Don't Let This One "Fade Away": Kent Owens Makes a Mark
Kent Owens, a name that sounds like it should be on a library card next to “Hemingway,” but instead it’s on the digital shelf next to my slightly messy playlist. This Cambridge-based creator of soundscapes – I’m resisting calling them songs, but…well – just released “Fade Away,” a single that feels like an open window after a long winter. It’s a soft rock hum with a pop-rock sheen. We’re talking about a lyrical tug-of-war here, aren’t we? On one side is a life of curated beige, on the other, the neon-drenched memory of vibrant mistakes.
The melody is like a familiar route you take on autopilot. But the words… those are a jarring detour. Owens isn’t gently suggesting a change of pace, no. It’s more like he’s grabbed the wheel mid-turn and shouted, “Look where we are!” It’s about that quiet hum of potential, that artistic volcano sleeping under the mundane, a thing like when they found Tutankhamun’s tomb… except this isn’t about relics, it’s about rebirth. Do you think Tut was an avid listener of synth pop during the construction of the pyramids? Something tells me the ancient world knew how to find the rhythm.
Don’t Let This One “Fade Away”: Kent Owens Makes a Mark
The overall effect? It’s oddly comforting. In a way, Owens’ regret is our hope. His lyrics paint vivid portraits of stagnation – the self-imposed walls of “what is” vs. “what could be.” He seems genuinely terrified but fueled by some kind of… determined bewilderment. The drums are solid, the guitars like gentle nudges forward. The layers aren’t overwhelming; they’re there to support a clear voice searching through the static of habit. Perhaps a song, after all. Perhaps just this one.
“Fade Away” doesn’t just ask for a fresh start, it demands one. It’s a polite panic attack set to a catchy tune and it is… something. And isn’t it that “something” that we’re really all looking for?
Aynaz's "To My Angel Friend": An Angel's Share of Emotion
Okay, let’s talk about Aynaz, shall we? They’ve dropped a single called “To My Angel Friend,” and it feels less like a tune and more like… a sudden breeze through a dusty attic window. You know, the kind where long-forgotten trinkets catch the light and make you blink? It’s a tribute, see, to a friend gone. A sort of musical memorial with Celtic undertones, woven in with threads of classical grace. It’s New Age, but not in the way the crystals in your aunt’s living room are New Age. This has grit, a palpable sorrow.
There’s a funny little tug-of-war between the somberness of loss and this odd, almost defiant, sense of…forward motion. Like those old daguerreotype photos, where the subject has a blurry edge, caught between being there and not being there. What if, just what if, ancient maps held musical notations? What kind of sounds would those cartographers have translated to their parchment? It’s the kind of thought that pops in when the music swells, taking you somewhere other than here.
Aynaz’s “To My Angel Friend”: An Angel’s Share of Emotion
Aynaz crafts an experience that explores a kind of resilience, like that single flower that somehow manages to break through concrete. It’s not some saccharine portrayal of overcoming pain, mind you. It feels, I don’t know, real. The Celtic influences ripple out like tiny waves on a shore, mixing with the classic sensibilities with a strange and lovely ease. Makes me think of tapestries, some thread worn thin with time, others bold and bright. A sort of emotional embroidery, if you will. Perhaps my socks will find a voice next? Who’s to say.
This single isn’t just sound; it’s a hand reaching through the dark. A shared moment of remembering, of being present with absence. It leaves you… different, maybe. And that’s something.
Beyond the Pale: Talk in Vain Takes Us to a "Distant Land"
Okay, let’s talk about Talk in Vain’s “Distant Land.” This isn’t your grandma’s rock and roll. It’s more like finding a hidden cassette tape under a loose floorboard—you know, the kind with that feeling of forbidden knowledge. The Swedish duo, Magnus Hellman (songwriter/production whiz) and Jessica Lindman (vocal powerhouse), have thrown a sonic punch. They clearly weren’t aiming for a gentle massage.
There’s this raw energy, a kind of caged animal bursting through the bars, that is… interesting. You’d expect pure aggression, but it’s more like controlled chaos, carefully arranged like a bookshelf that looks haphazard but is really meticulously organized. Is that the sound of escaping, or just smashing through something, maybe? There’s a weird joy in it, like realizing the alarm clock never rang when it should have.
Jessica Lindman
The single screams intensity and the need to dismantle any sense of easy listening predictability, as if they’re declaring musical independence from whatever might have felt safe and conventional. And that’s… brave. It reminds me of the time I tried to build a house out of LEGOs as a kid, but then accidentally built a tiny rocket instead. It made no sense, but felt absolutely vital at the time.
Magnus Hellman
Jessica’s vocals have this grit, this beautiful crack that just cuts through all the musical noise. It’s not polished or perfected, but genuine. You sense she’s truly in that “distant land” with you. The music swirls, dives, and soars. It’s a constant exploration. Did the Roman Empire know this kind of turbulent rhythm? Probably in their own way of battling and chariot races. Anyway, I’ve got my mind going into unexpected tunnels.
“Distant Land” leaves you kind of breathless. I’m left pondering: did we just witness a break from something or a breakthrough? Perhaps both. It sounds like an inner compass recalibrating, in a most beautiful and loud manner.
Casuccio's "Rockstar": Not About the Sparkle, All About the Grit
Anthony Casuccio’s “The Rockstar,” is, well, not what you expect, especially if you were picturing spandex and teased hair. It’s a raw, honest pour of musicality, almost like watching someone build a guitar from scratch right in front of you. He’s not pretending; this is what he does, he is music. That kind of dedication, you can feel it. It’s like catching a stray sunbeam through a dusty attic window – unexpected but potent. He’s clearly been chasing stage lights for a while. Not unlike I chase pigeons in the park sometimes, a fool’s errand perhaps, but full of raw feeling.
The track pulsates, not with a manufactured swagger, but with something closer to heart palpitations. Lyrics like, “Music is my escape,” resonate in the way an old photograph does, triggering a rush of personal memories. Suddenly I remember trying to learn a harmonica once, the bitter disappointment that followed. Then the guitar riff hits, it’s clear. This isn’t a vanity project; it’s a blood offering, a testament to thirty years in the trenches of the music biz. What does a good cup of tea and this single have in common? Both offer moments of clarity. It’s rock and roll for the soul, a weird, winding road toward… something genuine. He’s on fire with each pluck.
