"Ain't Got Nothing But Time": Electric High's Glorious Rock Paradox.
With their single “Ain’t Got Nothing But Time,” Electric High presents a glorious contradiction. Here we have a Norwegian rock band – a collective known for high-voltage, grit-under-the-fingernails swagger – serving up a sermon on the profound beauty of… doing nothing in particular. It’s a curious thing, like finding a Zen mantra scrawled on the back of a well-worn leather jacket. It feels both entirely out of place and perfectly at home.
The groove is a confident saunter, not a sprint. You can feel the combined heft of PV Staff, Olav Iversen, Marius Mørch, Einride Torvik, and Tor Helge Opdahl moving as one solid entity. The track doesn’t build with frantic energy; it occupies its space with the unhurried force of a river that knows it will eventually reach the sea. I was reminded, for some reason, of the slow, deliberate work of a 17th-century clockmaker, painstakingly crafting a single gear, not because a deadline looms, but because the gear demands it. That’s the feeling here: craftsmanship without the anxiety of a ticking clock.
“Ain’t Got Nothing But Time”: Electric High’s Glorious Rock Paradox.
In a world that screams for optimization and hacks to reclaim seconds, this song is a permission slip to let the calendar burn. It’s a head-nodding piece of rebellion that suggests true power isn’t in managing every minute, but in realizing you own all of them, to be spent wisely or wasted beautifully. It pushes back against the modern chaos not with a roar of anger, but with a supremely confident shrug.
This is rock ‘n’ roll that doesn’t demand your immediate attention. It will wait. What, then, is the more defiant act: to smash a guitar against the wall, or to simply unplug it and take a nap?
Kansas City’s TYYE has delivered “whole thing,” a single that glides into your ears with the frictionless cool of a late-night drive but leaves behind the kind of emotional residue that sticks to your ribs. The R&B production is impeccably smooth, a sleek chassis of polished beats and pop sensibilities; The Weeknd taught it how to dress for the city, and a hint of Glass Animals’ humid, gooey synths gives it a peculiar warmth. It’s designed to be compulsively listenable.
And it is. But peel back that glossy veneer and you find a heart beating erratically.
This isn’t a song about simple pining; it’s an ode to radioactive devotion. The kind of all-in infatuation that once made watch dials glow alluringly in the dark, both brilliant and a little bit dangerous to the person holding them. TYYE captures the terror of offering up your entire world, your “whole thing,” while knowing you might just be a scenic overlook on someone else’s journey. There’s a desperate plea here, a rejection of casualness that feels almost primal. The slick, commercial sound feels like a beautiful, fragile container for a feeling that’s about to boil over.
Beyond the Groove: TYYE Delivers “whole thing.”
It’s the paradox of the track that lingers. The groove is laid-back, almost nonchalant, but the lyrical core is anything but. It’s the sonic equivalent of smiling fixedly at a party while your mind is screaming. A demand for everything, wrapped in a melody that asks for nothing but a replay.
You’re left with a question that hangs in the air long after the beat fades: can a love that wants the whole universe ever avoid collapsing under its own weight?
Big O & Tranzformer Craft Sonic Duality on Dichotomy
Sometimes the most compelling art emerges from the tension between opposing forces. Orlando Turner, known professionally as Big O, and San Diego’s Tranzformer have built their third collaborative effort around this very principle.
“Dichotomy” arrives as a 42-minute meditation on musical opposites, where London’s refined soul meets California’s gritty underground aesthetic.
The album opens with Big O’s “Glass Butterfly,” a track that immediately establishes the producer’s signature approach.
Spacious arrangements shimmer with nostalgic warmth, each element carefully placed like brushstrokes on canvas. Turner’s background shows here.
This is someone who started crafting beats at 13 and has spent years absorbing influences across Atlanta, Birmingham, Orlando, Miami, the Bay Area, Los Angeles, and even Germany before settling in London. His production feels lived-in, weathered by experience yet polished by technique.
Tranzformer responds with “Gravy,” and the shift is immediate. Where Big O favors space and breath, his San Diego counterpart packs every corner with intricate details.
Robust bass lines anchor delicate vocal snippets while maintaining that punk rock edge that has defined his work since 2008. The track feels like controlled chaos, a musical representation of the album’s central theme.
This back-and-forth continues throughout “Dichotomy,” with each producer taking turns to showcase their individual vision. Big O’s contributions to tracks 1, 3, 5, 7, and 9 maintain a consistent thread of soulful sophistication.
“Trade It All” and “Count On Me” demonstrate his ability to create emotional depth through restraint. His arrangements breathe, allowing each sample and instrument to occupy its own sonic space without crowding.
Tranzformer’s offerings tell a different story. “Inspiration” and “Cali” reveal an artist unafraid of complexity, layering elements until they form dense musical collages.
His approach recalls the early days of hip-hop production, when creativity meant pushing equipment beyond its intended limits. There’s something beautifully rebellious about his method, a refusal to conform to conventional ideas about space and clarity.
The album’s true magic happens when these two approaches converge. “Culmination” brings together L.O.U., P-Rawb, and cuts from Decksterror in what feels like a summit meeting of underground talent.
Mixed and mastered by Argy W, the track demonstrates how Big O and Tranzformer’s contrasting styles can create something neither could achieve alone.
The production shifts between Turner’s expansive vision and Tranzformer’s dense arrangements, creating a dynamic that keeps listeners engaged throughout.
“Fed Up (Remix)” serves as another highlight, featuring guest verses from Fashawn and G-Rocka with Tranzformer handling hook duties.
Big O’s production provides the foundation while G-Rocka’s mixing and mastering adds the final polish. The track exemplifies the album’s collaborative spirit, with each contributor bringing their strengths to create something cohesive yet multifaceted.
Perhaps most intriguing is “Run It Up,” which closes the album with a solo verse from Benny Canales, formerly known as 3D.
Mixed and mastered by Tranzformer, the track represents the duo’s ability to create unified soundscapes when working in tandem. The production feels like a conversation between two distinct voices, each responding to and building upon the other’s ideas.
The album’s title proves prophetic. “Dichotomy” explores the spectrum of human experiences through musical means, presenting contrasts that somehow feel complementary.
Big O’s London-based perspective brings international sophistication, while Tranzformer’s San Diego roots provide street-level authenticity. The fact that they created this music across continents, collaborating via internet, adds another layer to the album’s exploration of distance and connection.
What makes “Dichotomy” particularly compelling is its refusal to resolve these tensions. Rather than finding middle ground, Big O and Tranzformer celebrate their differences.
Big O & Tranzformer Craft Sonic Duality on Dichotomy
The album suggests that opposition can be productive, that creative friction generates heat and light. This philosophy extends beyond music into broader questions about collaboration, identity, and artistic expression.
The production quality throughout maintains professional standards while preserving each artist’s distinctive character.
Big O’s tracks retain their spacious, soulful quality, while Tranzformer’s contributions keep their dense, energetic feel. The album flows naturally despite these stylistic shifts, suggesting careful sequencing and mutual respect between collaborators.
“Dichotomy” stands as evidence that hip-hop production continues to evolve through cross-pollination. Big O and Tranzformer have created something that honours the genre’s sample-based traditions while pushing into new territory.
Their third collaboration feels like the culmination of a creative partnership that has found its rhythm through embracing rather than minimizing differences.
The album leaves listeners with questions about the nature of artistic collaboration and the value of maintaining individual identity within collective work.
Behind the Zip: Lessons in Crime Unpacks Guilt in "Reply ASAP"
Lessons in Crime’s new single, “Reply ASAP,” bounces along with the kind of infectious energy you’d want for a summer road trip, but it’s a smokescreen for a uniquely modern state of inertia. It feels less like a rock song and more like one of those old pneumatic message tubes from a 1940s department store—all zip and kinetic energy on the outside, but inside, a little capsule of desperate, static guilt is stuck somewhere deep within the walls, between floors. The song perfectly captures the feeling of knowing you should, you must, you want to respond, but the signal from brain to fingertips has been inexplicably severed.
Liam Schwisberg and Paolo Pace have crafted an anthem for the ghost in the machine of our own making. Over shimmering synths and a resolute guitar line that chugs forward with a confidence the narrator desperately lacks, we are invited into a cycle of self-sabotage. Lyrically, we’re stranded. The Ottawa duo articulate that quicksand of digital obligation with startling clarity—the paralysis born from the simple, crushing weight of expectation. For a self-produced track, its sonic landscape is expansive, blending orchestral hints with clean pop architecture, a contrast that heightens the internal messiness of being so capable and yet so completely stuck.
Credit: Photo by Alex Henkelman
This isn’t a song that offers a solution. It’s a diagnostic scan. It holds up a perfectly-produced mirror to our own inertia, reflecting the silent scream behind a screen that’s gone dark. It validates the exhaustion of performing connection when your own batteries are dead.
The track ends, and the silence it leaves behind is loud. That little red notification bubble on your phone seems to glow a bit brighter, a bit more knowingly. It doesn’t ask for an answer; it just makes you wonder, who is waiting for you to break through the static?
There’s a peculiar, soil-and-metal chill to Rubanq’s new single, “Bury Me Deep.” From the first few sparse piano keys, you’re not so much listening to a song as you are being lowered into its world—a quiet, frostbitten landscape where the roads are empty and the sun is just a rumor. The Swedish songwriter operates in that stark territory between grunge’s raw-nerve honesty and Americana’s weary storytelling, creating a sound that feels both vast and claustrophobically intimate.
