Sip & Share: The Zangwills Drop 'Beers With The Beekeeper'
The Zangwills arrive with their new single, ‘Beers With The Beekeeper,’ and my first thought, naturally, is whether one should opt for full netting or just a casual veil for such a chat. It’s a title that hums with a peculiar sort of promise, much like the song itself.
This track from The Zangwills, with Jake Vickers’ distinctive vocals out front, champions the profound, almost primal urge for open, honest spillage of the soul. The instrumentation – a collaborative weave from Ed Dowling, Adam Spence, and Sam Davies – builds this feel-good summer current, all indie-pop sunshine. It’s the kind of jaunty tune you’d half-expect to hear from an ice cream van that, surprisingly, only plays deep cuts from The Smiths. Yet, this bright musical buoyancy almost acts as a protective layer, making it easier to voice the hurts, particularly the stings of past love.
The lyrics navigate this journey from emotional lockdown to a brave new world of dialogue. There’s a celebration of finding your confessor in the most unexpected of guises – the older regular in a pub, perhaps, or indeed, a beekeeper. Someone removed, judgment-free. It’s this therapeutic exchange with a near-stranger that fascinates; like whispering secrets to the ocean, only the ocean buys you a pint and nods sympathetically. The Zangwills even play with that delicious miscommunication inherent when we’re “stung by love” – are we discussing heartache or actual apian assault? It’s a beautifully human muddle.
Sip & Share: The Zangwills Drop ‘Beers With The Beekeeper’
This isn’t about grand pronouncements; it’s about the quiet courage it takes to unbind your words, those internal knots that suddenly loosen with a pint and a patient ear. The song itself feels like that moment of clarity after a long, winding conversation where, even if not everything is resolved, at least it’s out.
Does the beekeeper, one wonders, get to share his own apiary anecdotes, or is he destined to be the silent, sage-like receptacle for everyone else’s honeyed (or bitter) truths?
The Poetic Poultice: "Couple(t)s" by Couldn't Be Happiers Heals.
Couldn’t Be Happiers have unfurled their new album, “Couple(t)s,” and it’s rather like stumbling upon an old, leather-bound book of family anecdotes in your grandmother’s attic – one full of unexpected truths you’re not entirely sure you’re ready for, but curiosity, that insatiable little terrier, just won’t leave it be. The duo, Jodi Hildebran Lee and Jordan Crosby Lee, aren’t just harmonizing notes; they’re harmonizing human anxieties, sifting through the common grit of our shared experiences.
“Couple(t)s” digs its lyrical fingers into the messy soil of loss, the persistent itch of unresolved pasts, and that almost bewildering quest for meaning. It’s as if they’ve eavesdropped on our collective internal monologue—the one we usually keep under wraps—then set it to a surprisingly agile, if occasionally shadowed, folk-rock rhythm.
The sound itself, a kind of rootsy rock wearing a comfortably worn velvet waistcoat (with perhaps a faint, lingering scent of damp earth and old maps about it), meanders from jaunty New Orleans second-line grooves to moments that feel almost… industrially pensive? It’s the kind of music that might make you suddenly recall the exact, peculiar taste of wild sorrel you once picked on a dare, for no discernible reason.
The Poetic Poultice: “Couple(t)s” by Couldn’t Be Happiers Heals.
They seem to be proposing, with a certain quiet insistence, that folklore and a well-placed protest song might just be the poultice for what ails our rather bewildered modern sensibilities. The album’s title, “Couple(t)s,” cleverly winks at their own partnership and the poetic form itself – this idea of two distinct entities locking together, forming something new, perhaps stronger. It’s a bit like finding two perfectly mismatched gloves that, against all odds, keep your hands warmer than any matched pair ever did.
There’s a persistent thread of just… trying. Trying to make sense of the beautiful, baffling nonsense of it all, to offer support when your own well feels dry, to maybe leave a small, positive mark, like those incredibly patient people who build tiny, intricate clockwork birds – delicate mechanisms whose eventual flight paths, like the album’s reflections on unintended consequences, are tricky to predict. This collection doesn’t offer tidy solutions; it mostly just pulls up a chair beside you in the thoughtful silences.
So, what if the most enduring connections aren’t forged in shouted certainties, but in the quiet, collective hum of wondering about it all together?
Mtnt Declares "Limousine (Na Na Na)" a Banger – And We Agree.
Mtnt’s new single, “Limousine (Na Na Na),” arrives with its engine humming a curious tune, promising a collision of “the original sway of Bublé” and M83’s electronic expansiveness. An odd pairing, on paper. Like finding a perfectly tailored tuxedo discarded at a warehouse rave, maybe? Or catching Sinatra’s ghost attempting the robot under a malfunctioning disco ball. The mind, it does wander.
This track is an unapologetic, deep dive into nocturnal hedonism, a soundtrack for a night that stretches languidly towards an impossible dawn. It’s all about chasing that intense, immersive sensory overload, that desperate yearning to be so utterly swept away by powerful sensations that you’re practically airborne on feeling alone, grasping for some new plane of existence. The lyrics articulate this addictive craving for more, this willing surrender to an overwhelming “overdose” of pleasure.
And for a strange, flickering instant, a particular surge of layered synths didn’t just suggest flight; it conjured the distinct, almost tactile memory of the sticky, dizzying joy of the Tilt-A-Whirl at a forgotten summer fair – that precise moment where gravity feels like a gentle suggestion and the world is just a blur of cheap lights and thrilled, slightly unhinged screams. “Limousine” wants to bottle that electric, perhaps slightly dangerous, thrill.
Mtnt Declares “Limousine (Na Na Na)” a Banger – And We Agree.
Mtnt confidently flags this as a “fuckin banger,” and that sheer ambition fairly glints off every synthesized pulse and digital snare. The EDM-pop architecture is undeniably sleek, engineered for maximum impact, for making waves across Europe, as the artist hopes. But does the phantom limb of Bublé’s sway fully integrate, or does it sometimes feel like a very dapper, slightly bewildered chaperone at an extremely energetic, neon-soaked party? The track throbs with this consuming desire for transcendence, this push to be lost and shining brightly within a captivating, inescapable nocturnal fantasy.
It’s a potent shot of vivid, dreamlike perceptions, almost overwhelmingly so at points. One is left with the shimmering residue of its euphoric intoxication, pondering: when one seeks to fly that high on sensation, is the subsequent freefall an unavoidable, even secretly desired, part of the glittering escape?
From Grief to Grit: Natzel’s ‘Bring It On’ Hits Hard and Heals
Wayne Natzel’s first album Bring It On brings something fresh to the alternative pop-rock scene. The standout track “Let It Go” shows off his powerful style, mixing heartfelt stories with big, arena-filling sounds. You can hear influences from bands like Arctic Monkeys, Gorillaz, The Foals, and even Michael Jackson. It’s a great mix of sharp guitars, strong vocals, and catchy beats that would fit right in with bands like Fall Out Boy.
What makes Bring It On special isn’t just how it sounds—it’s the meaning behind the songs. Natzel took time away from music to focus on his family and deal with tough times, including losing his father in 2019. Now he’s back with a clear vision and strong purpose. “Let It Go” came from a real-life conflict and encourages people to let go of anger instead of holding grudges. It’s not just about getting feelings out—it’s about understanding others, growing as a person, and choosing peace.
With his diverse background and his work supporting mental health and helping young people, Natzel’s debut is more than just music—it’s about making a difference. Bring It On brings a genuine, human touch to modern rock, and “Let It Go” leads the charge.
Natasha Unpacks Pain in "Life's Little Tragedies."
Natasha, out of K.C., presents her new single, “Life’s Little Tragedies,” and it’s rather like an old, slightly melancholic tune you half-remember, then it snags you. The folk-jazz-pop tapestry, woven with soulful cello and unvarnished acoustic guitar, creates an atmosphere that’s chill, certainly, but with an undercurrent that pulls you in to listen closer.
The song unpacks how present pain—a romantic betrayal, the rotter—can yank open a door to a whole corridor of past disappointments. From childhood scrapes (that time I ‘improved’ my sister’s doll with a permanent marker comes vividly to mind) to youthful heartbreaks, these aren’t colossal sorrows, but the very “growing pains” that Natasha suggests shape us. They collectively build, she intimates, a kind of weary wisdom, maybe even a protective layer of cynicism. The cello, oh, it doesn’t wail; it sort of… breathes a long, knowing sigh.
Natasha Unpacks Pain in “Life’s Little Tragedies.”
And yet, “Life’s Little Tragedies” isn’t mired in misery. A pragmatic, almost defiant resilience emerges, resolving to mentally shelve this fresh betrayal as another piece of ‘experience’. It brings to mind those little tins some people keep, filled with buttons that have lost their shirts – each a tiny relic of something that once was. The song’s touted honest and humorous storytelling isn’t about big laughs; it’s more like that rueful headshake, the quiet irony you share with a friend who just gets it. It’s a pathway to healing, this determined compartmentalising.
Natasha doesn’t offer easy erasure of the pain, more a way to keep it from blotting out everything else. But as we meticulously catalogue each ‘little tragedy,’ one wonders: does the archive simply grow heavier, or does the archivist get stronger?