Casuccio’s “Rockstar”: Not About the Sparkle, All About the Grit
The song talks about practice, about putting everything on the line; that’s the thing, isn’t it? Every chord is a step toward something, even if it’s not perfectly planned. Like when you walk the beach and see one perfect shell, everything feels right for a moment. Maybe it’s the way Casuccio merges vulnerability with the roar of a guitar; you understand it on a gut level, which is often far more powerful than perfectly formed sentences. Casuccio seems to not want a pedestal, rather just a stage, just a release of pure sound and feeling, and you kinda want to watch that too. A kind of messy, beautiful symphony. So much noise contained in something simple.
Is it a rock anthem? Or a personal prayer? Maybe it’s both, a little chaotic and beautiful. And maybe the question itself is the whole point.
Prose-in Motion: Phidippus Paints Sonic Pictures with "Prazosin"
Phidippus’ “Prazosin,” the album, is a strange little thing. Not like finding a sock in the dryer that never had a match, but more like finding a tiny, perfectly formed city inside an acorn. It’s all electronic pulses and hums, built by Eric Salazar, with what feels like very specific, and also wonderfully messy, intention. Jeff Riteman and Alice Indiana pop in as guests, like extra sprinkles on already good ice cream, but it’s Salazar’s lonely voyage here, you understand?
The theme is, if you can call it that, navigating through the muck. Personal hardships. Picture yourself trying to assemble a complex Lego set, only to realize all the pieces are slightly… melted. It’s frustration, it’s acceptance, it’s that feeling you get right before the bass drop at a show.
These aren’t your club bangers. They thrum with something quieter, something akin to a lost Morse code message from a parallel universe. Think if the static on an old radio decided to have a meaningful conversation, about what, you’re not quite sure, but you feel it.
Prose-in Motion: Phidippus Paints Sonic Pictures with “Prazosin”
This isn’t Beethoven’s 5th Symphony; no grand overtures, just small pockets of noise, put together in patterns. Kinda like a pointillist painting but with sounds, I guess. The whole thing reminds me a bit of those early computer graphics you would see in the 80s. It wasn’t real, but it gave the sensation of something…else.
The real impact is how personal “Prazosin” feels without any sung lyrics or clearly articulated messages. How can an entire human emotional landscape come from blips and bleeps? Maybe it’s the same thing as seeing patterns in clouds. Anyway, there is a real soul within the whirring circuits. What does it mean? Perhaps it’s meant to make you think and feel, the same way an old photograph pulls you back in time, but instead of time you are pulled into someone’s world. What’s more personal than that?
Owen Young's "Three" EP: A Trio of Truths You'll Ponder Thrice.
Owen Young’s “Three” EP is like finding a worn, familiar photograph in an old box, only to discover the person in the picture is wearing a lampshade. It’s deeply personal, yet jarringly relevant to the world spinning outside my window. We are dealing with themes of impermanence, the kind that makes you check if the stove is off, twice, every time. You can tell he means it, too.
“Runnin’ Down The River” feels like a dusty lament echoing across generations; there’s a sense of those 60’s dreams of peace, love and understanding dissolving like sugar in tea, and replaced by the salty tang of reality. Then, you find comfort, a shared journey with friends. I’m strangely reminded of when I accidentally used fabric softener instead of laundry detergent, the confusing, fleeting scent of “wrongness.” Life.
Owen Young’s “Three” EP: A Trio of Truths You’ll Ponder Thrice.
Then, there’s “That Could Have Been You,” a stark observation about the folks often swept aside by society’s currents. It isn’t a finger-pointing exercise but a quiet acknowledgment of our shared vulnerability. Each verse is a mini-story with characters that could live next door. We find a man counting coins, victims of displacement and domestic violence, they live a reality many would rather ignore. It feels a bit like that time I tried to bake a cake without reading the recipe, a beautiful mess but with crucial lessons learned.
“Voices In The Dust” circles back to resilience, finding strength in the ‘voices,’ whether those of nature, ancestors, or just echoes from our own past. “Tomorrow in yesterday” is how my brain feels at times. I picture that strange sculpture garden that’s on the side of the highway. Nobody knows why it’s there, but it’s quietly profound.
Owen Young’s “Three” EP: A Trio of Truths You’ll Ponder Thrice.
“Three” isn’t just a collection of songs; it’s a raw, honest conversation. Young doesn’t have answers to life’s mess but the invitation to feel and contemplate them with him. How strange to think about all we hold in these few, precious years, like sand slipping through your fingers and forming shapes anew.
Adriana Spuria Sends Us "Away" - And We're Glad to Go!
Okay, here we go, let’s talk about Adriana Spuria’s “Away,” because sometimes a song lands not like a stone, but more like a strangely shaped, resonant pebble you find in a forgotten corner of your pocket.
It starts, well, I mean, not starts in the way a rocket launches. It’s softer than that, all gentle hums and guitar twangs, before Adriana’s voice drifts in, light as dandelion fluff on a breezy day. And then you get it – the ‘take me away’ plea. It’s repeated, sure, like a skipping record, but each time, it resonates a little differently. Maybe it’s about escaping bad leftovers from yesterday’s thoughts or perhaps a deep-seated urge to simply step outside one’s self. Like those weird moments when you are trying to find something in the fridge, but instead, you start organizing everything.
Adriana Spuria Sends Us “Away” – And We’re Glad to Go!
This single isn’t a story, per se; it’s more a feeling, an almost electric hum you get from standing too close to something… something powerful. A connection that’s both a comfort and a wild, untamed thing. Gae Capitano, Corrado Salemi, Biagio Martello, and Giovanni Maucieri provide the sonic scaffolding here; their work, while clearly important, feels less like individual building blocks, more like a shared landscape. One you are urged to go explore. Maybe I should have taken my hiking shoes for this, I mean, it was this powerful.
It’s got that satisfying blend of acoustic and electronics, with rock undertones—like putting on a favorite worn-in jacket you haven’t touched since last season. The vocals ride this wave like a tiny boat, at times feeling a bit like being on one of those rides at the fair, the ones that spin you ’round and around. There’s a definite pull to be had, a beckoning to the ‘away’ they are describing. What exactly is that place? Maybe it’s somewhere within each of us, waiting to be discovered.