The track’s narrative doesn’t scream its despair; it exhales it. This isn’t the sound of fighting against the darkness, but of becoming so acquainted with it that you offer it a seat and a drink. Rubanq’s voice isn’t polished; it’s a cracked and weathered thing, delivering lines about cosmic alienation and disillusionment with the kind of exhausted resignation that is somehow more unsettling than outright rage. There is no struggle for a final redemption here, only the frank acceptance of an end.
“Bury Me Deep” by Rubanq: The Grim Lullaby.
Listening to it, I was suddenly reminded of the eerie serenity of Iron Age bog bodies, pulled from the peat after millennia, unsettlingly at peace. A complete surrender to the elements.
This is the strange power of “Bury Me Deep.” It presents oblivion not as a terror, but as a final, comforting weight, like a heavy blanket in a cold room. The track offers no easy answers or glimmers of manufactured hope. Instead, it holds a mirror to a profound exhaustion and finds a kind of grace within it. It’s a beautifully grim lullaby for the worn-out soul.
What, after all, is more human than the desire to finally rest?
Physics of the Heart: Mike Stewart Theory's "It Reaches Us" Review
Mike Stewart Theory’s new single, “It Reaches Us,” feels less like a piece of music and more like a strange meteorological event happening inside your head. You’re immediately dropped into a groove that has the smooth, shoulder-rolling confidence of 80s soul, but something is off in the atmosphere. The air is thick with a psychedelic haze, a sense of temporal displacement that is both unsettling and deeply hypnotic.
The architecture of this feeling is deliberate. Julio Figueroa’s drums are the anchor, the steady, human heartbeat in the void. But floating above it is Marcus Praed’s Moog synth, which doesn’t just play notes; it emits gravitational waves. It hums like a relic from an abandoned starship, creating that woozy, Indietronic shimmer that makes everything feel slightly unstuck from reality.
Physics of the Heart: Mike Stewart Theory’s “It Reaches Us” Review
Lyrically, the track pulls off a brilliant, heartbreaking trick. It equates the ache of a past relationship to starlight—light from a source that may no longer exist, still traveling an impossible distance to land in your eyes. This isn’t nostalgia. This is physics. The idea, born from witnessing an eclipse, is baked into the song’s sound. Mike Stewart’s vocal performance has the quality of someone trying to describe the uncanny, pewter-colored light of a midday sun blotted out by the moon. It’s a quiet awe mixed with the creeping dread that the natural order has been suspended just for you.
The fallout of a love affair is arriving now, years late, a package delivered to the wrong address at the right time. The energy is real, its source long gone, but its effect is only just beginning.
How do you mourn something that, for you, hasn’t even finished dying yet?
Kavita Baliga’s “Lost in the Dark” Is A Song For The Times
Kavita Baliga, a name that might be new to some, is not new to the music scene.
A classically trained soprano, she has lent her voice to Bollywood soundtracks and has been a choir conductor. Now, she steps into a new arena with her latest single, “Lost in the Dark.”
The track is a bold and refreshing revival of the 1980s power ballad, a genre that many of us hold dear.
But this is not just a throwback; it’s a contemporary re-imagination of a sound that defined a generation.
When the song starts, there is a dreamy part with Baliga’s voice flowing over a bed of acoustic sounds. Slowly building up, it has a soft start that pulls you in.
The lyrics, penned by Baliga herself, speak of chasing a flame, of feeling a pull at the heart, of change. It’s a sentiment that resonates in today’s world, a world that often feels heavy and unjust.
As Baliga says, “In today’s turbulent unjust world, it’s a reminder that music can make us feel joyful, empowered, and alive.”
And that’s exactly what “Lost in the Dark” does. It’s a song that makes you want to close your eyes and just feel.
Baliga and 33-time Grammy-winning and -nominated producer/engineer Craig Bauer worked together on the music, which is perfect.
The famous Michael Thompson plays guitar on the track. Thompson has been on a lot of 80s hits.
When you put his powerful chords next to Baliga’s smooth singing, you get an electric dynamic conflict. She says it is a “full circle” moment that one of the people who created that sound is adding his magic to her track.
The song’s theme of nostalgia is palpable. Baliga mentions that the song started as a late-night noodling on her keyboard, a subconscious longing for the simplicity of childhood.
This sense of looking back, of yearning for a time before responsibilities, is something that many of us can relate to. But the song is not just about nostalgia; it’s also about stepping into the new.
Baliga, an Indian-American woman, is breaking new ground by writing music that was made famous by leather-clad hair bands decades ago. It’s a brave and exciting move, and one that pays off handsomely.
The track is a cinematic experience. It’s easy to imagine it playing in a movie, during a pivotal scene.
Kavita Baliga’s “Lost in the Dark” Is A Song For The Times
The lush harmonies, the soaring vocals, the powerful guitars – it all comes together to create a sound that is both grand and intimate.
The song is a reminder of the power of music to transport us, to make us feel, to connect us to something larger than ourselves.
“Lost in the Dark” is a song that will stay with you long after you’ve heard it. It’s a song that is both of its time and for all time. It’s a song that is, quite simply, a triumph.
Kavita Baliga has created something special here, a song that is a love letter to the power ballads of the past and a beacon of hope for the future.
It’s a song that reminds us that even when we’re lost in the dark, there’s always a flame to chase, a song to be found.
Dax's 'Man I Used To Be' Is a Raw, Unflinching Look in the Mirror
Dax, the Nigerian-Canadian artist known for his lyrical dexterity and rapid-fire delivery, has taken a sharp turn.
His latest single, “Man I Used To Be,” is a quiet storm, a country-tinged confessional that finds him trading his rap persona for something far more vulnerable.
Released after a self-imposed six-month hiatus from music until he was sober, the track is a powerful statement of intent.
It’s a song about shedding skin, about looking in the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back, and about the difficult, often messy, process of becoming someone new.
The song opens with a simple, almost hesitant, guitar riff. It’s a sound that immediately signals a departure from the hard-hitting beats that have defined much of Dax’s career.
His voice, when it enters, is surprisingly gentle, tinged with a weariness that speaks to the battles he’s been fighting. “I’m half the man I used to be, it’s gon’ take some getting used to me,” he sings, and the line hangs in the air, a raw and honest admission of his transformation.
It’s a bold move for an artist who has built his career on confidence and bravado, but it’s a move that pays off, drawing the listener in with its unflinching honesty.
As the song unfolds, Dax paints a vivid picture of the man he used to be, a man burdened by “generational trauma, heartbreak, addiction.” He doesn’t shy away from the darkness of his past, but he doesn’t dwell on it either.
Instead, he uses it as a backdrop to highlight the profound changes he’s undergone. “Don’t ask the reason I changed, ask yourself why you stayed the same,” he challenges, and it’s a line that cuts deep, a powerful call for self-reflection and accountability.
This isn’t just a song about his own journey; it’s a song that speaks to anyone who has ever felt stuck, anyone who has ever yearned for a fresh start.
The production, handled by Nashville hitmaker Jimmy Robbins, is masterful in its subtlety. The sparse arrangement, with its gentle guitars and understated percussion, creates a sense of intimacy, making it feel as if Dax is speaking directly to the listener.
Dax’s ‘Man I Used To Be’ Is a Raw, Unflinching Look in the Mirror
There are no flashy solos or over-the-top production tricks here. Just a man, his guitar, and his story.
It’s a testament to the power of simplicity, a reminder that sometimes the most profound statements are the ones that are whispered, not shouted.
“Man I Used To Be” is a song that will undoubtedly surprise many of Dax’s long-time fans. It’s a departure from his signature sound, a move into a new and uncharted territory.
But it’s a move that feels both natural and necessary. It’s the sound of an artist who is no longer afraid to be vulnerable, who is no longer afraid to show his scars. It’s the sound of an artist who is finally, and fully, himself.
In a musical moment that feels saturated with fleeting trends, the arrival of Riviir’s “Rap 4 Me” EP is a welcome anomaly.
The Harlem-based artist, in a surprising and potent collaboration with West Coast veteran The Game, has crafted a two-track offering that feels less like a modern release and more like a time capsule unearthed from the early 2000s.
The project, consisting of the title track and “Kochi,” is a deliberate and well-executed homage to a bygone era of hip-hop, a time when lyrical substance and soulful production were paramount.
The story behind “Rap 4 Me” is as compelling as the music itself. Riviir’s creative process, as detailed in the press release, was a journey of trial and error.
His initial vision of a lo-fi, chill-hop beat was abandoned, but not before he salvaged a string arrangement that would become the heart of the final track.
This willingness to deconstruct and rebuild, to let the music guide him, is a testament to his artistry. The final instrumental, a high-tempo affair with soulful, self-recorded background vocals, is a rich and layered affair.
Riviir’s verses, which bookend The Game’s contribution, are sharp and incisive, delivered with a confidence that belies his emerging status.
The Game’s presence on the EP is a significant co-sign, a bridge between the West Coast and East Coast sensibilities that define the project.
His verse on “Rap 4 Me” is a reminder of his enduring skill, a gruff and seasoned counterpoint to Riviir’s more youthful energy.
The chemistry between the two artists is palpable, a shared respect for the craft that shines through in their performances.
“Kochi,” the second track on the EP, has an even more fascinating backstory. The beat, a relic from Riviir’s 2014 archives, was one of the few to survive a corrupted hard drive.
This phoenix-from-the-ashes narrative adds a layer of poetic resonance to the song. The track, originally titled “Don’t Do That There,” was given a new name and a new life, a tribute to the Indian city of Kochi.
The updated lyrics and The Game’s verse transform the song into a powerful statement, a fusion of personal history and global consciousness.
Riviir And The Game’s “Rap 4 Me”: A Throwback To the Golden Age Of East Coast Hip-Hop
The decision to release music videos for both tracks on August 4, 2025, is a savvy move, a way to build momentum for Riviir’s forthcoming debut album.