"SEXUAL MANUAL FOR EXPERTS": Ricky Leroy Brown's Funky Lament.
Well, Ricky Leroy Brown has gone and done it, presenting us with “SEXUAL MANUAL FOR EXPERTS,” and I confess, the title alone sent my mind skittering off like a startled cat at a séance. This solo Madrileño, who conjures entire soundscapes from his own hands and instruments, is clearly still communing with the spirit of Prince, all slinky guitars and a rhythm section that could charm the hinges off a bank vault.
And charm it does, with this funky, pop-infused strut. There’s a definite “goofy but sexy” shimmer to it, a playful nudge even as he seems to be suggesting things one doesn’t typically discuss over polite crumpets. The track is, quite intentionally, devoid of explicit terms, relying on suggestion, those “magic words,” and a recurring “Babey, ooh” that feels less like a pickup line and more like a bewildered punctuation mark in the face of… well, everything.
“SEXUAL MANUAL FOR EXPERTS”: Ricky Leroy Brown’s Funky Lament.
Because beneath the undeniable groove, there’s a surprising ache. Brown laments a world that’s seemingly misplaced its better self, like a favourite pair of spectacles. Liberty, equality, common decency – he implies they’ve become faded concepts, memories of a sunnier room we can no longer quite access. It’s a curious concoction: a danceable treatise on societal disillusionment. The effect is rather like watching a particularly elegant mime depict the slow, inevitable creep of rust on a magnificent, abandoned carousel.
This autotune-free offering, so very “Ricky,” leaves you with this delicious, slightly unsettling aftertaste. It’s got that raw, human feel, a palpable sense of one man wrestling with big feelings and even bigger beats. Are we meant to dance through the decay, or is the manual itself a symptom of it? I’m still not entirely sure my feet or my thoughts have quite settled.
Born Ready is a new single of Jesse Kinch, a rock song more than a statement to the world. Hailing out of Seaford, NY, Kinch brings his entire life of loving music to this strong, personal anthem that is both intimate and massive simultaneously. The song delivers with gritty vocals, intense guitar and pounding drums, courtesy of Joe Nevolo.
The song begins with a slow tempo and gradually builds up the tension before reaching a furious blend of alternative rock, grunge, and classic rock, half way through. The choppy singing style of Kinch, similar to Red Hot Chili Peppers, makes a story powerful and it describes the way of Kinch as a young talent in music to the rock rebel. His acting is natural and authentic, and he combines silence with full-power outbursts.
It is professional, but not artificial, emotionally honest and yet well-written
He recorded it himself in his own studio The Sanctuary and you can hear the sincerity and motivation in each note. It is professional, but not artificial, emotionally honest and yet well-written. Born Ready is not just a song, but it is like watching a film about searching yourself and battling back, and it is a demonstration of how you are supposed to be through loud guitars and hard work. Jesse Kinch does not simply tell his story, he ensures that you actually feel it.
Nature, Faith, and Firelight: The Soul of “Keep On”
There are songs that grab you right in the chest and the new single by Eric Moeller and the All-In Band, Keep On is precisely that type of song. It is not just another song about survival in hard moments. It is a rallying cry to all those who have every felt lost, a musical rope tossed to those who are struggling to remain true to themselves when everything in the world continues to push them back.
Eric composed Keep On in one of these moments that truly change your life, you know- when you feel that everything is unclear and you do not know where to go. However, rather than allowing such uncertainty to destroy him, he used it to create something amazing. It is a track that pulls at the heartstrings, but decks it out in an Americana style with just a touch of punk to get you to take notice.
Just imagine the long road trips in the South, the nights of looking up at the infinite number of stars, and all the moments of silence when life suddenly becomes clear. There was the origin of the song “Keep on”–real life, real feelings, and the will of Eric to live his life to the fullest. And this is what is most amazing: Eric was playing all the instruments and even mixed everything himself. That is what you call going to the end of the earth and working with your heart and soul.
It is like the song was written personally to you, whether youre at a cross roads or simply trying your best to get through another day, Keep On is a song that makes you feel like you belong. The song does not merely advise you to stay on board but it picks you up by the shoulders and says that you are the one with what it takes.
We sat down with Eric to get the whole story behind this strong song, go into his creative process and tell us what is next with the All-In Band. Believe us, you will be glad to hear what he has.
“Keep On” is an evocative title—what does this song mean to you and the band? As we navigate life there are a lot of different voices trying to compel us in different directions. Those voices may be cultural, commercial, political, familial, or beyond. Keep On is an encouragement to keep to the path that really makes you come alive. Doing so may be risky, seem insane to others, or maybe countercultural in some sense, but doing so can make all the difference to your well-being and how you impact the world around you. Keep On being true to yourself, your values, and your deepest dreams and you’ll be better for it, I believe.
What inspired you to write “Keep On”? Was it a personal story, a broader message, or something in between?
I wrote it at a time when I was really trying to work up the courage to make a change in my own life. I felt like my wife and I had mostly followed the supposed path to success and, for my part, I was not doing well. The job I was in at the time was really taking a toll on me physically and mentally. That, in turn, had a negative effect on my family life. At the same time, I saw an opportunity to take a leap of faith and really pursue a dream; part of what I consider to be my life’s deepest calling. Everything in my spirit was telling me it was the right thing to do and all would be well. It took some time to blaze the trail and make the change, but I eventually did and keeping on that path was the best choice I could’ve made. It doesn’t mean things are always easy in every way but I, and my family, are much better for it.
Can you walk us through the songwriting process—was it a collaborative effort among the band members? No, it was not collaborative. It was also one of those songs that took a while to fully appear. The main guitar part was the first thing I found my way into as I just picked around in my basement one evening. I lived with that for a while. Then it came time for my family to take a pretty big road trip through Tennessee and Alabama, which included stays in Pigeon Forge, TN, and Muscle Shoals, AL.
Spending all that time driving through rural, southern landscapes really gave me the framework for the song, which is about a journey that takes a turn in such a place. Soaking in the spirit of the Shoals made the brief time I was there generative as well, both for Keep On and another song that came to me there called Heaven (which was released at the same time as Keep On). The trip concluded with time at a place in rural Illinois, that was set in open fields where the stars really popped at night. I stood under that night sky and that’s when a couple of lines from the second verse came, as well as the outro. Ultimately, the landscape and nature really informed the writing process and the images I used.
I also leaned on some Biblical imagery that has meant a lot to me over the years at times when I was gearing up to take risks in pursuit of my purpose. I am an ordained minister of the United Church of Christ (arguably the most progressive Christian denomination in the US) so my faith does show up in my writing, though not in a traditional sense most of the time. In this case, I was invoking images Jesus uses to reassure his disciples that they would have all they needed as he sent them out to embody the Kingdom of God, taking nothing with them.
He tells them to look at the birds; how they have all they need and never worry or want for anything. He tells them to look at the lilies; how beautiful they are without worrying or wanting for it. The message of the birds and lilies, Jesus says, is that God cares for us as well, and will see to our needs, so there is nothing to worry about. Just follow your calling to embody God’s Kingdom and all will be well. I included birds and lilies, and an encouraging message from other parts of creation like streams and open fields, as an echo of those biblical messages of reassurance at this moment in my life of seeking reassurance and courage for myself, and sharing reassurance and courage with others trying to find their own way through their own wilderness.
The phrase ‘keep on’ suggests resilience. What kind of message were you hoping to send with this release? I really want to encourage people to be true to themselves, their paths, and the calling of their own spirits. Howard Thurman wrote, “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go and do that because world the world needs is people who are fully alive.” I want to encourage people to find what makes them flourish and pursue that. When people do what makes them flourish, it tends to nurture flourishing in others and the life of the world. It can be really scary, though, to take such leaps of faith. I hope ‘Keep On’ is a phrase that helps people push through the fears and challenges they will inevitably experience on their way.
I really want to encourage people to be true to themselves, their paths, and the calling of their own spirits.
How would you describe the musical vibe of “Keep On”? Are there any new influences that shaped this track? ‘Keep On’ is, without a doubt, one of the most Americana songs I’ve written and released, but there’s still punk influences that show up as well. Jason Isbell, Frank Turner, and Dave Hause all come to mind as people that influenced the sound. Adding the distorted guitar in a punk rhythm was also a way of weaving my punk roots into it, as that is a big part of my own journey. Tom Petty’s Wildflowers also gave me a sound to strive for.
Eric, what does the phrase “All-In Band” mean to you—and how does that philosophy show up in your music? In 2016, I started a non-profit called the All-In Music Project to intentionally use music as an instrument for social transformation. The band is an outgrowth of that non-profit. The phrase, though, is layered with meaning for me. I named the organization and the band ‘All-In’ because we are trying to do our small part in the larger movement of making a better world that embraces everybody and tends to the needs of everybody and the earth herself.