Ultimately, “Away” doesn’t offer answers; it asks a better question: Where will you go? And perhaps more importantly, with whom?
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Attack the Sound’s new single “Favorite Things” reimagines the beloved Sound of Music standard with their distinctive genre-blending style. Recorded live in a single take at Blu 26 Studio, the track showcases the band’s natural energy and musical chemistry.
The song’s message resonates particularly well as the year draws to a close, inviting listeners to celebrate life’s positive moments. The recording process, from intense rehearsal discussions to the one-take studio performance, reflects the band’s dedication to their craft and artistic growth.
This Chicago-based indie pop group continues to build momentum, bringing fresh perspectives to familiar sounds while establishing their unique place in the music scene.
The result is an engaging piece that honors the original while charting new territory – a fitting introduction to a band worth watching.
The energy in “Favorite Things” is infectious. What’s the story behind how this track came together? This song came to be because we had been studying jazz standards to get tighter as a band. After listening to the Coltrane’s version I realized you can make any version you liked. I then started reworking it to make it more reflective of how we want to play music. This was all recorded live with one take. We also recorded Autumn Leaves but those files were lost.
What made you choose this song as your next single? Was there a moment when you knew this was the one? I choose this single because the year was coming to an end and this is the time we think back on what has happened and often are upset with what we didnt accomplish but going into 25 I wanted listeners to think of their favorite moments and not feel so bad.
I choose this single because the year was coming to an end and this is the time we think back on what has happened
The production has some interesting layers to it. What was the studio process like for this track? The studio process was hectic lol. The single was recorded live and on video at Blu 26 in Chicago so there were so many moving parts. Because we decided to play all at once, I had to do lots of coordination and conducting to keep all parts on point.
How did the band collaborate on writing “Favorite Things”? Was it different from your usual songwriting approach? With this being a cover the writing process was simple. We already knew the song from the Sound of Music and the Jazz version by Coltrane so we brought ideas to rehearsal. The biggest conflict was how to end it. We finally landed on a major key when throughout the song is in a minor key.
Some of your best ideas probably come at random times. Where were you when the initial concept for this song hit? I was lying in bed listening to a Jazz playlist I made of Miles Davis, John Coltrane and Chet Baker. The music started to take me on a trip, even though I was sober. As I started to teleport into the comso of sound I kinda unlocked ideas I never had before.
What’s been the biggest change in how you approach making music compared to when you first started? The biggest change is, I try everything. I look to do what services the song rather than what I want to do. I used to be more stubborn and have so much control over the smallest details. Its ok to let someone else help and take charge sometimes.
What do you hope fans take away from this track when they first hear it? I want fans to take away that we tried something different, experimented with sound and had fun doing so.
If someone’s discovering Attack the Sound for the first time through “Favorite Things,” what would you want them to know about the band? I’d want them to know they just found their new favorite Indie Pop Band and we are pushing boundaries in music to stay different not relevant.
Want 99 Problems? Frank Richman's "99 Fire" Ain't One.
It’s like discovering a rogue disco ball hidden in a forgotten record store, except instead of dusty surfaces, it’s polished chrome reflecting pure, unadulterated energy. We know absolutely nothing about Frank, and honestly? I think I prefer it that way. This track drops, a single, not some bloated album-behemoth, and suddenly the walls are sweating. Fun, like a sticky summer afternoon where you forget the world exists for a few delicious moments.
This “99 Fire” concept isn’t subtle; it’s a full-on conflagration, that slow-burn you get from laughing with your best friends while some unexpected, amazing song explodes from someone’s beat-up speakers. Remember the first time you rode a bike without training wheels? Yes, that feels similar. You’re coasting, the wind’s in your face, but the feeling’s more significant than just an outdoor activity. This funk machine Richman cooked up is pure, raw joy—and it’s catchy like a mosquito on a summer night.
Want 99 Problems? Frank Richman’s “99 Fire” Ain’t One.
There’s a ‘risin’ and risin’ bit repeated throughout, a kind of relentless mantra of escalation, which is exactly what a solid party does, right? A build-up, like when a tiny seed starts growing out of seemingly nothing, slowly unfurling, becoming everything. I wonder if Richman even considers these botanical parallels? He probably wouldn’t give me a straight answer, the cryptic fox.
I thought about early industrial music while listening; the raw, unrefined power, but instead of grinding metal, this is like, well, the opposite. Polished chrome energy. What does any of it mean? Is there some secret societal commentary here, some hidden code embedded in the groove? Maybe it’s not that deep, maybe Frank simply felt something, and created something as honest and electrifying as what we’re experiencing now. It doesn’t matter, not really.
“99 Fire,” then. A flicker in the dark? A fleeting summer, a brief, wonderful heatwave of absolute fun? Either way, it burned bright. And that’s all that counts, truly.
From Twang to Truth: Anton Commissaris Unveils "Said, I'm Sorry"
Anton Commissaris. Just the name rolls around in my mouth like a lost piece of candy. “Said, I’m Sorry.” A title so straightforward it’s almost a dare. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that saying sorry is easy? But it’s never just a quick dip of the chin, is it? This single plumbs the murkier depths of that little phrase, a confession whispered into the dust motes swirling around an empty bar.
This isn’t a polished, sparkly kind of sorry, the type you might use to avoid an awkward silence. No. This one feels like a man staring down his mistakes, illuminated by a single, dim bulb hanging over his head. Commissaris’s voice, gravel and tenderness coexisting, embodies that perfectly. Country, yes, the sound wraps itself around the bones like a comfortable but slightly threadbare quilt. There’s an echo of past heartbreaks, the twang resonating with a truth that can be uncomfortable, like accidentally biting into a lemon with no sugar.
From Twang to Truth: Anton Commissaris Unveils “Said, I’m Sorry”
He lays it all bare: the lying, the disappearing act, the hurt left smoldering in his wake. It’s funny how honesty can be both incredibly fragile and fiercely powerful at the same time, kind of like glass being used for armor. He’s not looking for forgiveness necessarily; he’s just facing the music, the discordant melody of his actions. Have you ever seen a really good magic show where the illusion isn’t so much hidden, but revealed and amplified in some unexpected way? This track is like that. Raw. Simple. Honest.