The EP is a potent appetizer, a taste of what’s to come from an artist who is clearly a student of the game, but also a creator with a unique and compelling voice.
In an industry that often prioritizes style over substance, Riviir’s “Rap 4 Me” is a bold declaration of intent. It is a project that values authenticity, craftsmanship, and the enduring power of a well-told story.
It is a reminder that sometimes, the most forward-thinking music is that which looks to the past for inspiration.
The result is a release that feels both nostalgic and refreshingly new, a promising glimpse into the future of a talented artist.
Sadie Mustoe’s ‘White Flag’ is a Folk-Rock Battle Cry You Didn’t Know You Needed
Sadie Mustoe. Remember the name. The Australian singer-songwriter has been making waves in the folk scene, and her latest single, ‘White Flag,’ is a proof to her rising artistry.
This is not a song of defeat. It’s a raw, unapologetic expression of anger, a sonic venting that is as therapeutic as it is infectious.
Mustoe is taking ‘White Flag’ on the road, with a tour across Western Australia and Victoria. She’s promising a mix of intimate acoustic sets and full-band shows that will get you on your feet.
And if the single is any indication, these live performances will be electric. There’s a fire in this song that is meant to be experienced live, a collective catharsis waiting to happen.
It’s a sound that is both familiar and refreshingly new. Mustoe has a knack for combining genres in a way that feels organic and exciting.
The song compels you to shout, to move, to feel. It’s a headbanger with a heart of gold.
The production, handled by Ben Irawan and Sam Varghese, is superb. Heavy guitars and an earworm chorus are balanced with eerie, beautiful verses.
A guitar and fiddle solo adds a touch of the unexpected, a moment of pure musical joy. Every element is perfectly placed, creating a rich and dynamic composition.
She’s been writing and recording since she was 10, and her experience shows. Her previous singles, ‘Power In This World’ and ‘I Find You Interesting,’ have already garnered significant attention, with the former gaining over 21,000 streams on Spotify.
Sadie Mustoe’s ‘White Flag’ is a Folk-Rock Battle Cry You Didn’t Know You Needed
‘White Flag’ sees Mustoe pushing her creative boundaries even further. Her unique chord progressions on guitar, experimental violin techniques, and enchanting voice come together to create something truly special.
She’s backed by a band of top Melbourne musicians, and their chemistry is palpable.
This is an artist on the rise, a voice that demands to be heard. Sadie Mustoe is not just a musician; she’s a force of nature. And ‘White Flag’ is her storm.
What does it mean to wave a white flag? In the context of this song, it’s not about giving up. It’s about acknowledging the fight, the struggle, the anger.
It is about being strong when you are weak. Just remember that letting it all out is sometimes the best thing you can do.
Cali Tucker’s “Last Name” Isn’t Just Another Country Song
Cali Tucker’s latest single, “Last Name,” arrives with the force of a summer storm.
It’s a song that doesn’t just ask for your attention; it demands it. The track, a modern retelling of the Cinderella story, is a powerful statement about self-reliance and the courage to build a life on your own terms.
Tucker, the daughter of LaCosta Tucker and niece of the legendary Tanya Tucker, is no stranger to the spotlight.
But with “Last Name,” she steps out from the shadow of her famous family and claims her own space in the country music scene.
The song, co-written by Tucker, Derek Robertson, Tricia Battani, and G’harah “PK” Degeddingseze, is a masterclass in storytelling. The lyrics paint a vivid picture of a woman who is tired of waiting for a prince to rescue her.
The message is clear: you don’t need a fairy godmother to make your dreams come true. All you need is a little bit of grit and a whole lot of heart.
The music video, which premiered on Taste of Country, brings the song’s narrative to life with a playful and imaginative twist. Tucker’s mother, LaCosta, makes a special appearance as the fairy godmother, a touching nod to the family ties that have shaped her as an artist.
But this is not a story about a damsel in distress. This Cinderella is a fighter, a survivor, and a dreamer. She’s a woman who is not afraid to get her hands dirty and build her own castle, one brick at a time.
Tucker’s voice is a force of nature. It’s a voice that can be both sweet and sassy, vulnerable and strong.
It’s a voice that has been shaped by years of performing, from the hallowed stage of the Grand Ole Opry to the massive crowds at NASCAR’s Pennzoil 400. It’s a voice that is destined to be remembered.
In a world of fleeting fame and disposable pop stars, Cali Tucker is the real deal. She’s an artist who is not afraid to be herself, to speak her mind, and to chase her dreams.
With “Last Name,” she has given us a declaration of independence wrapped in melody. It’s a song that will inspire you, empower you, and make you believe that anything is possible. Cali Tucker is a name you won’t soon forget.
The single is a refreshing departure from the often-formulaic narratives of modern country music.
While many songs in the genre focus on love, heartbreak, and hometown pride, “Last Name” offers a different perspective. It’s a story about the messy, complicated, and ultimately rewarding process of self-discovery.
It’s a song for anyone who has ever felt like an outsider, a misfit, or a dreamer. It’s a song that reminds us that our greatest strength lies not in our connections to others, but in our connection to ourselves.
The production of the song is as impressive as its message. The arrangement is a perfect blend of traditional country instruments and modern pop sensibilities.
The guitars are crisp and clean, the drums are powerful and driving, and the vocals are front and center. The result is a sound that is both classic and contemporary, a sound that will appeal to a wide range of listeners.
The song’s chorus is an instant earworm, a sing-along anthem that will be stuck in your head for days. It’s a song that is destined to be a hit.
But “Last Name” offers so much depth beyond its catchy tune. It’s a song with a deep and meaningful message. It’s a song that speaks to the heart of what it means to be human.
It’s a song about the power of dreams, the importance of self-reliance, and the courage to be yourself. It’s a song that will resonate with anyone who has ever dared to dream of a better life.
Cali Tucker is an artist on the rise. She has the talent, the drive, and the vision to become one of the biggest stars in country music. With “Last Name,” she has proven that she is a force to be reckoned with.
She is an artist who is not afraid to take risks, to push boundaries, and to challenge the status quo. She is an artist who is destined for greatness. And with a name like Tucker, how could she not be?
But as she so powerfully declares in her new single, she represents far more than a family name. She is a voice. And it’s a voice that deserves to be heard.
The song’s message of empowerment is particularly relevant in today’s cultural climate. In a time when so many people are struggling to find their place, “Last Name” is a reminder that we all have the power to create our own destiny.
It’s a song that encourages us to be bold, to be brave, and to be true to ourselves. It’s a song that will inspire a new generation of dreamers to chase their own happily ever afters, on their own terms. And that is a message that is truly timeless.
Let’s talk about the sound of this track. The opening chords, a simple, clean guitar riff, immediately set a tone of introspection. It’s a sound that feels familiar, like a comfortable pair of blue jeans, but there’s an undercurrent of something more.
As Tucker’s voice enters, it’s clear that this is not a song that will stay in one place. Her delivery is confident and direct, with a hint of a southern drawl that feels both authentic and modern.
The production, helmed by a team that clearly understands the nuances of modern country, builds gradually. The addition of a steady, unobtrusive drumbeat and a subtle bassline gives the song a sense of forward momentum, a feeling of moving toward something important.
The instrumentation is a thoughtful mix of classic and contemporary country elements. The steel guitar, a staple of the genre, makes a welcome appearance, but it’s used sparingly, adding a touch of melancholy without ever feeling overwrought.
The electric guitar, on the other hand, is more prominent, with a clean, bright tone that gives the song a modern edge. The balance between these two elements is a testament to the skill of the musicians and the vision of the producers.
It’s a sound that respects the traditions of country music while also pushing the genre forward.
One of the most interesting aspects of “Last Name” is its place within the larger context of contemporary country music. In a genre that has, at times, been criticized for its lack of diversity and its reliance on formulaic songwriting, Tucker’s single feels like a breath of fresh air.
It’s a song that is not afraid to be different, to tell a story that is both personal and universal.
It’s a song that speaks to the experiences of women in a way that is both honest and empowering. It’s a song that is not afraid to be smart.
Cali Tucker’s “Last Name” Isn’t Just Another Country Song
The Cinderella theme, which could have easily felt cliché in the hands of a lesser artist, is given a fresh and modern twist. This is not a story about a woman waiting to be rescued.
This is a story about a woman who rescues herself. The glass slipper is not a symbol of a magical transformation, but a reminder of a past that she has outgrown.
The prince is not a saviour, but an equal. It’s a subtle but important distinction, and it’s one that gives the song a real sense of depth and meaning. It’s a fairytale for the 21st century.
The song’s structure is also worth noting. The verses are narrative and conversational, drawing the listener into the story. The chorus, on the other hand, is a full-throated anthem, a declaration of independence that is impossible to ignore.
The contrast between these two sections is effective, creating a sense of dynamic tension that keeps the listener engaged from start to finish. The bridge, a moment of quiet reflection before the final chorus, is particularly effective.
It’s a moment of vulnerability, a glimpse behind the curtain of a woman who is still figuring things out. It’s a moment that makes the song’s final, triumphant chorus all the more powerful.
In the end, “Last Name” is a song that is as much about the journey as it is about the destination.
It’s a song about the struggles and the triumphs, the heartaches and the joys of a life lived on one’s own terms. It’s a song that is both deeply personal and universally relatable.
It’s a song that will stay with you long after the final notes have faded. Cali Tucker has given us a gift with this song, a reminder that we all have the power to write our own stories, to create our own happily ever afters.
And that, in the end, is a story worth telling. What will your story be?
Eli Lev’s ‘Past Lives’: A Folk-Pop Séance You Can Dance To
Eli Lev is not your typical folk singer. He’s more like a genealogist with a guitar.