Musically that shows up in songs that are more socially conscious, like Freedom, which articulates the Latin American experience that drives migration to the US and advocates for welcoming immigrants. ‘All-In’ is also about me, as these projects encapsulate all of me and I give it all I can. I’ve even started an All-In United Church of Christ (UCC) congregation to be a queer-affirming, progressive presence in my rural area of Missouri, but also has a virtual gathering every month so people who need that kind of community can join us no matter where they live. I’m doing all I can to do my part to build something better and more life-affirming than what we have presently.
How do you typically divide creative roles within the band? Does everyone contribute to songwriting, arranging, or production decisions? So ‘Keep On’ and ‘Heaven’ are both unique in that I did everything on these tracks. Every voice, every instrument, every note is written and performed by me. I also recorded and mixed it myself. Typically, though, I write the basics of the chords, lyrics, and arrangement, then the other guys are free to create their parts for their instruments, and backing vocals, etc.
What’s been the early response to “Keep On”? Any reactions from fans that surprised or moved you? I’ve felt very affirmed by the responses I’ve gotten to the song so far. When I first started playing it live, there was an acknowledgement that my writing was reaching a new gear. Listeners to the recording have also expressed that. There are a lot of elements that are a bit different than what’s come before, and people have enjoyed that. I think the message has also resonated with people.
How do you balance storytelling through both your music and visuals as a band? I really wanted the visual to build off of the story of the song. The song has so much natural imagery, so I wanted to bring that to life and use a visual that would allow creation to share that hopeful message herself. The visual for Heaven, though, was a bit more personal. It came from the night in Muscle Shoals that I began writing it; a night that really felt like heaven on earth with my family. There, too, the visual is to extend or deepen the story of the song.
Is “Keep On” part of a larger project, like an album or EP, coming soon? Right now Keep On is just part of two-track single which includes the ‘full band’ arrangement of the song and a Campfire Edition that is just guitar and vocal. I don’t have concrete plans for anything else, though it would be enjoyable to take the band to a traditional studio and see what comes of it.
What’s next for Eric Moeller and the All-In Band—tour plans, future singles, or creative experiments?
At the moment I am mostly playing solo in the St. Louis area and continuing to develop all things All-In, including All-In UCC, and plan to create more online content, sharing demos, more home recordings, and pieces on spirituality and Rock ‘n’ Roll. There may be a visit to the East Coast in the fall, which will be my first time back in that part of the country in a long time, but nothing is concrete at this point.
Gary Mictian’s "All I Ever Wanted": A Glimmering Sadness.
Gary Mictian’s “All I Ever Wanted” has just zapped into my ears, and it’s like being handed a perfectly ripe, glowing fruit by a robot who might also be quietly plotting your emotional unraveling. This London producer delivers a single that struts with that tell-tale Hyperpop swagger; a beat so bouncy it could escape a child’s birthday party, a bassline with a satisfying, almost granular crunch – think sonic breadcrumbs leading you somewhere unexpected – and vocals that shimmer and glitch like a cherished memory caught in a failing hard drive.
Mictian is building these sci-fi pop worlds, yes, but “All I Ever Wanted” plants its flag in the very human, very messy terrain of a love that was equal parts lighthouse and maze. The track orbits that draining, cyclical obsession with a past entanglement, where understanding and utter destabilisation did a frantic, confusing dance. You know, like finally mastering a complex bit of ancient origami, only to have it spontaneously combust in your hands. Comfort, then poof. Chaos.
Gary Mictian’s “All I Ever Wanted”: A Glimmering Sadness.
The sheer digital gleam of the production – all those carefully sculpted, exhilarating effects – rubs fascinatingly against the raw, persistent ache of wanting what you know is a beautiful mistake. It’s the sonic equivalent of smiling brightly while a tiny, insistent gremlin tugs at your sleeve, pointing out the approaching abyss. This constant battle between erasure and recollection, this desire for someone who made certainty feel like a foreign language… it’s a peculiar, glittering sadness, this track.
And for all its electronic momentum, the song leaves you hovering. It’s a curious feeling, like staring at one of those optical illusion posters for too long. If what felt like everything was also the grand unravelling, what on earth does the map forward even look like?
TWOFEW’s new single, “Let It Go,” lands with the resonant thud of a heartfelt admission, the kind you only make when the room’s too loud to be properly heard. This Phoenix, Arizona quartet – Michael Lazar leading on vocals and keys, David Lazar wrestling with guitar, John Sebring on drums laying down a defiant pulse, and Danielle Lazar anchoring the low end on bass – clearly aims for those stadium rafters. They cite Billy Joel’s soul, Audioslave’s crunch, and The Fray’s open-vein emotion. It’s all there, a potent brew of anthemic rock where melody fights pleasingly with muscle.
The song’s title is a curious thing, a sort of dare to its own content. “Let It Go,” it proclaims, while the lyrics are busy collecting moonbeams and treasured moments from a relationship weathering heavy seas. This tension – between the stagnant, difficult now and the romanticized then – is its raw, beating heart. It reminds me, strangely, of discovering a pressed flower in a very serious book about, say, quantum physics; a fragile, colourful contradiction. Here, the contradiction is between the will to release and the desperate human need to hold onto what felt true.
TWOFEW Gets Unfiltered with “Let It Go.”
There’s an unfiltered quality here, a genuine scuff around the edges that feels earned. Michael Lazar’s vocals, powerful and striving, don’t shy away from the strain. The band isn’t just playing; they’re excavating, and the sound is appropriately “loud” and “honest” as promised. This isn’t music aiming for a billboard through calculation; it feels dug up from a place of genuine experience, more like a public diary entry set to a compelling roar.
This “Let It Go” doesn’t offer easy catharsis. Instead, it invites you into the thick of that internal struggle, the push and pull between resignation and those stubbornly persistent daydreams under starry skies. It’s a testament to messy human connection, to the way we furnish our inner worlds with hope, even when the lights outside are dim. Does the letting go ever truly happen, or is the song itself the act of clinging on, just a little louder?
Embrace the Wild: Senior Dunce's "Bestial" Arrives.
Senior Dunce’s new single, “Bestial,” has arrived, feeling less like a typical release and more like an urgent, slightly baffling philosophical tract wrapped in a day-glo dance floor invitation. It’s a funky house dance track, make no mistake. Yet, this isn’t solely an invitation to shuffle your feet; it’s a dispatch from the messy, gloriously imperfect front lines of human existence.
Dunce, a self-proclaimed eccentric seasoned for decades in Korea’s music cauldrons as a sound designer and club owner, seems to be serving up a potent challenge: let’s all stare down our inner beasts.
The production itself has a curious polish, a slickness that almost belies the raw, uncomfortable truths it chaperones onto the dance floor. The beat bounces, relentlessly, while the lyrical undercurrent speaks of battles, of acknowledging the wildness we carry, the pain that comes with just being. It’s like finding a theological treatise inexplicably stuck to the bottom of a discarded glitter ball from some hedonistic, forgotten club.
Embrace the Wild: Senior Dunce’s “Bestial” Arrives.
One moment I’m contemplating the “vessel” of openness he proposes, the next I’m wondering if my rubber plant also wrestles with pre-conscious anxieties, especially after that prolonged synth fade that felt less like a musical choice and more like the universe catching its breath before a particularly awkward societal confession.
Senior Dunce isn’t peddling easy answers. He’s lobbing funky little truth-bombs of self-acceptance into the neatly arranged living rooms of our repression. The idea of embracing our flaws, our “animalistic nature,” while a groovy, infectious bassline thumps… well, it’s certainly one way to approach liberation from the straitjacket of societal expectation.
Embrace the Wild: Senior Dunce’s “Bestial” Arrives.
There’s a particular keyboard stab that recurs, sounding like the punctuation mark after a very profound, slightly unhinged pronouncement made by a sage who communicates exclusively through interpretive dance.
This track doesn’t smooth things over. It agitates, it pokes, it almost insists you move even as you’re pondering the ancestral cruelties he hints at. The “better way” suggested isn’t paved with pristine intentions; it’s a muddied, vibrant path, well-worn by those willing to boogie with their shadows.
So, what if the purest state of mind is found not by rigorous tidying, but by learning to revel amidst the splendid, bewildering, beautifully “bestial” clutter of it all?
Listen: Dev London Casts a Hypnotic "Spell On Me."
Dev London’s new single, “Spell On Me,” slid into my listening queue, and frankly, the title felt less like an invitation and more like a diagnosis. This rising Manteca artist crafts a sound here – an R&B/Pop fusion – that’s as smooth as it is unsettling, like finding a perfectly polished stone that hums with a faint, troubling energy.
The track unpacks the exquisite torture of a relationship that just won’t die, or rather, won’t let you die to it. You know the kind: that cyclical, destructive vortex where escape feels as plausible as politely asking a hurricane to detour. London’s soulful vocals don’t just narrate; they bleed the confusion, the profound devastation of being tethered to a former lover whose reappearances are as predictable, and as damaging, as tides drawn by a malevolent moon. There’s a distinct sensation of being trapped, reminiscent not of grand drama, but of that specific, maddening helplessness you feel when you’ve lost something small but essential, like your keys, in your own house.
Listen: Dev London Casts a Hypnotic “Spell On Me.”