Why are we so captivated by the confessions of flawed people? Maybe it’s the hope, or perhaps just the curiosity. Perhaps, “Said, I’m Sorry” is about the complicated ballet of apologies; a dance where vulnerability leads and truth tries its best to keep up. It asks more than it tells, ultimately leaving you a bit… pensive. What are you sorry for today?
A Soulful Ode to First Love: Jim Scaparotti’s "Starry Night" Shines Bright
Jim Scaparotti has taken his thirty years of songwriting experience and crafted something truly special with the latest single from his project, TINMAN Project. “Starry Night” is a song that blends Americana with blues rock in a way that speaks directly to the heart.
From the very first guitar strum, this track pulls listeners into a world of groovy rhythms and nostalgic imagery, offering a sonic journey reminiscent of first love under starlit skies. Inspired by Van Gogh’s iconic painting and Scaparotti’s own experience of a first kiss, Starry Night showcases not just stellar instrumentation but a deep emotional connection.
The carefully crafted production, featuring contributions from skilled musicians like Steve Ferrone and Lynn Arthur Nichols, elevates the track’s soulful vibe, making it a timeless piece that feels both nostalgic and fresh.
Whether you’re a fan of Americana, blues rock, or simply beautiful storytelling through music, “Starry Night” is sure to be a fixture in your playlist.
‘Are You Down': Kevin Blaze's Bold Statement on Modern Relationships
Kevin Blaze is cooking something special from his studio in Luxembourg with his latest single ‘Are You Down.’ It’s the kind of track that makes you question why we ever put music in boxes; an artist who has Pop, House, Latin and Afro-Pop and is breathing new life into it all.
‘Are You Down’ is about something we all know too well: love in the age of read receipts and notification alerts. Blaze tells you how something as small as a text or call can bring back to life a relationship that has become too far apart. His vocals glide along the beat, that line between reflection and celebration felt effortlessly.
‘Are You Down’ is about something we all know too well: love in the age of read receipts and notification alerts.
Blaze really flexes his creative muscles in production. The track gets underway with atmospheric risers, before the track fuses Afro pop rhythms and Latin grooves, with Eastern mysticism ever so subtly creeping in. And it’s far from Blaze’s Hip-Hop producing days, which is exactly what makes it special; Blaze isn’t afraid to push boundaries.
‘Are You Down’ is one of those rare tracks that works anywhere; whether you’re losing yourself at a festival, in a club, or just sitting on your own thoughts. That’s what happens when an artist stops worrying about genres and focuses on feelings.
And this isn’t just another single, this is Kevin Blaze telling us where music can get when you throw away the rulebook. He’s just getting started, and from the sound of things, it sounds like he’s just getting started.
From Chaos to Grace: Nocko Discusses His Musical and Personal Journey
Some artists write about life – Nocko lived it. In his latest single “Owe My Life”, he opens up about his journey from the edge to enlightenment, and it hits different. This isn’t just another track – it’s the final piece of his upcoming album Label Me, and you can feel the weight of every word.
When Nocko sings “I owe my life—after everything I did, I say that’s a fair price,” he’s laying it all on the line. There’s no sugar-coating here – just raw truth about transformation and the power of faith. From a life that used to make headlines for all the wrong reasons, he’s emerged with a story of hope that speaks to anyone who thinks it might be too late to change.
Behind the boards, Nocko’s fingerprints are on every aspect of this track. From the soaring choir opening to the layered beats that follow, he’s crafting every element himself – producing, writing, performing, and engineering the whole package.
We had a convo with Nocko to dig deeper into what drove him to create such a personal piece. What unfolds is more than just another artist interview – it’s a conversation about redemption, faith, and the power of starting over, no matter where you’ve been.
Listen to Owe My Life
What inspired you to create “Owe My Life”? Is there a specific personal story or experience that shaped the song?
I was inspired to write Owe My Life through my relationship with Jesus that grew during my time at Brigeport Correctional Center.
The title “Owe My Life” feels deeply emotional. What does it mean to you personally? The title Owe My Life means, after everything I’ve experienced, getting shot point blank with a .45 in the chest with no mark or wound to show, being in multiple car and motorcycle accidents where body bags were sent to the scene instead of ambulances and many many other instances of my life being spared for a greater purpose, I truly Owe My Life to God and telling as many people as would listen of His miraculous, life changing and life saving power.
Can you walk us through the creative process behind the song? How did it evolve from an idea to a finished track? Each of my songs start differently. Owe My Life started with me laying down the music, choir first. Next I added layers of kick, snare and hats then 808 bass. After days of tweaking, adding and removing musical elements, I wrote the lyrics to the hook “why we rin like a secret to ask for forgiveness, when the whole world know good n well that we did it…” I then wrote the singing part of the 2nd verse “to justify it I was doing it for my family…”. Next I wrote the first verse followed days later by the 2nd verse. The original title of this song was “My Life – Fair Price” which I changed, after the entire song was completed, to Owe My Life.
Were there any challenges or unexpected moments during the production of “Owe My Life”? All of my songs usually take a week to complete from start to finish, listening, changing sounds, lyrics etc., this one was no exception. The only unexpected moment was changing the title from the original registered title of My Life – Fair Price to Owe My Life.
The only unexpected moment was changing the title from the original registered title of My Life – Fair Price to Owe My Life.
Were there any artists, genres, or personal influences that helped shape the sound of this single? No one specific element comes to mind shaping the sound of this single. This was the last song of my forthcoming album Label Me so, I wanted to keep the sound and content of the song true to the rest of the album by offering hope through faith and resilience, regardless of the circumstances.
The lyrics seem to carry a powerful message. What do you hope listeners will take away from this track? I pray that all who listen will understand that with God, anything possible. I’m living proof that one is not defined by their experiences but by what they learned from them. As I said in the song, I was charged with 13 felonies and have since been granted an absolute pardon, wiping my record completely clean. Nothing but the grace of God.
Did you work with any producers or collaborators on this track? If so, how did they contribute to its creation?
I’ve been blessed to be able to produce, write, perform, engineer, mix and master my own music. Skills I’ve picked up down through the years working with various professionals in the music industry
What has been the most memorable feedback you’ve received about the song so far? The most memorable feedback has been several individuals identifying with the lyrics and life changing power of God.