On his new album, Past Lives, the Silver Spring, Maryland-based artist has done something audacious: he’s invited his ancestors to the recording session.
Their voices, captured in old family interviews, are woven throughout the album, creating a conversation between generations that’s both deeply personal and surprisingly universal.
The album is the second instalment of Lev’s ambitious Three Worlds Project, a trilogy that explores the past, present, and future. If his previous album, Present Journey, was about finding his footing in the here and now, Past Lives is about digging in the dirt to find the roots that have been holding him steady all along.
The result is a collection of songs that are as much about where we come from as they are about where we’re going.
The album opens with “Echo,” a song that sets the tone for what’s to come. Over a bed of acoustic guitar and a simple, insistent beat, we hear the voice of Lev’s Bubbe Sarah, born in Poland in 1892.
She speaks of a world that is a distant memory, a place of shtetls and steamships. Then Lev’s voice comes in, clear and bright, singing of being “washed in waves of time.”
It’s a powerful juxtaposition, the old world and the new, the crackle of an old recording and the clarity of a modern one. It’s also a pretty good summary of the album’s central project: to make the past present, to give voice to the ghosts that haunt our family trees.
From there, the album moves into “Where We Come From,” a foot-stomping anthem that celebrates the messy, complicated business of heritage.
Lev, who has both Jewish and Appalachian roots, sings of “a thousand stories in my blood.” We hear from his Uncle Ben, who talks of life on a farm and in a mill in the American South.
The song is a celebration of the working-class lives that are often forgotten in the grand narratives of history. It’s a song for anyone who has ever looked at an old family picture and wondered about the people in it.
Not all the songs on Past Lives are so explicitly about family history. “My Wish Was You” is a whimsical love song that finds Lev looking back on a past romance with a sense of gratitude rather than regret.
It’s a sweet, simple song that provides a nice counterpoint to the weightier themes of the album. “Who I Was” is a more philosophical track that explores the idea of reincarnation and the many lives we live.
“Who I was back then / Is who I am,” Lev sings, a line that could be interpreted in a number of ways. Is he talking about past lives in a literal sense, or is he simply acknowledging the ways in which our past selves continue to shape who we are today? The song doesn’t offer any easy answers, which is part of its charm.
The album’s emotional core is “Our Friends,” a song about grief and remembrance. The song is a tribute to those who have passed on, but it’s not a sombre affair.
Instead, it’s a celebration of the enduring power of friendship and the idea that those we’ve lost are never really gone. “Those who are no longer seen / Are just as real as you and me,” Lev sings, a line that is both comforting and a little bit spooky. It’s a song that will likely resonate with anyone who has ever lost someone they love.
Past Lives is a record that takes risks. The use of his ancestors’ voices could have easily come across as a gimmick, but Lev handles it with a deft touch.
He allows their stories to breathe, to exist on their own terms. He doesn’t try to force them into a neat and tidy narrative. Instead, he lets them be what they are: fragments of a larger story, echoes of a time that is both gone and ever-present.
The result is a project that feels less like a history lesson and more like a conversation with the ghosts at the family dinner table.
Lev’s music has been described as “folk-pop,” and that’s as good a label as any. The songs on Past Lives are built on a foundation of acoustic guitar and heartfelt lyrics, but they’re also infused with a pop sensibility that makes them instantly accessible.
Eli Lev’s ‘Past Lives’: A Folk-Pop Séance You Can Dance To
The melodies are catchy, the choruses are memorable, and the production is clean and modern. This is not your grandfather’s folk music. It’s something new, something different. It’s music for a generation that is both deeply connected to the past and hurtling toward an uncertain future.
In a world of disposable pop songs and fleeting internet fame, Eli Lev is doing something that feels important. He’s making music that is built to last, music that is rooted in something real.
He’s telling stories that need to be told, stories that remind us that we are all part of a larger human family.
Past Lives is a beautiful and moving collection of songs that will stay with you long after the final notes have faded.
It’s a reminder that our ancestors are always with us, their voices echoing in our own. All we have to do is listen.
There are moments in music that feel like a secret whispered across a crowded room. A shared glance, a sudden understanding.
That’s the sensation at the heart of “Cinéma,” the solo debut from Mikhaïl Yaks.
You might remember him from his work with Iya Ko & the Guilty, a band that graced the stage at the Montreux Jazz Festival. But this is something different. This is personal.
“Cinéma” arrives as a single, a concentrated dose of a sound that’s hard to pin down. It’s a fusion, a concoction of RnB, Afro soul, and a sprinkle of electronic stardust.
The track opens with a synthetic texture that feels like the low hum of a city at night, a futuristic sound that gives way to a tropical melody. It’s a surprising turn, like finding a hidden garden in the middle of a metropolis. The beat is a slow, deliberate pulse, a heartbeat that draws you in.
Then comes the voice. Mikhaïl Yaks’ vocal delivery is hypnotic, a low, sensual murmur that tells a story of two people caught in a moment.
The lyrics paint a picture of a cinematic encounter, two gazes locking, each second savoured like a frame in a film. It’s a story that feels both intimate and grand, a personal movie playing out for an audience of two.
The song doesn’t just tell you about this feeling; it makes you feel it. The production is rich and layered, a sonic world to get lost in. It’s a sound that belongs to him, a signature that’s both bold and deeply personal.
This is a track that builds a bridge. A bridge between Afro-European musical traditions, between the past and the future, between the synthetic and the soulful.
It’s a testament to the power of a singular vision. Yaks isn’t just a singer; he’s a writer, a producer, a performer.
A multi-faceted artist who is creating a space for a new kind of expression. An expression that is at once sensitive and audacious.
Sometimes, a piece of music can feel like a memory you haven’t made yet. A premonition of a feeling, a place, a person. “Cinéma” has that quality.
It’s a song that lingers, a melody that stays with you long after the last note has faded.
It’s a reminder that the most profound stories are often the ones we tell ourselves, the ones that play out in the private cinema of our own minds.
What does it mean to see your own life as a movie? To watch your own encounters unfold as if they were scripted, directed, and lit for maximum effect?
Mikhaïl Yaks Unleashes Latest Single “Cinéma”
“Cinéma” doesn’t answer these questions, but it poses them in a way that is both beautiful and unsettling. It’s a song that invites you to look closer, to pay attention to the small moments, the fleeting glances, the unspoken words.
It’s a song that reminds you that sometimes, the most epic love stories are the ones that happen in the spaces between the words, in the silence between the beats.
This is more than just a debut. It’s a statement. A declaration of a new voice, a new sound, a new way of seeing the world.
It’s a glimpse into the future of soul music, a future that is complex, personal, and deeply human. And it’s a future that sounds very, very good.
"Loneliest at Best": RIOT SON's Agony of Unsaid Words.
Listening to RIOT SON’s new single, “Loneliest at Best,” is a curious exercise in emotional time-travel. The sound pulls you back to the early 2000s, to a time of angular guitars and heartfelt, frayed-collar vocals. It has that nervous, shimmering energy of indie rock that always sounded best on a pair of wired headphones, the beat prodding you forward even as the lyrics confess to being hopelessly stuck. There’s a beautiful, raw-knuckle quality here, the kind that can only be forged in a home studio, where there’s no one to tell you an idea is too honest.
The whole affair is about being dressed for a party your heart has already left. This is the soundtrack to straightening your tie or reapplying lipstick in the rearview mirror while a silent, screaming match is still echoing in your head. It captures the profound awkwardness of a love that died not from a bang, but from a total, devastating system failure in communication.
“Loneliest at Best”: RIOT SON’s Agony of Unsaid Words.
That jangly post-punk guitar, it doesn’t just strum; it fidgets. It reminds me, bizarrely, of the sound a beautiful, antique telegraph machine might make if it were forced to send a modern text message—all frantic clicks and dashes, desperate to convey a complex emotion it simply wasn’t built for. And that, right there, is the track’s genius. It sonically replicates the very breakdown it describes: the inability to make the old language work for a new kind of pain.
RIOT SON has bottled the unique agony of knowing exactly what needs to be said, but possessing a tongue made of stone. The song doesn’t resolve, because the feeling doesn’t either. It just lingers. What, then, is the ghost of a conversation supposed to sound like?
A Doctor's Dream: Tim Camrose's "Going to Nashville"
Before you can even properly settle into Tim Camrose’s new single, “Going to Nashville,” your mind gets delightfully snagged on the backstory. For forty years, this man was a surgeon and a professor—a life measured in scalpels and lecture halls, not chord progressions. It’s impossible not to picture those same steady hands, once dedicated to mending human bodies, now tracing the frets of a guitar with an entirely different, yet strangely similar, kind of focus.
This isn’t a swaggering, boot-stomping anthem about taking the town by storm. It has a “country-tinged stride,” to be sure, but it ambles with the purpose of a man on a personal pilgrimage, not a conquest. The arrangement is clean, the storytelling direct, leaving room for the quiet sincerity of the goal itself.
There’s a strange, admirable humility at its core. For a moment, it made me think of those people who painstakingly build ships inside glass bottles. The art isn’t for a stadium; it’s about the focused, devotional act of its own creation.
A Doctor’s Dream: Tim Camrose’s “Going to Nashville”
Camrose’s song isn’t about becoming a star under the neon lights of the Grand Ole Opry. The ambition feels purer, more fragile than that. It’s the hope of playing to a handful of strangers who might just nod along, of connecting a story about love or loss with someone nursing a drink in the back. The profound personal victory is found not in the applause, but in the courage to show up at all after a lifetime spent elsewhere. It’s a track that trades bombast for a kind of grounded grace.
It leaves you with an odd, resonant question. What does a person dream of the morning after their lifelong dream comes true?