“Spell On Me” captures that awful magnetic pull, the “irresistibly drawn” feeling, even when every sensible neuron is flashing red alert. It’s the knowledge that returning is akin to willingly walking into a room where the air slowly leaches your identity, your very selfhood, bit by bit. This isn’t just about heartbreak; it’s about the slow, painful erosion of personal agency, like watching a coastline disappear inch by agonizing inch. The music itself has a sleekness that almost makes the lyrical poison go down easier, a subtle underscore to the narrator’s grimly acknowledged addiction.
The song lingers, not as a catchy hook, but as a low, persistent thrum of recognition. It poses no grand solutions, offers no neat escape routes. Instead, it forces a moment of introspection, a rather uncomfortable peering into the allure of our own beautiful, self-inflicted wounds. Does liberation from such a spell ever truly feel like freedom, or is it merely the exchange of one binding for another, quieter, perhaps lonelier, enchantment?
Glass Rumours Unfurl An Exploration Of AI's Unseen Threads In "Ray Gun"
Glass Rumours, a quartet hailing from Bedfordshire, England, comprising Paul, Gemma, Tim, and Dazzle, have unleashed their latest single, “Ray Gun”
This song, the second in a set of five, is a powerful mix of electronic rock that promises a trip through sound that lasts long after the last note fades.
Using cyberpunk and sci-fi images, this song looks at the complicated relationship between people and AI. Being “shot down with a ray gun” by AI is the main image. It brings up ideas about how technology rules and how vulnerable people are in the digital age.
This song, the second in a set of five, is a powerful mix of electronic rock that promises a trip through sound that lasts long after the last note fades.
From the very beginning, “Ray Gun” feels vaguely familiar, like a dream that you are only half remembering. It’s a track that doesn’t just play; it unfurls.
The electronic elements sounds that make the music sound both modern and deeply rooted in the genre’s long past. You might have heard this song before, not because it is boring, but because it sounds like good electronic rock should.
One of the best things about the song is the singing, which rise with easy ease, carrying the weight of the main theme without ever feeling weighed down.
They rise and fall and mix with the pulsing beats, making a lively interaction that keeps the listener interested. What about the hooks?
They are the ones that get stuck in your head and come back to you while you are doing the dishes or looking at a chart for hours.
The band’s careful attention to detail shows that they understand the fine line between instant satisfaction and long-lasting effects.
The song has repeated, catchy choruses that are common in electronic or synth-pop music. The “Down! Down! Down!” part makes the song sound urgent and dramatic. Using scientific terms like “byte,” “circuits,” and “code corruption” adds to the cyberpunk flavour.
Take a moment to think about the past similarities. People who were part of the Luddite movement were afraid of machines taking over factories, so they broke machines to try to keep their jobs.
The tools have changed over time, from weave looms to computers, but the worry that lies beneath it all stays the same. “Ray Gun” does not teach; it just asks a question and lets people think about what it means.
This is a subtle reference to the talk that humans have with their creations, which began with Prometheus and goes on with every line of code.
The song’s narrative arc, though not explicitly linear, suggests a journey from apprehension to a chilling realization, much like the slow dawning of understanding that accompanies a particularly intricate chess match. The unexpected connections to other art forms are subtle, yet present.
People might think of the disturbing mood of Philip K. Dick‘s books or the psychological fear of a well-made sci-fi movie, even though the band does not directly mention them.
This is a clever trick that shows how powerful their music is at making people feel things.
This sounds like a modern take on recent developments in artificial intelligence, expressing worries about how AI is changing our lives and our awareness.
The song shows how strange it is to be both interested in and afraid of AI technology.
Glass Rumours Unfurl An Exploration Of AI’s Unseen Threads In “Ray Gun”
The clean sound of the drums, the sparkling sound of the synths, and the deep bass all work together to make a truly engaging experience.
It is the kind of music that makes a song better by letting each part breathe while still adding to the general sound.
There is such precision and care in the mix that it makes one picture a very well-behaved squirrel carefully arranging nuts in a perfect circle.
It is not just a bunch of sounds; it is a very well put together sound puzzle, with each piece going perfectly into the next.
There is a sense that the story is trying to warn us about the possible psychological and emotional effects of involving AI more and more in our daily lives.
B Dayton Releases A Pop Anthem For The Unseen Battles Invisible
B Dayton, a Nashville-based artist with roots in Louisville, KY, steps into the spotlight not with a roar, but with a profound whisper of understanding.
His debut single, “Invisible,” is a tribute to the unseen burdens many carry, a sound hug for those who deal with their own problems alone.
It’s a track that feels both like a comforting hand on your shoulder and a vibrant, pulsating invitation to dance through your deepest emotions.
Dayton’s art is an interesting mix of theatricality and honest, raw feeling. At first listen, his catchy pop music might sound like pure, unadulterated happiness.
But there is a deeply human story running through the high tunes and catchy hooks. Think of it as a carefully put together play where the bright outfits and flashing lights are just to show off the deep, often sad story that is happening underneath.
His music is like a mirror; it shows the listener their own experiences and also lets them escape into a world where being vulnerable is praised instead of feared.
“Invisible” itself is a masterclass in this duality. Co-written with Chaz McKinney (known for his work as Chaz Cardigan on Netflix’s To All the Boys: P.S. I Still Love You) and produced by Hallie Hertrick (Warner Chappell), the track shimmers with a polished, radio-ready sheen.
The production is crisp, the synths sparkle, and Dayton’s vocals glide effortlessly, carrying a weight that belies their seemingly light delivery.
It’s the kind of pop that gets stuck in your head, not just for its catchy rhythm, but for the lingering echo of its message.
But “Invisible” really has a deep, personal sadness at its core. The song came from Dayton’s loss of his father to reasons linked to drug abuse. In fact, this is so important to the song that it is not just a small detail.
It made Dayton realise how much we do not see about what people are going through on the inside. This feeling comes through in every note and syllable.
It is a powerful warning that there may be a quiet fight going on behind every smile and calm exterior. It turns into a chant for understanding and a call to see the secret problems that people often do not see.
As a pianist and co-producer on every one of his songs, Dayton infuses his sound with an immersive, cinematic quality.
B Dayton’s music; you experience it. It’s a journey, a narrative woven with threads of sound and emotion. It is clear that he draws from a lot of different styles, from Joji’s introspective stories to The Bleachers’ lively, almost theatrical pop to LOLA YOUNG’s soulful depth.
But he manages to combine these styles into something completely his own, a pop-forward sound with a unique, campy flair.
The beauty of “Invisible” lies in its ability to be both deeply personal and universally relatable. It speaks to anyone who has ever felt overlooked, misunderstood, or burdened by unspoken pain.
It’s a song that validates those feelings, transforming them from isolating experiences into shared human truths.
The track doesn’t offer easy answers or platitudes; instead, it offers solidarity, a musical embrace that says,
Dayton’s upcoming debut EP, set for release in October, promises to continue this exploration of healing, survival, and self-empowerment through darkness.
If “Invisible” is any indication, listeners can expect more theatrical, empowering pop anthems that delve into the complexities of the human spirit.
There is a turning point when you realise you are not alone in your problems. B Dayton’s music is made for that moment, whether you are crying in the quiet of your car or dancing with abandon in your bedroom.
B Dayton Releases A Pop Anthem For The Unseen Battles “Invisible”
In a deep way, music and meaning bring us together, reminding us that even when we are at our weakest, we are all human.
B Dayton gives a refreshingly real side. “Invisible” is a brave and beautiful first song; it is a pop song that tries to explore the depths of human feeling without losing its lively, contagious energy.
Although the last note has faded, the song’s mood stays with you, making you think and feel connected.
This is not just music; it is a talk, a call to recognise what we can not see, and a strong reminder that even when we feel like we are not being seen at all, we are.
Born Ready is a new single of Jesse Kinch, a rock song more than a statement to the world. Hailing out of Seaford, NY, Kinch brings his entire life of loving music to this strong, personal anthem that is both intimate and massive simultaneously. The song delivers with gritty vocals, intense guitar and pounding drums, courtesy of Joe Nevolo.
The song begins with a slow tempo and gradually builds up the tension before reaching a furious blend of alternative rock, grunge, and classic rock, half way through. The choppy singing style of Kinch, similar to Red Hot Chili Peppers, makes a story powerful and it describes the way of Kinch as a young talent in music to the rock rebel. His acting is natural and authentic, and he combines silence with full-power outbursts.
The choppy singing style of Kinch, similar to Red Hot Chili Pep
He recorded it himself in his own studio The Sanctuary and you can hear the sincerity and motivation in each note. It is professional, but not artificial, emotionally honest and yet well-written. Born Ready is not just a song, but it is like watching a film about searching yourself and battling back, and it is a demonstration of how you are supposed to be through loud guitars and hard work. Jesse Kinch does not simply tell his story, he ensures that you actually feel it.
Hear the Truth: "Coughing Up Blood" by Micah Rose-Trespeuch.