How do you hope “Owe My Life” will resonate with your audience, both new and long-time fans? I hope and pray that my entire audience will see that nothing is TOO bad for them to climb out of it, especially if they do as I did/do which is keeping God first always.
Is “Owe My Life” part of a larger project, like an EP or album, or is it a standalone single? As stated previously, Owe My Life was the last song recorded as part of a 20 song album entitled “Label Me” which is set to be released withing the next few months.
If you could describe “Owe My Life” in three words, what would they be? Art expressing life
What can fans look forward to from Nocko in the near future? Everyone can look forward to Nocko being transparent and honest in every song, which if they close their eyes, they’ll be able to view the movie with their ears.
Immortality with a Wink: Dallin’s Whimsical “Friday Night Fangs”
Imagine waking up with a killer organ riff in your head – that’s exactly how Dallin’s latest track “Friday Night Fangs” was born. This Salem, MA artist dropped the single and it’s exactly as wild as you’d expect from someone who throws classical, death metal, jazz, and pop into a musical blender.
The song tells the tale of two vampires and their demonic choir, playfully poking fun at those brooding, self-important supernatural characters we all know too well. But what makes it really special is how Dallin somehow makes this chaos work – every element, from the dream-inspired organ riff to the high-energy production, clicks into place.
Working from his home studio, Dallin teamed up with Jason Bruns (of LA’s Bruns & Bache jazz orchestra) for mixing, finding that sweet spot between polished and quirky. The result? A track that manages to be both silly and sophisticated, with jazz rhythms dancing alongside death metal edges and pop hooks.
Sometimes the best ideas hit at the worst times – like when you’re stuck at work – and that’s just how Dallin rolls. His chaotic creative process shines through in every note of *”Friday Night Fangs”*, creating something that’s equal parts headbanger and comedy show.
This isn’t just another single – it’s an invitation to let loose and embrace the weird. For anyone tired of music that takes itself too seriously, “Friday Night Fangs” is your ticket to a more entertaining world.
Coming Home (I.M.U)”: TATE SEDAR’s Nostalgic Ode to Love and Belonging
At Musicarenagh we get the chance to listen to fresh and entertaining music every day but there are times that a song pulls at your heartstrings, and one this is TATE SEDAR’s “Coming Home (I.M.U)”. Avid followers of Musicarenagh wouldn’t find this a surprise because Tate Sedar has proved his prowess in music composition and lyricism.
For 2024’s send off, TATE SEDAR delivers something special with “Coming Home (I.M.U)”, a progressive house track that really hits right in the feels. Coming in at December 6, it’s a great mix of what got us into festival anthems in the first place, but it packs in some new ground with his post EDM sound.
It’s not another dance track. Right from the start with the first note, “Coming Home” envelopes you in waves of emotion, from soaring melodies to 80s chords and unexpected touches of strings and mandolin. The kind of song that makes sense when you know, as you do after learning about SEDAR’s journey from San Francisco to Los Angeles, that the track’s visual elements are lifted from the historic Angelino Heights victorians of Los Angeles.
The numbers do the talking: 5.7 million streams and EDM.com giving him their seal of approval, SEDAR has evidently hit a nerve. Fans of his previous hit *”Emotions”* may recognize his style, but you’re able to innovate within progressive house while keeping that dance floor energy alive in *”Coming Home”*..
The special thing about this track is that it’s got a little bit of both with a little bit of nostalgia and a little bit of innovation because it weaves acoustic warmth into electronic beats. In many ways a homecoming, this is both a homecoming for SEDAR’s artistic journey as well as a homecoming for any soul that ever yearned for connection on the dance floor.
Holiday Nostalgia at Its Finest: Carlos Ucedda’s Stunning Garden of Letters
Carlos Ucedda’s latest release, Garden of Letters, is a shimmering time capsule that transports listeners straight into the heart of the 80s and 90s. This heartwarming holiday collection combines the magic of festive nostalgia with the emotional depth of fleeting love and rekindled friendships, creating a sonic experience that feels both timeless and deeply personal.
From the first note, Ucedda’s meticulous craftsmanship shines through. The melodies are lush and evocative, echoing the warmth and melancholy of holiday seasons past. The songs don’t just play—they narrate. Each note feels like a love letter to moments that define the festive spirit: bittersweet reunions, cherished connections, and the quiet reflection of winter nights.
Each note feels like a love letter to moments that define the festive spirit:
What sets Garden of Letters apart is its ability to balance contemporary polish with a retro soul. Ucedda’s careful layering of sounds—glittering synths, gentle percussion, and heartfelt vocals—creates a dreamscape that invites listeners to lose themselves in memory and emotion. It’s a celebration of not just the holidays but of the relationships that make them meaningful, even if they’re fleeting.
In a world that often rushes through the seasons, Garden of Letters reminds us to pause and savor the bittersweet beauty of nostalgia. For anyone longing for music that feels like a warm hug from decades gone by, this is a must-listen. Carlos Ucedda has truly captured the essence of holiday magic in a way that lingers long after the final note fades.
"Wolves, Waves, and Wild Folk: Nobody’s Wolf Child on Their Enchanting New EP"
Picture a windswept coastline in South East England, where folk music meets cinematic imagination. This is where Nobody’s Wolf Child calls home, crafting stories that blur the line between reality and maritime legend.
Their latest EP, “Erbsa’s Songs of the Sea”, feels like stumbling upon an ancient sailor’s diary – except instead of ink and paper, these tales are told through haunting melodies and atmospheric soundscapes. Five tracks, each one a window into the world of Erbsa, a she-wolf whose heart beats in rhythm with the ocean tides.
There’s something almost otherworldly about how Nobody’s Wolf Child captures the essence of the sea – from the gentle whisper of waves to the raw power of a storm. It’s the kind of music that makes you smell salt in the air and feel spray on your face, even if you’re miles from the coast.
I had the chance to have a chat with the creative force behind these maritime chronicles to understand how *Erbsa’s Songs of the Sea* came to be. What followed was a fascinating conversation about trust, artistic vision, and finding inspiration in the endless dance between land and sea. Let’s dive into the story behind this remarkable EP.
The title “Erbsa’s Songs of the Sea” is quite evocative. Can you share the narrative or inspiration behind this unique composition? Erbsa the wolf was called to the sea, the EP is a small collection of songs she heard and tales she told on her return.