A Nostalgic Roar: Gianluca Zanna's "You Are My Destiny" Arrives.
Gianluca Zanna’s new single, “You Are My Destiny,” arrives with the polished sheen and unwavering confidence of a high-tech skyscraper. On a track featuring the soaring vocals of Claudette Lyons, Zanna, an entrepreneur with a background in self-defense, has built an anthem of absolute romantic certainty. There’s a curious friction in that, isn’t there? A man professionally versed in calculating risk and creating impenetrable barriers crafting a song about complete and total emotional surrender.
The track itself is a grand, sweeping affair—a blend of pop hooks and an EDM pulse that feels engineered to fill a stadium, or perhaps the final scene of a movie where the lovers finally kiss as a planet conveniently explodes behind them. It has that kind of scale. It eschews subtlety for sincerity, a choice so bold it feels almost radical in a world saturated with irony.
A Nostalgic Roar: Gianluca Zanna’s “You Are My Destiny” Arrives.
This isn’t a shy glance across a crowded room; it’s the booming, operatic declaration from the stage, unapologetic and blindingly bright. For a moment, it reminds me of the specific, slightly synthetic cherry scent of car air fresheners from the late 90s—overwhelmingly sweet, undeniably present, and nostalgic for a time when things felt simpler.
Through Lyons’s powerful delivery, the lyrics paint love not as a partnership, but as a cosmic event, a pre-written finale. The production swirls around this central thesis, a vortex of cinematic synths and driving rhythm designed to convince you that this is, in fact, how destiny sounds when it finally shows up.
The song doesn’t linger so much as it imprints. It leaves you contemplating the sheer force required to hold such a belief. What does a love song sound like when it’s written as the ultimate security system? Apparently, a whole lot like this.
Maraad’s new album, “BUFF”, is a strange and beautiful paradox, an object forged in the very fire it’s meant to protect you from. Each track is presented as a “buff,” a bit of protective magic for the spirit, but the energy humming underneath feels less like a polished shield and more like the faint, determined glow around a figure in a centuries-old altarpiece—somehow both holy and profoundly weary. This isn’t empowerment as a shout; it’s empowerment as a persistent, low-frequency hum that says, simply, “endure.”
The progressive and deep house foundations provide a relentless forward motion, a metronome for the quiet, conscious fight for survival described in its core themes. You can feel Maraad’s history as a support musician here; he’s not trying to seize the spotlight but to build a floor solid enough for you to stand on. His use of AI as a collaborator feels less like a gimmick and more like a form of modern alchemy, taking the raw, bleeding ore of heartbreak and abandonment and transmuting it into something that can actually hold weight. The result is an emotional landscape that is vast, protective, and achingly lonely all at once.
After the Fall: Finding Tools in Maraad’s “BUFF”
This isn’t feel-good music for a sunny afternoon. It’s music for the pre-dawn commute after a sleepless night, a chain of anthems for when carrying on is its own quiet victory. It recognizes that sometimes the most profound act of strength is the continuous, simple act of breathing when you feel utterly lost.
The music video was crafted using the evocative visuals of director Thomas Schepps and actress Greta Zappettini, sourced from the Artlist catalog. Color grading and final editing were completed collaboratively by Maraad and Chilean director Felipe Sepúlveda.
The album equips you, but it never lets you forget why you needed the armor in the first place. So when the final beat fades, are you truly stronger, or just more exquisitely aware of the ache?
"Angel Gabriel's Light": Karen Salicath Jamali's Sound of Hope.
Most music that arrives with the label “meditative” feels like an instruction to relax—a gentle but firm command. Karen Salicath Jamali’s “Angel Gabriel’s Light,” however, doesn’t instruct; it simply arrives. Listening to this single for the first time is like walking into a room to find the light has changed color, subtly and without explanation. You don’t question how it happened. You just stand there for a moment, letting the unfamiliar glow settle around you.
The backstory here is, frankly, staggering. A severe head injury, a near-death experience, and then—with no prior training—this. Music. It reframes the entire listening experience. This isn’t the work of someone who painstakingly practiced scales; it’s the product of a bizarre and profound rewiring. A neurological miracle that chose piano keys as its medium. The composition doesn’t feel wrestled with or meticulously built; it feels received.
“Angel Gabriel’s Light”: Karen Salicath Jamali’s Sound of Hope.
And what was received is a piece of quiet astonishment. The piano notes fall with a kind of considered patience, never rushing to make their point. It’s the sonic equivalent of watching dust motes dance in a sliver of sun in a completely still room. The composition drifts, guided by a logic that feels more celestial than formal, embodying its new-age and contemporary classical descriptors without succumbing to the cliches of either. There’s an intentionality here that is both deeply personal and universally serene.
Jamali channels a message of hope, but it isn’t the loud, orchestral kind. It’s a steady, glowing ember of a thing. A calm assurance rather than a declaration. The single leaves you suspended in its peaceful atmosphere long after the final note fades. It poses a curious question: when music arrives from such an unbelievable place, are we listening to a person or a phenomenon?
Some records feel like they were unearthed rather than written. Kristen Castro’s debut album, ‘Capricorn Baby,’ is one of them.
There is no need to shout in this quiet revolt, which is an emotional declaration of freedom. She’s built her own room, soundproofed it with introspection, and invited us in for a listen.
The album, is a product of five years of Castro’s life. Five years of change, of questioning, of becoming. And you can feel it in the music.
This isn’t a collection of songs about abstract concepts. It’s a series of sonic diary entries, each one a snapshot of a moment in time. From the sun-drenched nostalgia of ‘Malibu’ to the quiet hope of ‘Hope Is The Thing With Feathers,’ Castro takes us on a tour of her inner world.
What’s most impressive about ‘Capricorn Baby’ is that Castro did it all herself. She wrote the words, composed the music, produced and mixed every track.
This is not just a project for fun. It shows how smart and creative she is. In a business that still has trouble with representation, the fact that a Latinx queer artist from Nashville is making her own record is an important achievement. It’s a quiet revolution, a changing of the guard that’s happening one note at a time.
The sound of the album is a reflection of Castro’s own story. It’s a mix of her Southern California roots, her Nashville present, and her Latinx heritage.
There are hints of folk, of pop, of ambient music. But it never feels disjointed. It’s all held together by Castro’s singular voice and her distinctive production style.
The result is a collection of songs that are both intimate and expansive, personal and universal.
Take a track like ‘Summer Rain.’ It’s a song about leaving a place to find yourself, about the bittersweet ache of nostalgia. The lyrics are simple, but they cut deep. “I was lost for years in the backyard pool in Cali,” she sings, and you can feel the weight of those words.
It’s a song that could have easily been overwrought, but Castro’s production gives it a sense of space, of air. It’s a song that breathes.
Then there’s ‘Amor & Psyche (Stripped),’ a song that feels like a whispered secret. It’s a modern retelling of a classic myth, a story of love and loss and the search for connection.
The stripped-down arrangement puts the focus on Castro’s voice, and she delivers a performance that is both vulnerable and strong. It’s a song that gets under your skin and stays there.
Kristen Castro Shares Her Debut ‘Capricorn Baby’
The album closes with the title track, ‘Capricorn Baby,’ a collaboration with Deb Talan of The Weepies. It’s a fitting end to the record, a song that looks back at the past with a sense of acceptance and looks forward to the future with a sense of hope.
It’s a song about embracing who you are, flaws and all. And in a world that’s constantly telling us to be someone else, that’s a message that we all need to hear.
‘Capricorn Baby’ is a remarkable debut. It’s an album that is both personal and universal, intimate and expansive. It’s a record that announces the arrival of a major new talent.
Kristen Castro has created something special here. Something that will stay with you long after the last note has faded.
Emily Popli’s “Alight” Burns Bright With Hope And Honesty
Chicago-based singer-songwriter Emily Popli has a story to tell, and she’s not holding anything back.
Her latest single, “Alight,” is a raw and heartfelt duet with the equally talented Matt Giraud. The track, a preview of her debut album Lilith Fair Kid, is a powerful exploration of the complexities of a relationship on the rocks.
But this isn’t a song about giving up; it’s a song about fighting for the embers of a love that still has the potential to burn brightly.
Popli’s voice, a captivating mix of Kacey Musgraves’ storytelling charm and Adele’s soulful power, immediately draws you in. She sings from the perspective of a partner who is struggling to keep the flame of her relationship alive.
The lyrics are a proof to her songwriting prowess, painting a vivid picture of a love that’s been tested but not broken. There’s a vulnerability in her voice that is both heart-breaking and brave, a quality that is sure to resonate with anyone who has ever been in a similar situation.
The addition of Matt Giraud’s vocals takes the song to another level. His voice, a soulful and gritty counterpoint to Popli’s, adds a layer of depth and passion to the track.
The interplay between their voices is a conversation, a push and pull of emotions that perfectly captures the song’s theme.
The production, a seamless fusion of pop, folk, and soul, provides the perfect backdrop for their vocal performances.
The melodic electric guitar, in particular, stands out, its notes weaving in and out of the vocals like a thread of hope.
What makes “Alight” so compelling is its unapologetic honesty. Popli isn’t afraid to lay her heart on the line, and that’s what makes the song so relatable.
It’s a reminder that relationships are not always easy, that they require work and commitment. But it’s also a reminder that love is worth fighting for.
The song’s central message is one of hope, a belief that even in the darkest of times, a single spark can be enough to set a heart “Alight.”
Emily Popli’s “Alight” Burns Bright With Hope And Honesty
This track is a fantastic introduction to Emily Popli’s music and her upcoming album, Lilith Fair Kid. The album, named after the iconic women who have inspired her, promises to be a collection of deeply personal and introspective songs.