Micah Rose-Trespeuch’s new album, “Coughing Up Blood,” feels less like a listening experience and more like witnessing an urgent, almost involuntary act of transmutation. Rose-Trespeuch (piano, vocals), with Julien Baraness masterfully texturing the soundscapes and Gaetan Allard providing the often-fractured, sometimes thunderous pulse on drums, has crafted something akin to a diary written in volatile ink. One moment, you’re amidst Chopin-esque piano runs that unexpectedly veer into a raw, rock-inflected plea; the next, it’s as if a brooding jazz poet decided to storm the stage of a metal concert. They call it “Radiohead meets Musical Theatre” or “Metal Singersongwriter,” but it’s more like listening to the sound of emotional tectonic plates shifting.
The album is a stark confrontation with deep wounds, the terror of trust, and that desperate, exhausting seesaw between pulling someone close and violently shoving them away. It’s about that specific kind of ache, you know? Like phantom limb pain, but for past betrayals or the hollows left by loss, especially palpable with Rose-Trespeuch’s own journey through grief and heartbreak. There’s this relentless, raw plea for honesty, a weary cry against superficial comforts. It doesn’t shy away from the ugliness, the messy bits of trying to expel inner toxicity. For a moment, it reminded me of those medieval illustrations of bodily humours, trying to rebalance something fundamentally out of kilter.
Hear the Truth: “Coughing Up Blood” by Micah Rose-Trespeuch.
This isn’t background music; it demands your presence. It’s the sonic equivalent of finally saying the thing that’s been caught in your throat for years, tasting blood and relief all at once. There’s a flickering, almost defiant hope here, a resilience born from staring into the abyss and deciding, against all odds, to climb. It’s the sound of scars, not hidden, but perhaps beginning to gleam faintly in a new light.
Does it achieve catharsis? Perhaps. But more importantly, it makes you wonder what precious, painful truths you might be keeping lodged within yourself.
A Fragile Tenacity: Simona-Valentina Unveils "Mirrors & Feathers."
Simona-Valentina’s new album, “Mirrors & Feathers,” arrived much like an unexpected guest at a tea party – one who’s been through a rather significant ordeal but still manages a fascinating, slightly skewed smile. This London-based songwriter, with roots trailing back to Transylvania, offers a collection that feels less like a polished performance and more like eavesdropping on intensely private, courageous conversations, rendered in dreamy, enchanting strokes.
The “mirrors” here are unflinching. They reflect not just the artist’s inner landscape – a terrain of emotional wounds, past hurts, and the sort of fears that cling like damp silk – but also our own, if we dare to look. There’s a peculiar ache in these confessions of love, lust, happiness, and pain; a rawness that makes you want to both lean in and, occasionally, look away, as if witnessing a rare, fragile bloom that might break if you breathe too hard. It’s the sound of someone desperately wanting to trust, to connect, yet constantly bumping against their own barbed wire fences, erected long ago out of self-preservation. This music understands that sometimes reaching out for comfort feels like reaching for a hot coal, and pushing away is a well-worn reflex.
A Fragile Tenacity: Simona-Valentina Unveils “Mirrors & Feathers.”
Then there are the “feathers,” representing a yearning for self-liberation so palpable it almost flutters. It’s not a bombastic cry for freedom, but more like the determined, if sometimes terrifying, effort to unlearn old pains, to thaw. The 70s and 90s baroque pop-folk sensibilities Simona-Valentina weaves in create a soundscape that’s both antique and current; imagine an ornate harpsichord discovered in a dusty attic suddenly playing a tune that perfectly understands your iPhone anxieties. There’s a weariness, yes, the kind that settles deep in the bones from carrying unseen burdens for too long, but also a resilient, flickering hope, a fragile tenacity. It’s the sound of someone tired of the cycles of suffering, yet not quite ready to extinguish that final, brave spark that yearns for peace.
This isn’t music for easy listening, not entirely. It’s for those moments when you need unvarnished honesty over superficial reassurances. It asks for genuine witnessing. “Mirrors & Feathers” doesn’t offer neat solutions to the agonizing journey of wrestling with internal demons, but it does hold a space for the complex, often excruciating, dance of healing and self-acceptance. After it all, one might wonder: can true flight ever begin before we fully acknowledge the weight of what’s been holding us down?
Hear The Urgency: Ultan's "The Tempest" Hits Hard.
Ultan’s single, “The Tempest,” erupts not so much into the room as it does through the floorboards, dragging with it the scent of wet wool and imminent confrontation. This Dublin solo musician, a cartographer of past agonies, presents an energetic rock piece that feels less like a song about history and more like a fragment of it, throbbing and urgent. The main riff careers about like a berserker who’s just discovered a double espresso – a frenetic, guitar-driven pulse under lyrics painting a truly monumental struggle against a colossal, gathering storm.
The atmosphere here is thick enough to spread on very burnt toast, all crisis and grim anticipation. It’s the human angle of these historical clashes, particularly those Middle Age battles, that Ultan seems to nail to the castle door. Are these figures, poised for oblivion, truly grasping they’re cogs in some grand, epoch-defining machine? Or is it all just mud, the pervasive fear, and a desperate hope for… well, for not this? It makes one ponder the sheer weight of a shield, not just in its physical pounds, but in the destiny it deflects or absorbs. For a fleeting second, the guitar’s cry, sharp and keening, almost sounded like the collective groan of the Bayeux Tapestry’s stitched figures as it’s unrolled in a very, very windy medieval hall.
Hear The Urgency: Ultan’s “The Tempest” Hits Hard.
This track explores that teetering point: the razor’s edge between holding fast and being utterly swept away. There’s profound sacrifice etched into its DNA, the foreknowledge that lives will be spilt like cheap wine, yet an undercurrent of startling resilience insists on being heard. It’s not triumphant in a fist-pumping, banner-waving way; it’s the sound of gritted teeth, of a resolve hardened in the fires of knowing the full, bitter cost. The human spirit, eh? What a stubborn, almost incandescent little flicker it can be, refusing to be snuffed out by the howling gales of fate.
“The Tempest” doesn’t just play; it demands. It leaves you feeling like you’ve just run an emotional gauntlet, slightly breathless, and then makes you question the nature of your own, perhaps quieter, but no less significant, battles. When the storm truly hits our own lives, what is it, exactly, that we find ourselves clutching so tightly?
Who is Noah? Sean at the Hotel's Unresolved Art-Pop Gem.
Sean at the Hotel’s latest single, “I Didn’t Think About Noah,” doesn’t so much start as erupt, a frantic confetti cannon of art pop anxieties. It’s the sound of a mind racing, or perhaps the collective consciousness of every thirty-something who’s ever stared into the blue light of a screen and wondered if they’ve irreparably broken their brain. The track’s skittering rhythms and overlapping melodies feel like trying to fold a particularly stubborn fitted sheet during a minor, yet persistent, earthquake – a noble, disorienting struggle.
The central puzzle, “I Didn’t Think About Noah,” hangs like an unresolved browser tab, its specific meaning elusive yet deeply felt. Whether Noah represents a forgotten soul, a missed opportunity for foresight, or simply the nagging weight of past inaction, it sparks a journey through the messy, crowded terrain of personal transformation. Sean at the Hotel charts a course from blinding influences and regret towards a hard-won, if slightly frazzled, sense of self.
It’s that distinctly millennial tightrope walk: striving to be a “good person” while convinced the internet has rewired your peers, and possibly yourself, into permanently paranoid, if fascinating, beings. There’s a particular synth line that fizzes and pops with such agitated distress, it reminds me of an old, slightly eccentric automaton I once saw, attempting to play a delicate sonata with far too much verve.
Who is Noah? Sean at the Hotel’s Unresolved Art-Pop Gem.
Yet, amidst this whirlwind of distorted synths and lyrical self-excavation, a surprising tenderness emerges. This “unexpected blossoming of love” and a stronger self feels less like a neat resolution and more like finding a resilient, oddly beautiful flower growing defiantly in a digital wasteland. The pain of the past, the online onslaught, the shadow of cancel culture – it all becomes grist for this strange, creative mill. Life, as depicted here, is a process of learning, often the hard way, that even the most regrettable detours can, somehow, lead to a more present, vital “us.”
The track doesn’t offer easy answers, which is probably for the best. Instead, it leaves you pondering if becoming the “best version of oneself” is less about achieving a polished sheen of purity and more about skillfully navigating the glorious, maddening static. In a world bent and shifted by endless data, what new shape must our growth even take?
RSAI’s new single, “Let The Good Times Roll,” has waltzed into my listening rotation, and honestly, it feels a bit like finding an unexpected party already in full swing in your own living room. This Moscow-based musician seems intent on manufacturing pure, unadulterated joy, the kind that fizzes up from your toes and demands a bit of a shimmy, whether you’re ready for it or not. It’s disarmingly direct, this call to the present.
The track champions this idea of a collective, almost sacred, immersion in the now. We’re talking about a space where inhibitions are shed like winter coats in a sudden heatwave. It evokes a feeling less of a specific place, and more of… you know that sudden, shared glance with a stranger when something wonderfully absurd happens? That. Multiplied by a dance floor. RSAI taps into that desire to simply be, without the clutter of yesterday’s worries or tomorrow’s anxieties, a feeling as potent and fleeting as the scent of night-blooming jasmine suddenly caught on the breeze.
