackling sound in the high frequencies, especially when playing soft passages. It wasn’t loud but during the playback of the recordings it annoyed me. I had no idea where it came from and it took me a while to find the causative agent. It turned out to be a result of the mechanism of the piano, as with any piano. Eventually, I managed to ’fix’ it using some de-cracking plugins in order to make the annoying cracklings go away or at least soften them strongly.
How does “Jarre Acoustique” reflect your personal growth as an artist? Are there any particular tracks that hold a special meaning to you? To be honest, when I started the project, it was just something I wanted to do for myself. I had no idea if I was capable of rearranging a existing song to purely piano, I never wrote a kind of classical piano piece before!
The interplay between Patrick and me on Chronologie 3 is for me one of the highlights of the album. But also tracks as Gloria Lonely Boy and Souvenir Of China move me. And let’s not forget the beautiful versions of the originally dance tracks Stardust and Oxygene 17, it’s just amazing how they turned out to these beautiful songs.
With the release of “Jarre Acoustique,” where do you see your musical journey heading next? Are there any upcoming projects or collaborations you can share with us? Like I said earlier, I really enjoyed making this album, so there might be another Jarre Acoustique (part two) but that’s all depending on the success of this one. And I’m also looking into the idea of doing the same with the music by Kraftwerk, although that probably turn into a more experimental piano album.
Besides the piano album project, I want to further develop my experimental EDM sound. I have two tracks out on the streaming services, but I’m still not there yet, I’m considering adding some heavy guitars, but I haven’t had the time to actually to down that path yet.
How did you approach the visual and artistic presentation of “Jarre Acoustique”? Did the album’s concept influence its cover art and promotional materials? Regarding the sleeve designs, there’s one name very strongly connected to Jarre’s albums: Michel Granger. I love his work and I wanted the artwork for the Jarre Acoustique album also to be a tribute to Granger. I found an intriguing picture online that formed the base for the artwork.
I added some details to the concept and asked my wife to do a commission painting. So she painted the long, tall dark figures and added the coloured auras as a wink to Granges work for the Chronologie album. But the twist for me was that when you look at the artwork from a distance, you can see that the figures actually form a row of keys of a piano, and that was the perfect link to the piano recordings.
Do you have any plans to perform the tracks from “Jarre Acoustique” live? If so, how do you envision translating the acoustic essence of the album to a live setting? At this moment, there are no intentions to perform this work live. If there would be a number of interesting requests, I might consider to create a project for it, but to be honest I did retire from playing live a few years a go.
If David Lynch’s Eraserhead had soundtracked itself with a sonic hybrid of indie rock and hyperpop, it might have sounded a bit like charlieCityy’s “nothing, anymore.” But also — not really. This track feels less like a movie and more like that moment when you stare at the ceiling after a fight, replaying the conversation like a broken VHS tape. Is regret really just a fragmented memory stuck on loop? Or is it a beat… that won’t ever drop?
Charlie Cooper (aka charlieCityy… a wandering sonic shaman in his own right) doesn’t make it easy for you. No, this song refuses to be ornamental. He’s taken the cheeky hyperpop days and left them out by the backdoor — ENTER: a dilapidated indie soundscape strewn with glitchy echoes. You don’t want to fall into its trance, but inevitability pulls you there anyway. Waves of emotional detachment flutter in with stark, low-fi guitars; they linger like anxiety during rush hour traffic, simmering just below the windshield.
charlieCityy Gets Real: “nothing, anymore”
Lyrically, it’s both blunt and cryptic at once, kind of like reading an old grocery list that makes you remember a past relationship but also wonder why the hell you ever needed four jars of pickles. Charlie sings (or is he confessing?): “I feel nothing anymore.” It echoes later, like he’s scrolling endlessly through his own emotional void. Regret — “Did I even mean it?” — but not the kind that gets tied up with bow resolutions. More like the kind that wears sweat-sopped hoodies, pacing empty hallways.
The beauty here is in the mess. The unresolved disconnection. The open wounds of introspection. You feel like you’ve stepped into someone’s personal diary, complete with coffee stains and half-erased words that still almost rhyme.