If “Alight” is any indication, we can expect an album that is both musically and emotionally rich. Popli has something to say, and we should all be listening.
Emily Popli is a force to be reckoned with in the Chicago music scene. A singer, pianist, and songwriter with over two decades of experience, she is finally stepping into the spotlight with her professionally produced debut.
With the help of GRAMMY-nominated producer Brandon Williams, Popli is ready to share her stories with the world. And if “Alight” is the first chapter, we can’t wait to read the rest of the book.
Jooniuh Asks A Simple Question "Do You Want To Dance?"
Jooniuh, the London-based singer and songwriter, has a question for you: “Do You Want To Dance?”
His latest single, following up on “Shotgun Part Two,” is a confident stride into a space of his own making. The track is an invitation, a dare, and a celebration all at once.
It’s a piece of music that feels like it was made for a specific kind of summer evening, the kind where the air is warm and the possibilities feel endless.
The song opens with a beat that is immediately engaging. It’s a sound that pulls you in, a rhythmic current that carries you along. Jooniuh’s voice glides over the top, a smooth and entrancing presence.
He has a way of singing that feels both effortless and intentional, as if he’s simply speaking his mind and it just so happens to come out as a melody.
This is a voice that can tell a story, and in “Do You Want To Dance?”, the story is one of connection and release.
What’s interesting about Jooniuh is his refusal to be boxed in. He’s an artist who is clearly comfortable exploring different sounds and styles, and this single is a perfect example of that.
It’s a pop song, but it’s also something more. There are hints of R&B in the vocal delivery, a touch of electronic music in the production. It’s a combination that feels fresh and modern, a reflection of the diverse musical city that he calls home.
The theme of the song is simple, but it’s a powerful one. It’s about the joy of movement, the freedom of the dance floor.
It’s a reminder that sometimes the best way to connect with someone is to just let go and move to the music. In a world that can often feel complicated and heavy, there’s something beautiful about a song that is so unapologetically fun.
This is a track that is sure to get a lot of play this summer. It’s the kind of song you’ll hear at a party and immediately want to know who it is.
Jooniuh Asks A Simple Question “Do You Want To Dance?”
It’s a song that will make you want to grab a friend and, well, dance. Jooniuh has created a moment with this single, a snapshot of a feeling that is both personal and universal.
With “Do You Want To Dance?”, Jooniuh is making a statement. He’s an artist with a unique vision and the talent to back it up.
He’s not afraid to be different, to be himself. And in a music industry that can often feel formulaic, that’s a very exciting thing.
This is an artist to watch, and this is a song to put on repeat.
Klarys, a name that resonates with the warmth of the Caribbean sun and the cool breeze of the Atlantic, is an artist who is steadily carving her own niche in the music industry.
Hailing from the island of Martinique, her music is a vibrant reflection of her roots, a rich concoction of Zouk, R&B, Soul, and Urban Pop.
It’s a sound that is both familiar and refreshingly new, a testament to her ability to draw from her heritage while pushing the boundaries of contemporary music.
Her journey began in the Caribbean, where she was immersed in the region’s diverse musical traditions until the age of 20.
This early exposure to a wide range of styles and rhythms has undoubtedly shaped her artistic vision, allowing her to create music that is as multifaceted as her influences.
At 22, she released her first studio single, “Celle la,” a collaboration with Master MX, who happens to be the brother of the renowned singer Princess Lover.
This initial offering was a clear indication of her potential, a promising debut that set the stage for what was to come.
Driven by a desire to reach a wider audience, Klarys made the move to mainland France, a bold step that has paid off in spades. Her talent has not gone unnoticed, with invitations to perform at various events in Martinique, including the “Boulevard des Artistes” and the Zouk festival.
These performances have allowed her to hone her craft and connect with a growing fanbase that is captivated by her dynamic stage presence and soulful vocals.
In 2020, she collaborated with the rapper Brasco on two tracks, with production by Green Master Beat. This project saw her exploring a fusion of Dancehall and R&B, further demonstrating her versatility as an artist.
Two years later, she teamed up with the Guinean reggae singer Takana Zion for a duet that seamlessly blended her R&B sensibilities with his reggae vibes.
This collaboration was a significant moment in her career, a powerful statement of her ability to bridge different musical worlds.
Klarys is not an artist who is content with resting on her laurels. She is constantly seeking new challenges and opportunities for growth.
Her recent collaborations with African artists such as Masta from the group Toofan, Fior de Bior, and Bill Clinton Kalonji are a testament to her ambition and her desire to connect with a global audience.
Klarys Releases Latest Single “Louper”
These partnerships have allowed her to expand her musical horizons and incorporate new influences into her sound, further enriching her already diverse palette.
With a strong personality and a multitude of talents, Klarys is a force to be reckoned with.
She is one of the most dynamic French female artists of her generation, a true original who is not afraid to take risks and forge her own path. Her music is a celebration of her culture, a reflection of her experiences, and a testament to her unwavering passion for her art.
As she continues to evolve as an artist, one thing is certain: Klarys is a name that you will be hearing for years to come.
Her music is a gift, a vibrant and soulful expression of a truly unique artistic vision.
Reeya Banerjee Takes Us On An Emotional Journey With "This Place"
Reeya Banerjee’s sophomore album, “This Place“, opens not with a bang, but with the quiet hum of a car engine.
It’s a fitting start for a record that is, in many ways, about movement.
Not just the physical act of moving from one city to another, but the internal shifts that happen when we leave a piece of ourselves behind and search for a new sense of home.
The album, co-written and produced with Luke Folger, is a collection of nine songs that trace a decade of Banerjee’s life, with each track tied to a specific location.
The idea itself could seem like a cheap trick, but Banerjee uses it to build a strong story that is both personal and universal.
“Misery of Place,” is a raw, driving rock song that sets the tone for what’s to come. The guitars are sharp and angular, and Banerjee’s voice is a force of nature, full of a righteous anger that is both startling and cathartic.
There is a strong message in the song about how our past can haunt us and how we need to leave the places that have hurt us behind. In the best way possible, the song hits you right in the gut.
From there, the album takes us on a winding road through Banerjee’s past. “For the First Time” is a shimmering, hopeful song about the thrill of new love and new beginnings.
“Runner” is a propulsive, post-grunge anthem about the need to keep moving forward, even when it feels like you’re running on fumes. And then there’s “Upstate Rust,” the album’s breakout hit, a soaring power-pop anthem about the difficult decision to leave a place you love in order to build a new life.
Over 226,000 people have watched the music video for this song on YouTube, which shows how powerful it is. The song makes me feel like I am getting a warm hug and a shot of energy at the same time.
Throughout “This Place“, Banerjee’s songwriting is sharp and specific, full of the kinds of small, telling details that make a story come alive. She has a gift for crafting melodies that are both instantly memorable and emotionally complex.
Reeya Banerjee Takes Us On An Emotional Journey With “This Place”
There is something amazing about her voice; it can be soft and vulnerable or strong and commanding. Like Bruce Springsteen and Alanis Morissette, she tells stories through music, but her sound is all her own.
“This Place” is a record about the search for home, both in the physical and the emotional sense. It’s about the people and places that shape us, and the difficult, necessary work of building a life on our own terms.
It’s a record that is full of heartbreak and hope, anger and forgiveness, and a deep, abiding love for the messy, beautiful, and complicated business of being alive.
It’s a record that will stay with you long after the last note has faded.
Lotus Sky Is "Unbothered" About Your Opinion Of Her
There are songs that you listen to, and then there are songs that you feel. Lotus Sky‘s “Unbothered” accomplishes both.
It gets into your bones, your blood, your very being, and before you know it, you’re living the music rather than simply hearing it.
“Unbothered” is a dance-pop track that functions as both celebration and revelation. It explores freedom. The kind that emerges from within, the freedom you claim when you decide to be unapologetically yourself.
Lotus Sky, an indie pop artist with a cosmic, cinematic flair, wrote, produced, and recorded the single on the Big Island of Hawai’i. You can hear it in the music.
The tropical grooves, the funk-infused guitars, the soaring synths – they all come together to create a sound that is both otherworldly and deeply rooted in the earth. It’s a sound that is as vast as the ocean and as intimate as a heartbeat.
What makes “Unbothered” truly special is its message. In an environment that constantly tells us who we should be, what we should want, and how we should live, this track serves as a powerful reminder that the only voice that matters is the one inside of us. It’s a call to action, a challenge to be brave, to be bold, to be… well, unbothered.
The artist herself has shared that the song was born out of a transformative experience in the Amazon. She realized how much she had been holding herself back, afraid of what others might think. In that realization, she found her voice. She found her power. And she poured it all into this track.
You can feel it. You can feel the joy, the liberation, the sheer, unadulterated bliss of being true to yourself. It’s a feeling that is contagious, a feeling that will make you want to dance, to sing, to shout from the rooftops.
The production itself tells a story. Vocals were tracked in a DIY makeshift booth of moving blankets and mic stands, proving that art doesn’t require luxury studios – only creativity and heart. Many of the synths, including the track’s signature lead, were sound-designed by Lotus Sky herself, showcasing her ear for detail and production touch.
“Unbothered” speaks to anyone who has ever felt like they didn’t belong, to anyone who has ever been afraid to be who they are.
It resonates with dreamers, rebels, misfits, the ones who dare to be different. As Lotus Sky puts it, “For me, as a queer person and as an artist – it’s an anthem of coming home to myself.”
The track carries the ocean, stars, and sovereignty of the Hawaiian land within its sound. There’s something almost ritualistic about how the tropical elements weave through the funk and pop sensibilities.