Your artist name “Nobody’s Wolf Child” suggests a sense of independence and wildness. How does this identity connect with the themes explored in this EP? Well the sea is as wild and untamed as it comes and we do particularly love the wild Atlantic way over here at wolf headquarters. It just has something about it, that rugged coastline relentlessly battered by this cold unforgiving body of stormy waters. The topography, the creatures, the people of those coastlines mirror that wildness.
What specific maritime or emotional landscape were you exploring when you created “Erbsa’s Songs of the Sea”? That mystical reverence the sea evokes. So much folklore so many stories, so many ghosts. The sea has it’s own orchestra so for a writer, it’s a case of listening more than anything.
The sea has it’s own orchestra so for a writer, it’s a case of listening more than anything.
Can you walk us through the creative process of developing the tracks? Were there any particular experiences or memories that influenced the creation? There is always experience if I don’t feel or haven’t felt something I cant pretend to feel something, there is no acting. None of the songs are written for the sake of it, they are all creatures that demand their release.
The title implies a storytelling element. Is “Erbsa” a specific character or metaphorical representation? What’s the story behind the name? As touched on in question 1 Erbsa is a wolf like spirit. She’s one of a pack of 9.
You can see her beautifully depicted in the ‘Selkie’ music video which is the single from the EP. It’s an amazing video featuring the incredible work of Anya Boz, who created exactly what I had in my head. It was a very successful meeting of minds.
How does this single reflect your broader musical journey and artistic evolution? I think it reflects my roots, in the folk scene and how my love and appreciation for that genre has evolved, along with my understanding of it and myself.
What genre or musical styles are you experimenting with in this EP? In terms of genre, a song is always just what it tells you it’s going to be. I can sit down with the aim of writing a rock song and something entirely different will pop out.
When it comes to production then yes you can experiment with moulding the colour and the cinema scape but you mustn’t be too heavy handed and turn it into something it’s not because then you will kill it.
Did you collaborate with any other musicians or producers in bringing the EP to life? Although I have big dreams on that front, I’m not a natural collaborator… I’m like a territorial dragon with her special gems and it’s very very hard to trust someone with one’s ‘shinies’ but in the lap of Matt Parisi my producer I have placed all of the trust. The sound of NWC is Matt and I working as artist and producer with a collaborative approach. Matt is now also one of my shiny things kept under the mountain and no one else can have it.
For listeners who might be new to your music, how would you describe the essence of “Erbsa’s Songs of the Sea”?
Cinematic folk, on a lonely enchanted sea rock …. Something like that
What do you hope listeners will feel or imagine when they hear this EP? When you fall in love with the sea it stays with you, even when you are far away and I hope to bring those kept far from the sea, a little closer for a while.
Are there any specific musical or literary influences that shaped this particular piece? Nothing more than the tales of the sea folk which are vast and rich like the wild Atlantic waters
Flannel Feelings: Apryll Aileen Wraps Christmas With “Under My Tree”
Okay, let’s tumble into Apryll Aileen’s “Under My Tree,” shall we? It’s not your grandma’s sleigh-bell jingler, not by a long shot. Aileen, this classically-trained pianist, decides to cloak herself in a Christmas-themed R&B haze, like wrapping a finely-made watch in soft flannel. It’s the kind of thing that makes you tilt your head.
The song feels like staring at a snow globe, the tiny figures moving in a melancholic waltz. The core is simple: longing. A kind of deep ache for that certain person when the fairy lights are twinkling, and everyone else is getting a hug except you. Aileen paints with a gentle hand, not in bold strokes, but the feeling sneaks in. There’s that odd moment where I felt a kinship with a single dandelion in winter – unexpected, I know, but music has that strange power, hasn’t it? It doesn’t scream “Merry Christmas!”, it mutters it like a shared secret.
Flannel Feelings: Apryll Aileen Wraps Christmas With “Under My Tree”
There is, dare I say, a lovely sort of loneliness woven in here. It’s not depressing. It’s… present. Like the quiet between raindrops or the feeling of an empty train car. Love, the song suggests, isn’t found under the glittering bows; it’s the greatest, most needed gift itself. Sometimes that makes all the difference. It’s also a little odd, isn’t it? The way a single feeling, this specific ache, can make sense of a season often stuffed with a different kind of merriment. Reminds me of that time I tried to build a Lego castle, only to find I only had wheels. Random, I know, but this song feels random in the same, slightly beautiful way.
“Under My Tree” asks, perhaps unknowingly, what the true shape of longing looks like. It hints, it meanders. It’s a feeling translated, a whispered longing in a major key, and now you’re left wondering if love, in all its messy splendor, might be the true miracle of the season after all.
Owen Young Walks the "Town Line": Soul on the Line.
Owen Young? A fine arts and law graduate, turned songwriter… in Haldimand County, no less. That’s a plot twist worthy of a good, old black and white film reel. His EP, “Town Line,” is like walking into a slightly dusty antique shop – you’re not quite sure what you’ll find, but there’s a quiet hum of history hanging in the air.
Eight songs, it says here. Eight little portals into Southern Ontario life, past bumping against present, a gentle reminder of what’s built into the very soil beneath our shoes. You can almost smell the fields, taste the late-summer air. I keep thinking of those old Polaroid photos – the ones where the colours have faded but the memories remain crisp. There’s a familiarity, not of specific experience but a shared human condition, like that sudden moment you realize you know the smell of the ocean even though you’ve been hundreds of miles inland.
Owen Young Walks the “Town Line”: Soul on the Line.
Owen’s male vocals don’t push, don’t demand. They’re more like… an invitation. To sit a spell on a porch swing, perhaps, and ponder things, or simply look at the clouds drift by, a celestial ballet always in performance, always new, even though the dance floor of the sky is the same.
There’s an unspoken narrative between the lines – you feel it rather than hear it – it’s not like looking at art it feels like getting a very clear mental picture – somehow.
This isn’t just some folk record; it’s an invitation to pause. A moment pulled from time. A quiet conversation in a loud world. And what is all our rushing anyway?
He seems to be asking us: what is the rush to?
“Town Line”, makes you think. About your own corner of the world. About things, really. Things. It does it so gently, too. I’ll bet he can cook a pretty good pie.