At the end of “nothing, anymore,” you might not feel better, but at least, somehow, deeper. Or like you’ve accidentally crossed into someone else’s dream. Or yours.
Rick Lee Vinson Group Explores Love and Independence in "Sept You"
If a tumbleweed ever had a soundtrack, it might sound a lot like “Sept You” from the Rick Lee Vinson Group.
There’s something about this latest single that feels like watching a high-noon standoff between independence and love. The song simultaneously hollers from the top of a mountain and whispers across the plains. Rick Lee Vinson, the composer, obviously carried this song on his back like it’s a bag full of lightning bolts, while Larry Levinsohn, the lyricist, threaded the verbal needle between defiance and devotion with surprising precision.
At its core, “Sept You” feels like a one-sided conversation delivered to a mirror, but it’s not your usual anthem for the lone wolf. Instead, it’s more like the inner monologue of someone who’s fiercely self-sufficient, until that one person (you know who) shows up and quietly rearranges their whole universe. The narrator claims to walk against the grain, bending speed limits and disregarding dotted lines, yet there remains that singular gravitational force – a loved one’s voice keeping them in orbit.
Sonically, it’s classic country-rock wearing a jacket woven from folk tunes. It doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard, but it doesn’t feel lazy either. Rick and Larry have crafted a soundscape where the guitar chimes like wind over a field, and the percussion could almost be mistaken for the pulse of a restless soul.
Rick Lee Vinson Group Explores Love and Independence in “Sept You”
Here’s the thing: it’s not just about love, it’s about control—or the surrender of it. There’s an ironic vulnerability in the line about being a “one-man band.” Even the unshakable need someone sometimes.
Somehow, in this dance between wanting to blaze your own trail and realizing you don’t mind having someone alongside you, the Rick Lee Vinson Group captures the poetry lurking in contradictions.
Bottom line? Love’ll strip you bare, even while you’re wielding all your rugged independence.
Now, would Socrates have listened to this while sipping hemlock? Probably not, but who knows?
"VENUS" by Oscar Eriyal: An Audacious Exploration of Sound and Self
Oscar Eriyal isn’t predicting the future of music—he’s bending time itself, pulling at seams where styles should clash, but somehow don’t. On “VENUS,” his latest (and possibly boldest?) single, oscillating between alternative R&B and his usual pop-Latin playground, Eriyal creates an entirely new kind of atmosphere. It’s as if you walked into a neon-lit room, but the walls are breathing, softly.
Risk? Please. Eriyal eats risks for breakfast, cracks them like eggs into a skillet made of synthesizers and syncopated drums. Going all-in on the genre-fluid experiment that this is, he doesn’t just dip his toes in the R&B waters—he dives headfirst, fully clothed, no towel in sight. The results are disorienting in the most infectious way possible. It’s this embrace of ambiguity and uncertainty that you can feel in every chord. And let’s be honest—when’s the last time a pop singer did anything this unapologetic with their music?
“VENUS” by Oscar Eriyal: An Audacious Exploration of Sound and Self
Thematically, “VENUS” is less commentary, more invitation. It’s not about telling you how to live your life; it’s about showing you what happens when you don’t follow the script. Uncertainty slinks through the production, as if both listener and artist wander a new sonic landscape, unsure of where the next turn will take them. But isn’t that the beauty of it? The chorus floats in with an almost invisible confidence, inviting you to let go, to embrace the “What if?” And isn’t the world built on those? Eriyal’s giving us a sonic shrug here: “Why not, right?”
Pushing creative boundaries is baked into the DNA of this track, as it brushes past genre rules and laughs at linguistic borders—English and Spanish mix freely like they’ve known each other all along.
“VENUS” doesn’t beg for your approval. It just asks, quietly: Are you ready to jump into the unknown?