Musically, it’s a bright confection of disco, pop, and dance that doesn’t so much invite you to move as it gently, persuasively, pushes you onto the floor. There’s an earnestness to its simplicity, a clear-eyed mission to elevate. RSAI seems less interested in thorny complexities and more focused, perhaps even fearlessly so, on ensuring this particular wheel spins with maximum, unironic delight.
Party Starter: “Let The Good Times Roll” by RSAI.
And the tune does stick. Not in an earwormy, annoying way, but more like the lingering warmth after a good, hearty laugh. This abandonment of past burdens it speaks of… it’s a peculiar kind of liberation, like finally taking off a very tight hat you didn’t realise you were wearing all day, only to find your hair has adopted a rather surprising new shape. There’s a sweet relief in its unburdened euphoria.
Does “Let The Good Times Roll” manage to bottle that lightning of a perfect, unscripted moment? Perhaps the real magic is that it makes you want to believe it can.
TC TENET’s new single, “Animals,” arrives with the sort of confident thud you’d expect from a well-aimed Doc Marten hitting a hollow stage. This isn’t background music for tidying your sock drawer, unless your sock drawer is a portal to a field at 3 AM where everyone’s forgotten their own name but remembers every chord. It’s a full-throated roar into the now, a soundtrack for when the civilized veneer cracks just enough to let the genuine out.
The track champions that electrifying hum of pure, unadulterated presence, particularly when shared. It’s about becoming part of a pulsating, almost sacred space where past anxieties are simply shown the door, no polite apologies needed. There’s a muscularity here, an echo of that late 90s alt-rock swagger – think the coiled energy of early Radiohead tussling with the brute force of Queens of the Stone Age, perhaps, but filtered through something that’s stared down a few more modern demons.
Wild At Heart: TC TENET’s “Animals” Howls In
And that guitar, oh, it’s a bright, snarling thing, underscored by a backbeat that feels like a collective heartbeat. It reminds me, quite unexpectedly, of the specific, almost metallic tang of the air just before a massive summer thunderstorm, that charged feeling when everything is about to break wide open. The raw, honest vocals claw at you, unpolished in a way that feels utterly deliberate, like a conscious decision to unlearn prettiness in favour of truth.
“Animals” isn’t about being merely feral; it’s about a chosen wildness, a collective exhalation of ‘to hell with yesterday’s expectations.’ It paints a picture not of chaos, but of a vivid, breathing tapestry of shared breath and sound, where the only currency is the thrum of the bass in your sternum. TC TENET sings like someone who’s just remembered how to breathe after holding it for far too long, achieving a strange, beautiful exhaustion within the joy.
It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If we all shed our carefully constructed selves for just one night, what kind of glorious, howling symphony might we make?
A Raw Nerve: "In All My Nightmares I Am Alone" by Post Death Soundtrack
Post Death Soundtrack’s latest offering, “In All My Nightmares I Am Alone,” arrived not so much as a collection of songs, but as a psychic weather event. Listening to Stephen Moore’s solo excursion is like being invited to a wake where the dearly departed is, perhaps, oneself, or maybe just the idea of a stable Tuesday afternoon. It’s a dense, prickly thing, this record. One minute you’re navigating what feels like the ghost of a factory floor after a particularly metallic argument (hello, Skinny Puppy’s spectral cousin); the next, a lone guitar picks its way through the wreckage – as if a fragment of Nick Drake’s sorrow found a new, harsher soil to bloom in.
The album wears its heart, or rather, its exposed nerve endings, on its sleeve. Moore apparently wrestled with delirium tremens while birthing one of these tracks, and honestly, you can almost smell the stale fear and fluorescent-light sweat baked into certain moments. It’s not comfortable. Not always. There’s this sense of insidious forces ‘sneaking their essence,’ a line that made me suddenly recall the peculiar, almost imperceptible hum of old, malfunctioning streetlights, that subtle disquiet that tells you something’s off, even if you can’t quite name it.
Credit: Monika Deviat
The lyrical terrain is a map of psychic fissures – disillusionment so profound it feels like gravity itself is failing. And yet, amidst the articulated terror and the ‘complete breakdown in audio format’ (a refreshingly candid self-assessment, that), there’s this raw, almost brutal, push for… something else. Not hope, necessarily. More like the desperate muscle-twitch of a thing pinned down, fighting for the space to simply be, even if ‘being’ means embracing a more jagged, uncomfortable self. The eclectic genre-hopping, from industrial clang to folk’s fragile bones, isn’t jarring; it feels like the necessary sound of a mind trying every door in a burning house.
‘In All My Nightmares I Am Alone’ isn’t background music for your polite dinner party, unless your dinner party is themed around the quiet erosion of everything. It’s a challenging, occasionally harrowing listen, yes, but there’s a strange solace in its unvarnished honesty. It crawls under your skin and stays, less like an itch and more like a newly discovered nerve, raw but undeniably alive. When the world feels tuned to a distorted frequency, what else can one do but attempt to find the melody within the static?
You I Think Of – Joe Hodgson’s Heartfelt Instrumental Speaks Louder Than Words
Joe Hodgson, the Northern Irish guitarist from the small village of Ballymagorry, has released a deeply emotional new single, “You I Think Of.” This moving instrumental is the third release from his upcoming album “Fields of Redemption,” which comes out on June 20, 2025. Working with the world-famous Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, the track shows Hodgson’s special ability to turn feelings into music without using any words.
Now, with “You I Think Of,” Hodgson shows how much he’s grown, not only as a guitarist but as a true storyteller.
The song started as inspiration from the Irish folk classic “Molly Malone” and began as an acoustic arrangement. But as Hodgson played, he imagined a story – falling in love with a woman from Dublin. That story surprisingly came true. In 2022, he married a woman from Dublin who walked down the aisle to the song’s orchestral arrangement.
This background adds an emotional layer to the music. It’s not just a beautiful melody – it’s a real-life love story told through guitar and strings.
The song opens with quiet, thoughtful guitar lines
The song opens with quiet, thoughtful guitar lines – gentle and honest, like the beginning of a letter to someone dear. Hodgson’s playing is both delicate and emotional, shaped more by feeling than technical showing off.
As the track grows, the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra joins in, adding warmth and depth. The strings don’t overshadow the guitar – they support it, wrapping around the melody like an embrace. It’s a perfect balance between closeness and grandness.
Hodgson is known for mixing styles, and “You I Think Of” is no different. There’s the soul of blues, the elegance of jazz, the drama of rock, and the melodic roots of Irish folk – all present, all working together. Yet nothing feels forced. Every note feels intentional. This is music that takes its time and invites you to feel something real.
This song doesn’t just impress – it connects. It proves that Joe Hodgson is more than a talented guitarist; he’s a composer of deep, human experiences.
Rosso Tierney Makes Bold Debut with "Set You Free"
Rosso Tierney, a new solo rock artist from the UK, has made a strong and emotional entrance into the music world with his first single, “Set You Free.” Based in York, England, Rosso is more than just a singer – he’s a skilled multi-instrumentalist who turns personal pain into powerful songs. With this first release, he shows both his talent and his heart.
“Set You Free” is a soft rock ballad filled with emotion and soul. It starts gently with soft piano notes and calm guitar strumming. Slowly, the song builds into a more upbeat rhythm, pulling you in with every chord. There’s something captivating about it – before you know it, you’re nodding along, completely caught in its emotional wave.
At the center of the track is Rosso’s voice – rich, melodic, and slightly husky. He sings with such feeling that every line connects. His voice moves between tender moments and strong, passionate high notes with ease. It’s clear that this isn’t just music for him – it’s therapy.
But Rosso’s skill doesn’t stop with vocals. He plays piano, guitar, bass, and sings – bringing every layer of the song to life himself. The emotional guitar solo at the 2:43 mark is a standout moment. It’s not just a flashy break – it’s a release, a wordless cry of letting go. Like the rest of the track, it’s full of purpose and emotion.
But Rosso’s skill doesn’t stop with vocals.
Behind the scenes, the production by Sam Graves (known for his work with Asking Alexandria) brings out the best in the song. The mix is clean but not over-polished. It lets every instrument breathe and keeps the raw feeling in Rosso’s voice front and center. It’s beautifully done – emotional, real, and powerful.
What makes “Set You Free” really special is the message behind it. This isn’t just a breakup song. It’s a reflection on mental health, personal growth, and emotional freedom. Rosso writes honestly about the hard process of letting go – not just of a person, but of everything that holds you back. The lyrics speak to anyone who’s ever needed to heal, to grow, or to find peace after pain.
With influences ranging from David Bowie to The Struts and Palaye Royale, Rosso’s sound is both timeless and fresh. There’s glam-rock energy mixed with heartfelt songwriting, creating something that feels classic but deeply personal. He’s taken his past – from punk bands across Europe to his own spiritual journey – and turned it into music that connects on a deep level.
In short, “Set You Free” is an outstanding debut. It shows Rosso Tierney as an artist with real emotional depth, musical skill, and a story worth sharing. This isn’t just a song – it’s a heartfelt introduction to a musician who’s ready to turn his truth into something beautiful. If this first single is any sign, Rosso’s future in music looks bright and full of meaning.