It reminds me of those moments when you’re dancing alone in your room and suddenly realize you’ve been holding your breath for months.
This is music for you. So turn it up. Let the music wash over you. And let yourself be unbothered.
The single stands as proof that sometimes the most powerful political act is simply being yourself – loudly, proudly, and without apology.
What strikes me most about “Unbothered” is how it manages to be both deeply personal and universally relatable.
The track doesn’t preach or lecture; instead, it invites you into a feeling, a state of being that feels both foreign and familiar. It’s the musical equivalent of that moment when you stop caring what others think and start caring about what makes you come alive.
Lotus Sky Is “Unbothered” About Your Opinion Of Her
The sonic palette Lotus Sky has chosen feels intentional in every detail. Those funk-infused guitars don’t just provide rhythm; they provide attitude.
The tropical grooves don’t just set a mood; they transport you to a place where inhibitions melt away like ice in the Hawaiian sun. And those soaring synths? They’re the sound of liberation taking flight.
“Unbothered” offers something rare: genuine freedom expressed through genuine artistry. It’s a reminder that the most radical thing you can do is be yourself, completely and without reservation.
The track arrives at a time when many of us are questioning who we are versus who we think we should be.
Lotus Sky has created something that doesn’t just soundtrack that questioning – it provides an answer. And that answer is beautifully, defiantly simple: be unbothered.
Poli Nika Releases A Sun-Drenched Daydream Single "Summer's Falling"
“Summer’s Falling,” Poli Nika‘s newest song, comes along like a cool breeze on a hot afternoon.
The artist from Lisbon has been making a name for herself with her emotional and thoughtful indie-pop. Her new song sounds like a collection of sound memories from a perfect summer day.
The song opens with a soft, hazy synth progression that immediately sets a relaxed, almost lazy, mood. It’s the kind of music that plays in your head as you’re lying in a park, watching the clouds drift by.
Poli Nika’s voice, a delicate and honeyed instrument, glides effortlessly over the top, her delivery full of a sweet vulnerability that is both disarming and deeply affecting.
She sings of a love so new and intoxicating that it makes everything feel soft around the edges, a feeling that many of us can relate to.
What makes “Summer’s Falling” so effective is its ability to capture a specific, fleeting feeling. It’s not about the grand, dramatic gestures of love, but rather the small, quiet moments that often mean the most.
It’s the feeling of a hand in yours, a shared smile, a secret shared in the dark. The music itself mirrors this intimacy, with its gentle beats and gossamer synths creating a sense of closeness and warmth.
There’s something almost cinematic about the way Poli Nika constructs her songs.
The Portuguese artist has been steadily building a reputation for her ability to express themes of love and loss through her captivating sound.
Drawing upon influences like Lizzy McAlpine‘s vulnerability, Yebba‘s soulfulness, and Lianne La Havas‘s introspection, Poli Nika has developed a style that feels both familiar and fresh.
Her music exists in that sweet spot between soul, jazz, and folk, creating something that feels like the soundtrack to your favourite indie film.
The track was co-written with Canadian songwriter Liz Rodrigues, a powerhouse in the industry who has penned hits for the likes of Eminem and Celine Dion.
This collaboration might seem unexpected on the surface, but it’s a proof to Poli Nika’s growing reputation as a songwriter of note.
Rodrigues, who has six songs on Dion’s last studio album “Courage” and multiple tracks on Eminem’s Grammy-winning albums, brings a level of craftsmanship that helps polish the already strong foundation of Poli Nika’s songwriting.
The story behind the song’s creation is as charming as the song itself. It bloomed from a series of lazy summer sessions, with forgotten voice memos being rediscovered a year later.
This sense of rediscovery, of stumbling upon a forgotten memory, is woven into the very fabric of the song. There’s something beautiful about the idea that the best art sometimes comes from the most unexpected places, from the forgotten corners of our creative minds.
At just over three minutes, “Summer’s Falling” doesn’t overstay its welcome. It arrives, delivers its message, and leaves you wanting more.
The production is clean but not sterile, polished but not over-produced. Everything feels intentional, from the way the synths shimmer and fade to the way Poli Nika’s voice occasionally doubles back on itself, creating layers of meaning and emotion.
The artist Poli Nika says that she makes “soundtracks to this beautiful, messy, emotional life we call existence.” The song “Summer’s Falling” fits this goal message nicely.
Poli Nika Releases A Sun-Drenched Daydream Single “Summer’s Falling”
It’s a song that doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is: a moment of pure, trembling bliss captured in three minutes and ten seconds of carefully crafted indie-pop.
Her previous releases, including “Nothing Belongs To Us” and “Down To Earth,” have established her as an artist capable of mining deep emotional territory while maintaining an accessible, radio-friendly sound.
What sets “Summer’s Falling” apart from other summer anthems is its restraint. There are no bombastic choruses or overwrought emotional peaks.
Instead, Poli Nika trusts in the power of subtlety, allowing the song to breathe and develop naturally. The result is something that feels organic and unforced, like a conversation between old friends rather than a performance.
In times that often feel loud and chaotic, a little bit of quiet beauty is exactly what we need. “Summer’s Falling” offers that respite, that moment of calm in the storm.
It’s a song that will age well, one that will still sound fresh and relevant years from now. Sometimes the best art doesn’t shout for attention – it simply exists, waiting for the right moment to be found.
Matters of Thought: Threegonos on Jazz Without Borders
Threegonos has been forging a bold new voice in jazz for close to twenty years in the richly vibrant center of Rome and history and creativity have been in constant contact there. This Italian group headed by bassist and composer Toni Armetta has entered the world as a fearless source of tradition and innovation by making music that travels across cultures, genres and feelings. Their new album, Questioni Di Pensiero (Questions of thought), which was published on July 31st, 2025, is not a collection of songs but it is a trip.
The album brings the listeners a world tour with its combination of flamenco, tango, African and Middle Eastern beats and sophisticated world of modern jazz. Each song is a dialogue, blending voices of various musical worlds, and remaining very much grounded in melody and narrative. This sophomore album follows their 2023 follow-up Return to 80th Street and serves as a reminder that Threegonos is one of the most promising jazz groups in Italy.
With a star cast of musicians, including Giuseppe Russo (sax), Edoardo Edo Petretti (synth and accordion), Ludovico Ludo Piccinini (guitars), Umberto Maracatumbi Vitiello (voice and percussion), and Danilo Ombres (drums and tabla), in addition to special guests Paolo Innarella and Gabriella Aiello, Questioni Di Pensiero is both innovative and approachable, a classic proclamation of contemporary jazz solidarity.
The title “Questioni Di Pensiero” translates to “Matters of Thought” — what does that phrase mean to you, and how does it tie into the album’s themes?
“Questioni di pensiero” represents what, in my (our) view, is the true essence of jazz today. Many people — casual listeners, enthusiasts, and often even musicians themselves — still believe that jazz means playing songs built on harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic structures with certain stylistic traits, serving almost as a “backdrop” for musicians’ improvisations.
The logic of the standard, sometimes oppressive and rigid, often defines the structure of these songs, making the themes and harmonies little more than a canvas devoid of real creative spark — merely a framework for showcasing improvisational skill.
Of course, all of this is important, something to be studied and understood (just think of the marvelous solos of C. Parker, D. Gillespie, or other musicians of the bebop era), because it represents the foundations of the language. But then, starting with figures like M. Davis, J. Coltrane, C. Mingus, and many who followed, more complex and multifaceted compositional and structural approaches began to emerge — blending the freedom of jazz with concepts drawn from ethnic, folk, rock, and rap music, which also reshaped the very mood and spirit of improvisation.
The logic of the standard, sometimes oppressive and rigid, often defines the structure of these songs
What sparked the creative journey for this record, and how did it evolve from your initial concept to the finished album?
During my studies, I’ve always been drawn—not only to the endless exploration of my instrument—but also to everything related to the harmonic and compositional world. I studied harmony, counterpoint, and arranging, and every bit of knowledge I acquired inspired me to write or arrange songs for the groups I played with, for orchestral works, or for soundtracks. Writing is a habit: the more you practice it, the more it stimulates you.
Composing music for Threegonos puts me in a state of complete freedom because I know I can do whatever I want and whatever I enjoy, without worrying about “styles” or “genres,” supported by the certainty that the musicians I’m honored to work with can bring any idea to life. Each song tells a different story, which is why the album includes both instrumental and vocal pieces, sometimes built on Latin, funk, or hip-hop grooves—but always consistent with the main path carved out by jazz.
Did you approach songwriting differently for “Questioni Di Pensiero” compared to your previous work?
“In some tracks, such as Minimal Impact and Une Ballade, I explored the use of sparser structures and harmonies, with patterns perhaps more akin to a ‘loop,’ while always paying close attention to the singability of the themes and the breathing space of the harmonies, never tiring the listener with lengthy, self-serving solos. As for the rest, I followed my usual approach (write only what inspires and moves you), even though each project inevitably adds something different to the previous one.”
The album feels layered and introspective — were there particular life experiences, philosophies, or artistic influences that shaped its sound?
Every human being—every musician, performer, composer, concert artist, and so on—naturally incorporates into their own creative and educational journey those elements that shape personal, practical, and moral growth. In my case, I have studied music from a very young age and, despite many personal and family difficulties—certainly common to many people—I have still managed to pursue my passions and satisfy much of my curiosity.
I have loved (and still love) Palestrina, Monteverdi, Bach, Beethoven, Ravel, Puccini, ethnic music, as well as Davis, P. Sanders, C. Corea, Weather Report, Yellowjackets, M. Brecker, and many others. Thanks to my work, I’ve had the chance to encounter all kinds of situations and people, to travel, to move house at least 15 times (ahahah), and to gather both wonderful and challenging experiences.