Navigating Life's Crossroads with Tobias Arbo's 'YELLOW WOODS'
Ever heard of walking barefoot through dew-drenched grass? It’s unhurried, a little uncomfortable, yet oddly refreshing— ”YELLOW WOODS” by Tobias Arbo feels a lot like that. You might expect indie-folk from a Swedish songwriter to lean on the safe side of introspection, but Tobias seems more interested in the claustrophobic throes of choosing your own destiny and the terrifying freedom it brings. A rabbit hole, but the cozy kind—if such a thing even exists.
The album lives and breathes through a subtle calmness that Zach Hanson, Linus and Hannes Hasselberg help bring to life with a delicate hand. It’s not here to shake any boots, but more like nudging toes over the line just enough to feel the thrill of a personal edge. Arbo’s delicate storytelling is less about the specifics and more about the universal suffocation we all face when sorting through life’s overload of options. Somehow, it’s existential dread in wool socks.
Navigating Life’s Crossroads with Tobias Arbo’s ‘YELLOW WOODS’
Arbo doesn’t write songs just to tether you to familiar moments. He’s after the big unknown, that misty middle ground between giving up and moving forward—the kind of space that doesn’t need measuring. But it’s also got a gentle way of encouraging; his music isn’t shouting at you to leap. It’s gently whispering, “Maybe it’s okay not to know.”
Depression and social isolation cast large shadows over “YELLOW WOODS”, but Arbo bends those monsters into intricate shapes, something real and pliable, almost like paper lanterns for the weary heart. This could be the soundtrack to flooring it on a nowhere highway, but it works just as well for simply sitting on the floor, wondering what next Sunday might bring.
Future classics? That’s for time to decide. But Tobias Arbo—a name to remember, a feeling you’ve already lived…multiple times.
Does Rj Bacon swim? That’s the question I keep asking myself as “No Name Lane” trickles coolly from my speakers like condensation down the side of a vintage cocktail glass, because this album feels like it was recorded at the bottom of an aquarium. Not in a bad way—I’m talking about the way sound gently wraps around you in that slick, enveloping way only bluesy jazz can. There’s liquid in the bones of this album, and not just because it’s “dry martini” music. Irony, huh? Dry and wet all at once. I guess that’s jazz for you.
This is Bacon’s eighth album, though you’d swear he’s been gliding through late-night lounges since the dawn of vinyl grooves. There’s that ease about it all, as if it could play forever in the background of your thoughts—or just as easily crawl into the foreground when you least expect it, stealing your attention with a sly riff. Could you taste a saxophone solo? Maybe you can here. It’s got that classic live jazz club feeling—like at any moment a clumsy patron might knock over a bar stool and make the band chuckle mid-note. Yet it’s all studio-polished in Bacon’s Sydney cocoon, dating right back from 2023 and 2024, though it grooves decades back.
“No Name Lane”: Rj Bacon’s Smooth Jazz Journey
Unlike so many who dip a toe into the jazz/blues pool, Bacon gets it. The smokiness, the shuffle, the conversation between instruments. This isn’t posturing—as Australian filmmakers turned musicians go, Bacon wears it comfortably. The album doesn’t screech, it doesn’t scream—it savors. Restraint is an art, and boy, does “No Name Lane” know it.
Could it be too smooth, too cool? It flirts with the edges of slickness. But there’s the catch: the subtle grit, a sneaky slide guitar with sweaty palms that reminds you even the smoothest road collects dust.
Final thought? It’s the soundtrack to your next late-night existential crisis.
Finding Your “Flex”: J. McKenna's Ode to Self-Improvement
To speak of “Flex” by J. McKenna and not mention the ghost of Sisyphus feels almost negligent. But this isn’t the ancient boulder-pusher’s track—this is J. McKenna’s stage, where every uphill moment is transformed into a victory lap before the next climb appears. It’s a song that doesn’t ask whether you’ve reached the peak but celebrates the mere fact that you’re still moving.
Don’t get comfortable, McKenna seems to growl over a rage beat that both burns and blooms. The anger in the instrumental doesn’t suffocate; it’s more like the boxing coach pushing you for one more round after you’ve told him you’re done. It’s tough love—real tough. But do we blame the coach when we see growth, see definitions emerge where there were once insecurities? Maybe we should thank the coach. Or maybe just “Flex”.