Chasing Highs and Healing: An Artist's Journey Through Heartbreak
Babcock’s new single “High With Amy” takes listeners into a personal part of his life – one filled with heartbreak, healing, and an unexpected connection. Made in his home studio, the song mixes real emotions with a pop sound that feels both fun and heavy. It captures those mixed-up feelings that come after a breakup.
The song is based on a real connection with someone named Amy. It’s about the kind of relationship that gives you both an escape and helps you see things more clearly – a quiet moment when everything else feels crazy.
What makes this song different is how honest it is. Babcock doesn’t hide from the messy parts of moving on. He talks about the confusion, the laughing when you really want to cry, and needing to feel something – anything – after losing someone. The music has a throwback feel, but the words stick with you long after the song ends.
“High With Amy” marks a new direction in his music. It shows a side of him that’s more open and willing to take risks. In this interview, Babcock talks about the story behind the song, how hard it was to balance fun with deeper meaning, and what he hopes people will get from listening to it.
What’s the story behind “High With Amy”? Is Amy a real person or a fictional character? “High With Amy” is a blend of reality and imagination. She’s real. — she represents that connection we’ve probably all had, the kind that feels like an escape, but also so much more. It’s about the chaos and calm that come when you’re trying to outrun heartbreak but end up colliding with someone who helps you forget, even if just for a little while.
How does “High With Amy” fit into your overall musical journey and artistic evolution? This song feels like a turning point. It leans into pop but keeps that raw, emotional center that’s always been important to me. I’ve been moving away from overthinking my sound and just chasing what feels good. “High With Amy” is a good example of that — honest, fun, and a little messy in the best way.
What emotions or experiences were you trying to capture in “High With Amy”? It’s that weird mix of freedom and numbness that comes after a breakup — when you’re laughing again, but it’s mostly to keep from crying. I wanted to capture the way we sometimes throw ourselves into something new just to feel something, anything. There’s longing, there’s defiance, there’s also a little bit of delusion — and that’s what makes it feel real.
How would you describe the sound and vibe of this single compared to your previous work? It’s more upbeat and playful, but still has that emotional weight underneath. There’s a retro energy in the production — the roller skates, pool halls, blue skies — but it’s contrasted with these lyrics that are a little sad if you sit with them too long. It’s less polished emotionally, more impulsive.
but it’s contrasted with these lyrics that are a little sad if you sit with them too long.
What was the most challenging part of creating this track? Honestly, dialing in the tone was the hardest part. I didn’t want it to sound like a sad song pretending to be fun, or a party track pretending to be deep. Finding that balance — where you could feel both the escape and the underlying ache — took some experimenting. Getting the chorus to land without it feeling too heavy or too light was a bit of a tightrope walk.
What do you hope listeners take away from “High With Amy” when they hear it? I hope it reminds people that it’s okay to be a little lost, a little reckless. That healing isn’t always linear or graceful — sometimes it looks like late nights and questionable choices with the wrong person at the right time. And that’s part of it too.
Is there a specific moment or lyric in the song that you’re particularly proud of? Yeah, the line “My mother thought Jesus was the one who would save me” always hits a little harder. It’s funny and sad and personal — one of those lines that says a lot in just a few words. – don’t worry mom, Jesus’ still the man.
Will “High With Amy” be part of a larger project like an EP or album? At the moment, it’s a standalone single, but it’s part of a bigger stretch of releases I’m planning. I’m in a season where I want to drop songs regularly and let each one breathe on its own.
What’s the significance of the title for you personally? “High With Amy” is a title that says a lot in four words. It’s not just about getting intoxicated or being with someone — it’s about chasing a feeling. Trying to get high on anything that feels better than the thing you just got out of. Amy’s the distraction, the medicine, the mirage — depending on how you look at it.
What’s next for you after the release of “High With Amy”? More music. I’ve got a lineup of songs I’m excited to roll out over the next few months. Each one shows a different side of where I’m at — emotionally, creatively, all of it. No live shows for now — I’m really focused on building a digital audience and letting the songs speak for themselves.
What would you want someone to know before they listen to “High With Amy” for the first time? Don’t take it too literally. It’s not a love song or a breakup song — it’s that blurry middle ground. Just press play, and let it hit you wherever you’re at. Whether you’re healing, rebounding, or just vibing, there’s something in there for you.
Alexander James Rodriguez Resurrects Seductive Heart On Noche Sin Fin
Alexander James Rodriguez, the Marbella-born artist who scooped up the ‘Rising Star Award‘ at the 2021 Hollywood Music in Media Awards, understands this liminal space intimately.
His newest song, “Noche Sin Fin” (Endless Night), moves through this dark area with the ease of someone who speaks desire like a native.
The track opens with “Bailando entre mis dedos” (“Dancing between my fingers”),it creates a sexual scenery right away, where touch turns into movement, movement turns into language, and language disappears into pure feeling.
It is impossible to deny that the track has a late-night energy, a hot, electric expectation that only the best Latin music can create. The synths move back and forth, making an auditory experience that is as much about feeling as it is about hearing.
And the percussion? It’s the heartbeat of the night, insistent and intoxicating, urging you to shed your inhibitions and simply move.
The arrangement sounds like the golden age of Latin disco—think Giorgio Moroder‘s cosmic pulse with the drug-filled nights in Miami—but it has a very current emotional intelligence to it.
What’s particularly fascinating about “Noche Sin Fin” is its seamless fusion of eras. Rodriguez doesn’t just dabble in retro; he embraces it. He mixes classic disco strings and sounds with a more modern Latin pop sound.
It is like discovering an old picture that has been carefully kept but has a bright, modern tint put on it. This is not a repeat of old memories; it is a polite tribute that moves the limits forward.
This is the right place for his signature synth-pop style, which is often emotional, because it lets his voice be both cocky and vulnerable at the same time. He walks across the line with the ease of a dancer.
Rodriguez is a great performer in both English and Spanish, but “Noche Sin Fin” shows how his Spanish-language work touches on deeper emotional levels.
In lines like “Clávame con tus espinas / Cuando bailas me fascinas” (“Pierce me with your thorns / When you dance you fascinate me”), the language itself plays a big role in showing how strange attraction can be.
Rodriguez’s voice moves very skilfully between being vulnerable and in charge. His delivery makes me think of someone who has learnt from both Abel Tesfaye‘s late-night confessions and Luis Miguel‘s romantic grandeur, but refuses to be constrained by either.
Alexander James Rodriguez Resurrects Seductive Heart On Noche Sin Fin
His way of thinking about desire is very Gen Z—it is straight and complicated at the same time, honest and deeply thoughtful.
Alexander James Rodriguez’s sound is changing all the time, but “Noche Sin Fin” is a big, rhythm-filled moment that shows he is not afraid to try new things, mix sounds, and make something truly original.
This track isn’t just for Latin pop playlists; it’s for global dance collections, for summer rotations, for those moments when passion meets pulse and the world outside fades away. It’s a track that demands to be experienced, not just heard.
Rodriguez’s 2024 debut album ‘Call Me Alexander‘ was independently released on vinyl, CD and digital platforms, establishing him as an artist committed to complete creative control.
It’s a reminder that sometimes, the most profound experiences are found on the dance floor, under the glow of a thousand tiny lights, lost in an endless night.
Max Barskih is a Ukrainian artist whose sound is always changing. He has changed gears again, releasing a track that feels like a warm hug in the sun after some time spent thinking about things.
After the deep contemplation of “Stomach Butterfly” and the captivating charm of “Someone New,” “Sound of Bloom” is a joyful return to a lively, danceable beat.
It is a musical call to let go of your fears and give in to the pure joy of moving.
This is the best place for Barskih’s artistic goals because of the afrohouse structure.
The genre’s polyrhythmic roots allow for both physical movement and emotional release, and its world roots reflect the artist’s own musical studies of different cultures.
Barskih builds something in this framework that feels both very general and very specific at the same time.
The track doesn’t just play; it blooms, unfurling layers of energetic beats and soulful melodies that resonate with an undeniable vitality.
Online rumours have already called it a “bubble gum-flavoured song,” which, while a bit silly, gets the song’s infectious, fun vibe.
It is a big deal that “Sound of Bloom” came out. Barskih is on the digital cover of L’Officiel Ukraine, which shows how much of an impact he is having.
With its lively summer shooting in a cowboy-themed style, the related feature shows a variety of sides of the artist.
It is interesting to see how the rough, wild spirit of the cowboy image meets the smooth, modern shine of a fashion ad.
The decisions made during production show a deep understanding of sound architecture. Typical afrohouse rhythm patterns mix with musical parts that make you think of both happiness and sadness.
Barskih’s singing style fits the genre perfectly, finding new ways to express himself within the rhythmic limits of the style.
He speaks English naturally, not forcedly, which suggests that he is comfortable with the language and not just trying to make money.
Just like the music, this graphic story hints at a deeper story: a story of growth and finding oneself.
This transparency, this willingness to share the genesis of his artistry in real time with fans, fosters a profound sense of connection. It’s a rare peek behind the curtain, revealing the meticulous craftsmanship and heartfelt dedication that underpins his work.