Haag the Huge: A Monumental Leap in Instrumental Rock
Since 2011, there’s a band shaking things up in Tehran’s vibrant underground music scene. Haag, a group that began channeling Pink Floyd and soon made their own special instrumental rock niche.
After making waves with their debut album *Buoyancy*, they’re back with something that’s been brewing for seven long years: *Haag the Huge*. The EP’s name is taken from a Persian word meaning ‘spore’ – an appropriate name for a band with a penchant for explosive creative growth. Trust me, growth is what you are going to hear in every note of this record.
We sat down with Amirhossein Rezaei, the mastermind behind Haag to find out exactly what went into their latest work. Whether it’s pushing the limits of recording techniques or interweaving complex philosophical ideas into pure sound, Haag is showing you don’t need lyrics to tell an important story.
If you’re ready to learn how an instrumental rock band from Iran is challenging the status quo? Amirhossein has some stories to tell, and let’s dive into *Haag the Huge* – it’s been quite a journey getting here.
“Haag, welcome! For those unfamiliar with your work, could you give us a brief introduction to your sound and artistic journey? We are a band formed in Tehran. In 2011 autumn, we started by performing Pink Floyd’s top songs on the stage of Farabi Hall at the Tehran University of Art. Then we decided to record our own music in a studio and it was how our debut album Buoyancy was born. The first idea we had was resurrecting the original style and sound of rock which had faded out in the first and second decades of the 21st century.
We collaborated with different artists and musicians and experienced a lot, from the studio stage to the live performances. Sub-genres are not accurate in describing what we do, but as they say usually some of our works can be placed under the title of progressive rock, some under post-rock and some under alternative rock.
Your new EP is titled “Haag the Huge.” That’s quite a bold title! What’s the story behind it? What feeling or message are you trying to convey with it? In Persian (Farsi) Haag means “spore”, and according to this, Haag the Huge refers to a huge spore; when a spore grows, it explodes somehow and turns into a big mushroom or something like that, since, we have worked on this project about seven years, it was like when a tiny spore waits until it can explode and turn into something huge. It might sound a bit expressive, but only such an expressive title can express what we did.
It might sound a bit expressive, but only such an expressive title can express what we did.
“Haag the Huge” feels like a statement. What inspired the creation of this particular EP? What was the creative spark that ignited it? The lack of “Haag the Huge” made us create it. We dare say we have played and recorded what never was recorded before. Yes, it’s some statement against the common perception of instrumental rock that says it must be boring or says rock music needs great lyrics to be ear-catching. We have been musicians for years and as you know, musicians need something impressive to play, there are a lot of great pieces of music out there, but there were not our ideas in them; something was missing, and we created the missing piece of music.
How does “Haag the Huge” differ from your previous work? What kind of evolution do you think it shows in your artistry? Each album has its own atmosphere and feelings from an overall point of view, so, we’d rather compare them from the technical and practical aspects. Haag the Huge in comparison with Buoyancy, was a far better-sounding album in terms of recording, mixing and mastering quality. We have tried some outstanding techniques in recording and mixing to reach something unheard. Guitars, bass, drums, synthesizers and organs all were grown in terms of the lines of the music and also from the aspects of sounding quality and richness. We improved ourselves and our skills practically and were going to deliver something that deserves such a bold title. But as I mentioned, Buoyancy has its own feelings that cannot be achieved easily.
Can you talk about your writing process for this EP? Do you typically start with a melody, a lyric, or something else entirely? Obviously, there are no lyrics. Some interesting theme pops to my mind – even a theme on the drum kit – and often it takes a long time to grow and become a short piece of music. Once the idea is completed we gather together and make it a longer piece. Sometimes the guitarist or the organ player suggests a melody according to the main theme, sometimes I myself write the whole lines even the organs and guitars. It varies from track to track.
Are there any specific tracks on the EP that you’re particularly excited for listeners to hear? If so, why? Of course not! We prefer the whole album to be listened to carefully. We had a single release called Glows in Blue before the complete EP release, but it doesn’t mean we want people to listen to Glows in Blue more than the others. An album as you mentioned is like a statement, so you cannot listen to a specific track and leave the others, just as you cannot read only one paragraph of a full article.
Are there any lyrical themes or recurring messages that you explore throughout “Haag the Huge”? It’s only music composed with musical language. There is no message or poetic concept in it; as Hans Christian Andersen says: “where words fail, music speaks.”
What was the most challenging aspect of creating this EP, and how did you overcome it?
Making happen the sounds we had in mind. Sometimes you play your melody on an instrument and it offers you the sound and you accept it. But some other times, you have a special sound in mind and you need to offer it to the instruments; it’s just the challenge, you cannot talk to them and ask them to sound as you wish. You need to try different instruments, effects and equipment until you can hear with your ear what you had abstractly in mind.
What do you hope listeners take away from “Haag the Huge”? What kind of impact do you hope it has? As I mentioned, there is no message, and there is no impact to be described with words. When we release the music it is not up to us any longer, it’s up to the listeners and how they listen to the music. Listening is not just a mechanical action, the quality of listening depends on all previous songs one has listened to, and all their experience in a lifetime. It’s some kind of dialogism; I create my text and leave it to the audience. The only impact I hope it has is giving the listeners a new vision of instrumental rock music.
What’s next for Haag? Are there any upcoming projects or collaborations you can tell us about? Yes, we have previously collaborated on a feature film project called The Tortoise and the Snail which is going to be screened soon. I have composed the score and also a single track for the ending credits which will be released as a new single by Haag.
Finally, is there anything else you’d like to share with our audience about “Haag the Huge” or your journey as an artist? I just like to say our business is some kind of devotion. We are hidden behind our music because it’s not just a personal feeling, and we’re not trying to attract people’s attention to our real personalities. We always have tried to convert personal issues into impersonal issues.
We work on instrumentals so people all around the world can make the connection and gain something musical. It’s obviously not easy to do so in a world full of “Attractions”. It takes time, takes life, takes energy and money; moreover, some freedom without boundaries is needed to achieve what we’re looking for.
Answers by: Amirhossein Rezaei
FREE/MAN’s ‘Watchtower’: An Acoustic Anthem of Healing and Hope"
London-based singer-songwriter Charlie Freeman, known artistically as FREE/MAN, invites listeners into a reflective and deeply personal experience with his latest release, “Watchtower.” A highlight from his debut album Truth—soon to be reissued—this track bridges the artist’s past and future as he prepares for his upcoming 2025 album, Gift in the Shadows.