The same holds true for the other members of the group: each of us has our own story and background, our own expectations and curiosities. It is therefore inevitable that the overall sound of a band is influenced not only by individual musical skills, but also by the human qualities of its members.
The same holds true for the other members of the group: each of us has our own story and background,
Can you talk about the recording process? Were there any standout moments in the studio that defined the direction of the album?
I have the habit of jotting down various rhythmic and/or harmonic-melodic ideas by recording the initial elements of a piece with my voice on my phone. Later, using dedicated software, I complete the composition and arrangements, writing out all the parts on my computer. These are then “performed” by virtual instruments I program to achieve an effect as close as possible to the final result.
The audio demo, together with the written parts, is then given to the other musicians, who will refine and bring to life what I’ve written. Once we enter the recording studio, there’s very little uncertainty about what to do because everything is already clear and structured. Occasionally, some slight changes may occur (especially in the rhythms), but fundamentally the focus must be on interplay and dynamics, as well as on delivering a satisfying performance of each individual part.
How important was lyrical storytelling in this project, and what messages or emotions do you hope listeners take away? I consider the voice an evocative, alluring, almost tribal element, and incorporating vocal parts into the arrangements—as if they were instruments—makes certain pieces more introspective, intriguing, and nostalgic. These are the emotions we hope listeners will perceive. It’s wonderful when a piece of music prompts reflection as you listen: it means that, somewhere, it’s stirring emotions.
Were there any tracks that changed dramatically during production, or even surprised you with where they ended up? As already mentioned, Threegonos’ music is highly structured and carefully crafted: the arrangements, the connections between different sections, and the transitions from one solo to another are never left to chance. Surprised by the final result? Absolutely—especially considering that the parts are often not easy to play. Even if it takes some effort, when we manage to “get things moving” and everything becomes fluid, dynamic, and locked into the right groove, the sense of energy and interplay is powerful and deeply rewarding.
The album blends different textures and moods — how did you decide on the sonic palette for “Questioni Di Pensiero”?
The sonic fabric of this CD, like its predecessor, follows the core concepts of modern music production. Artists such as R. Glasper, B. Mehldau, M. Miller, Thundercat, Kamasi Washington, Tigran Hamasyan, R. Bona, and many others blend the atmospheres of hip-hop, funk, afro, and soul with the improvisational concepts of jazz, while paying close attention to a soundscape aligned with contemporary thinking about tone and instrumental mixing: drums that are present and clearly articulated across different timbres, deep and compressed bass lines, the use of loops and electronics, and so on—all delivered with clarity, precision, and detail.
Do you see this album as a continuation of your past work, a departure, or perhaps a new chapter altogether?
It is absolutely the continuation and evolution of a journey that began many years ago.
The wealth of musical offerings, now so easily accessible thanks to the power of the internet, will undoubtedly continue to inspire and fuel the desire to evolve and explore ever-changing sonic and compositional landscapes. Yet the fundamental principles will always remain the same: freedom of form, organized improvisation, formal precision in the musical moments, significant melodies, unusual harmonies, and intricate rhythms.
Looking ahead, how do you envision performing “Questioni Di Pensiero” live, and will the stage interpretation differ from the studio version? We have already performed most of the tracks from this album live, as well as all those from the previous one. The live renditions are not at all different from the recordings (except for the occasional small loop or sound effect) because, as I’ve said before, the pieces are fully structured and conceived around the strengths of each band member. Therefore, in concert, the sonic and performance impact is every bit as strong—if not even more powerful—than what you hear on the CDs.
Wattmore Shares Bold Statement "I Don't Miss That Woman"
The Brisbane brother duo of Wattmore, Aiden and Kai, has once again produced a song that has a lot of raw energy and untainted emotion. I Don’t Miss That Woman is a dynamic blend of alt-country, punk, and Americana, both familiar and novel. Having a sound that warps the grit of Green Day, the swagger of Oasis, and the heart of traditional country, Wattmore creates a break up song that is less about sadness than freedom.
With the first beat, this song drags you by the banging of the drums and the twanging guitars that swing between sarcasm and honesty. Written by Lindsay Waddington and co-written with Australian country egot, Allan Caswell, the track is crisp and clean but with plenty of muscle, as a powerful engine throbbing on an open road. The fumes of the diesel and the flavor of the whiskey can almost be tasted as the brothers sing their way out of a heartbreak with no regrets and zero.
It is the amazing harmonies of the voice that makes I Don’t Miss That Woman truly shine. The voices of Aiden and Kai compliment each other: attitude and heart simultaneously. They are laid down in a fun way, a little cheeky, and very much honest. The song cannot merely tell a story – it sets a mood of unconditional success over the suffering. The intelligent writing, the catchy guitar tones, and the unobtrusive harmonica make the song unquestionably worth singing along to.
In contrast to most break up songs that are mired in sorrow, Wattmore opts to rejoice in the act of moving on. It is a stomping, barnyard dance and full of wit and spirit. This song can be considered as an ideal song to play when you are driving at high speed on an empty highway, with your windows open, screaming the chorus on the highest pitch in your voice.
I Don’t Miss That Woman means Wattmore is not afraid to push into their own style. It is a catchy, refreshing and audacious declaration of self-reliance and this song proves that they are a band that can be seen in the country and Americana arena.
Find Your Peace in Jean-Philippe Ruelle's "Switeesoul."
Listening to Jean-Philippe Ruelle’s new single, “Switeesoul,” is a peculiar kind of eavesdropping. You’re not hearing a sunrise, exactly, but the slow, internal thought process of one coming into being. The track’s layered electronic pianos don’t crash into your morning; they seep under the door, a cool wash of ambient sound that feels both deliberate and entirely accidental. It’s music that seems to have forgotten you’re in the room.
For a moment, it made me think of the patient, chemical bloom of an image appearing in a darkroom tray. There’s a similar feeling of quiet, gradual revelation here. Ruelle’s composition hinges on the idea that even in repetition, there are beautiful moments worth paying attention to. The melodic loops are simple, almost cyclical, but the texture around them subtly changes with each pass, like watching the same patch of sky from your window every dawn and noticing a new shade of purple you missed the day before.
Find Your Peace in Jean-Philippe Ruelle’s “Switeesoul.”
It’s an oddly productive piece of music for something so tranquil. It creates a serene, almost detached space that invites the mind to get on with its own work, whether that’s dreaming up a new story or just figuring out what to have for lunch. The name itself, “Switeesoul,” feels like a misheard word from a dream—familiar, yet not quite right, adding to its ethereal quality.
It’s a quiet reassurance, a reminder that the world will indeed turn again, offering a slightly different blend of colors than it did yesterday. It asks nothing of you, which in turn makes you wonder: what beautiful, cyclical thing have I been forgetting to notice?
"Let Me into Your World": Thexele's Precarious Hope.
Listening to Thexele’s new single, “Let Me into Your World,” is an exercise in exquisite frustration. It’s the musical equivalent of standing outside a beautiful house in the rain, knowing the person inside has the key but has forgotten how to use the lock. This is a ballad built not on fantasy, but on the painful, tactile reality of loving someone barricaded behind the wreckage of their own past.
Thexele’s vocal performance is the anchor here, powerfully clear without ever tipping into theatrical begging. She isn’t just singing lyrics; she’s outlining a negotiation with a ghost. The central tension—the clash between the vibrant, sun-drenched movie playing in the narrator’s head and the quiet, lonely room they actually occupy—is palpable in every sustained note. This isn’t a simple love song; it’s a proposal pitched across a chasm of remembered pain. This is a precarious hope.
“Let Me into Your World”: Thexele’s Precarious Hope.
What’s most peculiar, and most compelling, is the sheer certainty driving the plea. It’s a fated conviction that feels less like romanticism and more like a law of physics. It reminds me, strangely, of the specific smell of ozone just before a major thunderstorm—that electric, clean scent that promises an inevitable, cleansing downpour. The narrator doesn’t just want in; she believes her presence is the atmospheric shift required to make anything grow again.
The track fades, leaving the central question unanswered, suspended in the air like dust in a sunbeam. And you’re left to wonder about all the locked doors we encounter, and whether we’d even recognize the sound of the right key turning.
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The recent single of Munzer, Cold Stone, is an emotional and strong trip into grief and sorrow. This is not a typical high-energy hip-hop song, the incorporation of smooth R&B with trap beats gives this track the chilling and beautiful feel that attracts your attention immediately.
The song was produced by Johnny BULLZ of Bullzeye Beats and it has a nice combination of heavy 808 bass, crisp percussion and bells that sound like a drop of water falling slowly in the air. Its beat is plain and well stacked to make the song feel spacious and atmospheric and it matches the story Munzer narrates – an ugly break up that left him empty and cold.
Touched with autotune not to mask the faults but to increase the emotional impact, Munzer sings smoothly above the beat. His speech is easy but accurate, having the sense of withholding and the sense of letting loose. His lyrics are sincere and not sugarcoated and talk of heartbreak in a manner that is not clichéd. It is almost possible to sense that sadness, bitterness when he recalls the love turned into silence.
His lyrics are sincere and not sugarcoated
The most remarkable is that Cold Stone maintains the balance between mood and narrative. It is not only about pain but it is the cold silence that is left behind, the emotion many have experienced. There is another degree of intimacy created by the background vocals that sound like ghosts in your mind. The song is like an open diary, each note and word requires a meaning.
Cold Stone demonstrates the development of Munzer as a musician who is ready to experiment with sounds without neglecting his narrative. It’s an earworm to listen to in the dark or to play in your car – the one that makes you pull the volume up because of its frankness and makes you stay because of its intense combination of cold and hot.