Incorporating Papiamento into a genre that loves its rhythms fast and loud isn’t something done haphazardly. It’s a juxtaposition surely meant to make you pause, not in confusion but in curiosity. Why soften the edges of a rage beat with a language so intimate, so grounded in a specific culture? Why not? The message of perseverance is universal, so why not let the language chase it across borders unbothered by expectation? You don’t see many marathons run in circles.
Finding Your “Flex”: J. McKenna’s Ode to Self-Improvement
What stands out though, beyond the production wizardry—remind yourself again McKenna did it all himself—is how this track winks at the concept of achievement. What is a victory if it’s dismissed? Aren’t we all just piles of accomplishments forgotten by the very people who made them? Nah, “Flex” says “go ahead, celebrate; you’ve earned that exhale between punches.”
Final thought: if you’re looking for permission to acknowledge your grind, McKenna has signed, sealed, and delivered it in a language you might not understand—but you feel it.
Alex Blocker's "I Like It": A Symphony of Simple Joys
Does anyone else feel like violin is the red wine of instruments? I swear, when Alex Blocker slides those strings through a track, something complex and warm unfolds, like a wine that leaves you pondering “Was that pepper? Or blueberry?” in the middle of your sip. “I Like It” is one of those rare moments where genre’s a suggestion, not a rule. You’ve got a blend, but it’s not the heavy stuff—it’s airy, but with roots.
Chicago-born, Denver-crafted, Boston-seen—this song’s journey feels like a postcard from a multi-city vacation. Blocker mingles contemporary pop’s usual bounce with jazzy detours, funky footwork, and R&B smoothness, all grounded in the solo hum of that contemporary violin. You can almost see him multi-tasking in the studio, juggling violin in one hand and vocals with the other like a musical street performer you accidentally walk into but can’t stop watching.
Alex Blocker’s “I Like It”: A Symphony of Simple Joys
Here, joy isn’t this glossy, unreachable summit of overwhelming ecstasy. Nah, it’s the smaller moments—a splatch of sunlight between buildings, a shared laugh when no one’s trying. That’s Blocker’s core message: Positivity doesn’t have to be big, it can be tiny. This is a universe where “good vibes” aren’t plastered on a billboard. They’re tucked in those offbeat rhythms, nestled between a guitar flick and a breathy chord—the everyday kind of ecstasy.
This song is air dancing in front of a fan. Not trying too hard, just there. You feel that simplicity wrapped up in Blocker’s muted vocal tone, which doesn’t reach for the sky; it tells you the clouds are already hanging low. Celebratory, but not grandiose—the kind of song to play when you’re eating your favorite snack, with zero chaos in your day.
Candi Staton's Disco Anthem: "Young Hearts Run Free"
Candi Staton’s “Young Hearts Run Free” is like scrubbing the grime off 1976 with a glitter-infused Brillo pad, looking right through the mirror and realizing it’s your own reflection crying out: “How did I end up here?” It’s a dance floor anthem that sparkles with Saturday night invincibility, only to leave you staring at the ceiling at 2 a.m., questioning every decision you’ve ever made in love.
David Crawford penned a disco track that’s really a Trojan horse—its groove, all shimmering and buoyant, sneaks in beneath your defenses, but Staton’s delivery is a bullet-point memo on survival. You’re bopping your head but catching bruises to the heart. She gets it. This is sway-your-hips therapy.
“Young Hearts Run Free” reminds us that the world spins on its axis exactly like a disco ball—glittering, shiny, but fractured. Staton doesn’t preach; instead, she waltzes between the joy of escape and the burden of holding onto self-worth. There’s an inherent tension: beneath the infectious baseline, she’s saying, don’t let that love trap you while you’re too busy grooving.
Candi Staton’s Disco Anthem: “Young Hearts Run Free”
The unbearable lightness of freedom never felt scarier.
That’s where the magic of this track happens—it’s a contrast of forces. Disco inherently tells us to throw our arms up in the air, while the lyrics are warning us to protect our hearts like a 3 a.m. emergency exit. Staton’s vocals? As powerful as a well-timed side-eye at a bad decision.