Max Barskih Channels Pure Joy In “Sound of Bloom”
One might ponder, for a fleeting moment, the precise moment a melody transforms from a fleeting thought into a tangible wave of sound, or how a lyric, once a mere whisper in the mind, finds its voice in the grand symphony of a song. It’s a delicate alchemy, a dance between inspiration and execution.
The track’s three-minute duration demonstrates remarkable efficiency. Every element serves multiple purposes: percussion patterns that drive both body and narrative, melodic phrases that embed themselves in memory while advancing emotional development, production choices that create both immediacy and replay value. This is music that rewards both casual listening and deeper analysis.
“Sound of Bloom” is an invitation to participate. It encourages a release, a surrender to the rhythm, a blossoming of the spirit.
It’s a vibrant splash of color on the canvas of the summer, a reminder that even in the most unexpected corners of the world, joy can be found, and souls can bloom.
Balwako’s new single, “Bitch Please,” doesn’t so much arrive as detonate – a burst of queer dark-pop that rattles the windows of expectation. This Amsterdam artist, trailing a “Slavic boy-core aesthetic” and a flair for the theatrical, isn’t just making electro-pop; he’s staging a minor opera in under three minutes, all bass-heavy beats and a synth line that feels like a velvet curtain dramatically swishing open.
And the core of it? A spectacularly messy devotion. We’re in the territory of overwhelming infatuation, that all-consuming fire where one might willingly, say, offer to meticulously catalogue someone’s sock drawer by perceived emotional weight if they only glanced approvingly. Balwako maps this almost complete surrender of self, this fervent desire to cater. For a fleeting second, listening, I wasn’t thinking of pop music, but of those strangely stoic faces on ancient kouros statues – a kind of perfect, unsettling offering. Then the glossy production thunders back in, a decidedly modern, danceable tremor.
Synth & Strut: Balwako Unleashes “Bitch Please.”
“Bitch Please” is a cheeky, defiant anthem plunging into that chaotic collision of lust, a magnificently bruised ego, and the shards of heartbreak – particularly when pining for someone who simply won’t, or can’t, give you what you need. It’s a track for anyone who’s ever had to show up, head high, lipstick perfect, while their insides were staging a riot. This isn’t just pain; it’s pain remixed into a performance, dramatic and emotionally raw, where the cinematic synths light up the ego’s defiant strut.
Balwako carves out a fierce, unapologetic space here. It’s pop with a decidedly sharp bite, a track that makes you want to move, to pose, perhaps even to send a rather ill-advised text. It’s a bold offering, this intense, unique, and provocatively subservient desire set to music. After the last beat fades, you’re left wondering: when we lay ourselves so extravagantly bare, are we seeking connection, or just the most stylish form of self-immolation?
Beyond the Map: Seema Farswani's Bold "Under A Blazing Sun."
Seema Farswani’s new single, “Under A Blazing Sun,” shimmers in much like that first blast of heat when you step off a plane somewhere thrillingly unfamiliar – a bright, almost disorienting welcome. The songwriter and producer immediately sets out a clear map of intent: a pop-rock engine chugging with determination, quickly threaded through with the intricate, evocative embroidery of Arabian strings and Middle Eastern instrumentation. It’s a compelling juxtaposition, this push of the familiar meeting the pull of something ancient and new, all at once. It feels like deliberately choosing to walk into the glare, because something in the light promises more than shade ever could.
This isn’t just about changing scenery; Farswani is sonically charting a profound internal realignment. The music details a conscious uncoupling from a past, its “restrictions and familiar structures” fading in the rearview. She embraces an “unguided path” with a certain unblinking courage, the melody suggesting not aimless wandering, but purposeful discovery. Those strings… they don’t just decorate the pop structure; they feel like the very air of this “uncharted territory,” occasionally catching you off guard like the sudden scent of cardamom on a city street you’ve walked a thousand times, suddenly new. Or perhaps it’s more like stumbling upon an unexpected oasis, vibrant and almost hallucinatory in its beauty, right where the map said there was nothing.
Beyond the Map: Seema Farswani’s Bold “Under A Blazing Sun.”
Farswani’s vocals navigate this potent landscape, a clear beacon signalling this journey towards a new, deeply personal liberation. There’s a lucidity to her delivery that speaks of shedding limitations, of finding wonder not in conventional comforts, but in the radiant, precious, self-defined haven she’s carved out. Dubai, the “love letter” recipient, isn’t just a backdrop; it feels like a co-conspirator, a living geography of memory and growth, its own identity melding with hers. The whole piece vibrates with the feeling of stepping into one’s own, possibly peculiar, light, a rebirth under a sky that might seem harsh to others, but for her, is home.
It leaves you considering not just where you are, but what strange, wonderful sun you might be unconsciously walking towards, and if its heat might just forge something true.
Max Barskih Drops An Anthem Of Resilience And Connection "Stomach Butterfly"
In a world often saturated with the clamour of the everyday, a gentle flutter emerges from an unexpected corner.
Max Barskih, a name synonymous with Ukrainian pop, steps onto a broader stage with his inaugural English-language single, ‘Stomach Butterfly.’
This is a whispered conversation, a shared breath in the midst of a storm, and perhaps, a quiet revolution in the landscape of modern music.
It does not come with a bang, but with the soft unfolding of wings. A number of video experiments lead up to it, teasing at deeper currents below the surface.
Barskih was born in Kherson and grew up in the shadow of Ukraine’s complicated political situation. His artistic journey from Eurovision contestant to cultural ambassador shows how artists in Eastern Europe today move around and try new things.
His choice to speak in English is not an act of cultural failure or business acumen. Instead, it is an act of linguistic unity that builds emotional links across language barriers.
The genesis of ‘Stomach Butterfly’ lies in Barskih’s charity tours abroad, where he encountered the profound need for emotional resonance within the global community.
It’s a realization that life, in its purest form, demands celebration, even when shadows loom large. This single, then, becomes a missive, a heartfelt dispatch to anyone willing to lend an ear to the sincerity woven into his lyrics and the tender embrace of his melodies.
It is a complex and delicate sound fabric, like the thin threads of a spider web catching the dew in the morning. Deeply moving in its simplicity, this feeling is at the heart of the new phase in his art.
It began with raw, unvarnished video confessions from young Ukrainians, filmed on VHS cameras, their openness a stark contrast to the harsh realities they’ve endured.
These are people who choose to live and fight for their country even though they are being occupied, losing loved ones, and being forced to move. Their stories, which are like retellings of old myths, have a bravery that never goes away.
The culmination of these narratives is the ‘Stomach Butterfly’ music video, a visual poem directed by Alan Badoev.
It features the very same young men and women whose confessions ignited this project, their faces now illuminated by the lens, their vulnerability transformed into a powerful statement.
With the eye of an artist, Badoev makes sure that every frame shows modern Ukraine: its fiercely brave young people, the subtle beauty of things like interiors by the innovative brand Dizza or a carpet created by artist Masha Reva.
Making the video was a way to bring people together and a place where strangers became friends. Barskih himself talks about how “crucial” it is to have chemistry on set, which led to acting classes that were more than just lessons.
This real, unrehearsed closeness, this intentional peeling back of outer layers, says a lot about the need for connection and shared sensitivity that people have.
It is a dance between the individual and the group, a fine balance like a tightrope walker walking across the space between two very tall buildings.
Sofia Pkhaladze, a famous Ukrainian psychologist and the founder of the SOPHY app for psychologists, gives an interesting study of the “Stomach Butterfly” movie. She says it is a “journey from loneliness to trust, from darkness to light, and from a guarded heart to an open connection.”
She says that violence, war, and loss put up “invisible walls around the heart.” The movie shows how strong it is to break those walls down and trust again. Like psychological group therapy, it builds trust slowly, starting with a look, a touch, or a shared weakness.
Pkhaladze says that taking off your clothes is a deep way of saying “I allow myself to trust.” Helping someone take their shoes off is a sign of safety and trust. In the end, there is a “magical moment of actors sharing a kiss,” she says, after a lot of stress.
Max Barskih Drops An Anthem Of Resilience And Connection “Stomach Butterfly”
She says that closeness means “being able to live, feel, and be yourself.” Art has a powerful power to heal, bring back love, trust, and the courage to feel. People’s souls want to connect with others, just like a direction point looking for true north.
Together with Sofia Pkhaladze, Barskih’s team has created a free part of the SOPHY app called “Together We Are Strong” to spread this message of healing and support even more. This resource is open to all Ukrainians, both inside and outside of Ukraine.
It provides psychological help to reduce stress, deal with bad feelings, and get through the terrible memories of war. It is a real-world extension of the song’s message, a way to put its ideas into practice, and a lighthouse of hope in rough seas.
“Stomach Butterfly” is a powerful reminder of how strong people can be, a tender look into the human mind, and a strong ode to the spirit of a country.
It makes us think about the quiet power that comes from being open and honest, the deep courage that comes from choosing to live even when things are hard, and the language of connection that goes beyond borders and situations.
It makes us think of a question that will not go away: how can we find our own “stomach butterfly” and let it fly?