It’s a cautionary tale padded with polyester and gold lamé, but at its core, it’s about evasive action. Dancing away before the night swallows you whole. Feel the beat, but don’t be fooled by the lights.
Desperate Electric's "Don't Fall in Love": A Sonic Rollercoaster of Want and Woes
If you ever wondered what it might sound like to party under the northern lights while wrestling with existential desire, “Don’t Fall in Love” by Desperate Electric is probably close. Dangerously close. The album is a shimmering rollercoaster of want and woes—like sipping neon cocktails that buzz under your skin, knowing the hangover might hit harder than expected, but loving it anyway.
Kayti Korte’s smooth bass licks tease you along, while Ben Morris plays puppet master with a guitar and keys that flicker like fireflies you’ll never quite catch. You almost get away with it, but not quite. Temptation wins.
Thirteen songs of reckless chase, caution drops. The album dances at the intersection where 80’s disco-legged flashbacks meet starship R&B, but grounding it all is a deep tension—desire pulling you in one direction, self-awareness clawing back the other.
But listen, Korte and Morris know the game; they’ve been here before—they cannot merely escape it, so they innovate inside it. Are those vocal harmonies? No, they feel more like verbal embraces, or even traps, as Korte and Morris navigate this sonic flirtation in a way that almost feels dangerous.
Desperate Electric’s “Don’t Fall in Love”: A Sonic Rollercoaster of Want and Woes
Thematically, we are somewhere between a Nicholas Sparks storyline and a sci-fi fever dream. The album unpacks the human relationship experience but leaves room for kaleidoscopic interpretation. Desire is front-and-center, as pressing as an ignored text alert, but stretching into deeper contemplation of identity shaped through desire.
You constantly want, but does wanting undo you? That’s a theme threaded through the beats, through the throbbing synth—it’s also dangerously more enjoyable than introspection should allow.
It’s impossible not to feel caught. “Don’t Fall in Love” builds its own metaphysical night club where dancing means rethinking your choices as strobe lights blind your doubts.
So, fall in love… or don’t. Just be prepared for the ride
"What's it Gonna Take": Esthy's Powerful Ballad of Desperation and Longing
Esthy’s latest single, “What’s it Gonna Take”, feels like the sound of rain falling on a sun-drenched cactus. You’re never quite sure if it needs saving—thriving in its dryness or quietly gasping for water.
Heartbreak bruises softly here. It doesn’t shout, it observes. The lyrical questions spin on a slow axis: “Was it me? Did I miss that crack in the windshield when the road looked perfect?” Yet, here’s the killer—Esthy knows the car crashed miles ago. Or maybe it’s still veering off in slow motion. Who’s to say? But boy, does she wish she could rewind to that dizzy twist of fate that wasn’t quite yet fated.
Vocally, Esthy hovers like smoke, but with resolve—the kind of voice that carries both weight and wind at the same time. It matches the thick, spatial production underneath. A lot of pop-RnB these days is glossy and vacant, but the production here feels rich like the inside of a thousand-year-old tree. You know it’s been through some stuff.
“What’s it Gonna Take”: Esthy’s Powerful Ballad of Desperation and Longing
Dead End. Those two dreadful words hang heavy in the song, yet Esthy is still tip-tapping around the perimeter, knocking on windows pretending she can bypass the inevitable. And who hasn’t been there? Desperation’s game is begging when words feel small.
Did anyone else think of the haunted desperation in the paintings of Edward Hopper when hearing this? Relationships slipping through fingers, two people occupying space in totally different timelines. Esthy’s voice feels like someone standing under a fluorescent diner light, staring outward at a static world where a lover once was and never will be again.
In the swirling mess of everything, the track daringly asks, what if love is just bad geography—terribly, irreversibly misplaced?
All that’s clear in “What’s it Gonna Take,” though, is that some questions were never meant for answering.
Figuring it out is exhausting, but maybe there’s beauty in the ache.