At its heart, “Watchtower” is a meditation on self-awareness, spirituality, and resilience. Freeman’s soulful voice serves as the emotional anchor, carrying a quiet intensity that draws the listener in. There’s a raw honesty in his delivery, as he navigates themes of truth, connection, and overcoming adversity.
The instrumentation perfectly complements Freeman’s emotive vocals. Stripped-back acoustic guitars provide a timeless foundation, while the poignant harmonica lines add an aching beauty to the arrangement. Together, these elements create a soundscape that feels intimate yet expansive, accessible yet profound.
Lyrically, Freeman delves deep into universal struggles, transforming pain into strength. His words resonate with an authenticity born of lived experience, particularly his journey of using music as a means of coping during his father’s illness. This sense of catharsis is palpable throughout “Watchtower,” making it not just a song, but a shared emotional journey.
The production maintains a delicate balance between clarity and texture. The track avoids over-engineering, instead embracing a warm, organic quality that echoes the roots of Americana and folk rock. The harmonies, acoustic guitar solo, and subtle percussion interweave seamlessly, creating a dynamic yet cohesive sound.
“Watchtower” also teases Freeman’s broader vision as an artist. His dual approach—melding meditative introspection with anthemic energy—is on full display, offering a glimpse into the connective and transformative experiences he aims to cultivate in his live performances.
Beyond the music, Freeman’s influence extends into his work as a community leader and studio owner, where he fosters new talent through initiatives like the Freedom Music Prize. This dedication to nurturing others is woven into the DNA of his music, amplifying its impact and reach.
In “Watchtower,” FREE/MAN captures the profound dualities of life: suffering and solace, vulnerability and strength, introspection and connection. It’s a track that transcends genres, speaking to the human experience with a depth and sincerity that lingers long after the music fades.
As Freeman gears up for his global tour and the release of Gift in the Shadows, “Watchtower” stands as a powerful testament to his artistry—a must-listen for anyone seeking music that speaks to the soul.
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London-based singer-songwriter Charlie Freeman, known artistically as FREE/MAN, invites listeners into a reflective and deeply personal experience with his latest release, “Watchtower.” A highlight from his debut album Truth—soon to be reissued—this track bridges the artist’s past and future as he prepares for his upcoming 2025 album, Gift in the Shadows.
At its heart, “Watchtower” is a meditation on self-awareness, spirituality, and resilience. Freeman’s soulful voice serves as the emotional anchor, carrying a quiet intensity that draws the listener in. There’s a raw honesty in his delivery, as he navigates themes of truth, connection, and overcoming adversity.
The instrumentation perfectly complements Freeman’s emotive vocals. Stripped-back acoustic guitars provide a timeless foundation, while the poignant harmonica lines add an aching beauty to the arrangement. Together, these elements create a soundscape that feels intimate yet expansive, accessible yet profound.
Lyrically, Freeman delves deep into universal struggles, transforming pain into strength. His words resonate with an authenticity born of lived experience, particularly his journey of using music as a means of coping during his father’s illness. This sense of catharsis is palpable throughout “Watchtower,” making it not just a song, but a shared emotional journey.
His words resonate with an authenticity born of lived experience, particularly his journey of using music as a means of coping during his father’s illness.
The production maintains a delicate balance between clarity and texture. The track avoids over-engineering, instead embracing a warm, organic quality that echoes the roots of Americana and folk rock. The harmonies, acoustic guitar solo, and subtle percussion interweave seamlessly, creating a dynamic yet cohesive sound.
“Watchtower” also teases Freeman’s broader vision as an artist. His dual approach—melding meditative introspection with anthemic energy—is on full display, offering a glimpse into the connective and transformative experiences he aims to cultivate in his live performances.
Beyond the music, Freeman’s influence extends into his work as a community leader and studio owner, where he fosters new talent through initiatives like the Freedom Music Prize. This dedication to nurturing others is woven into the DNA of his music, amplifying its impact and reach.
In “Watchtower,” FREE/MAN captures the profound dualities of life: suffering and solace, vulnerability and strength, introspection and connection. It’s a track that transcends genres, speaking to the human experience with a depth and sincerity that lingers long after the music fades.
As Freeman gears up for his global tour and the release of Gift in the Shadows, “Watchtower” stands as a powerful testament to his artistry—a must-listen for anyone seeking music that speaks to the soul.
Feeling Blue? Jari Salmikivi's "Believe (Remix)" Will Turn You Yellow
Okay, so Jari Salmikivi. From Sweden, they make music. Right, got it. This particular serving, “Believe (Remix)”, lands in the dance/pop arena, which, if you’re keeping score at home, means it’s basically designed to get you moving and possibly singing along into your hairbrush. But wait, there’s more. It aims to dose you with pure, unadulterated positive energy, all served up with lyrics that are apparently here to make you feel good and, dare I say it, beautiful.
And you know what? It works. It’s like the sonic equivalent of those sunshine yellow sticky notes. You see them; you know things will be alright. Perhaps they are inspired by the color yellow; we may never know.
The randomness here is a good thing. It prevents this feel-good concoction from dissolving into predictable saccharine. There’s a real buoyancy, a lightness. It’s the kind of feeling I get when I stumble on an old postcard that someone accidentally dropped; it’s just an unlooked-for connection.
Feeling Blue? Jari Salmikivi’s “Believe (Remix)” Will Turn You Yellow
I’m suddenly wondering if Viking helmets ever had built-in speakers… where was I? Right, “Believe (Remix).” It doesn’t rewrite any music history books; there’s no hidden code buried in the bass line, but that’s perfectly okay. Sometimes what’s needed is a simple, honest boost of uncomplicated joy.
Is it the soundtrack for world peace? Nah. But is it three minutes and change of unpretentious, danceable affirmation? Absolutely. A sonic hug? You might say that. The best kind of hug too, the one that is given randomly by a friendly passerby. And maybe that’s enough. Perhaps, even, that is the point.
Track Dogs Send Season's Beatings: "A Christmas Card" Unpacked
Okay, buckle up, because Track Dogs just dropped a Christmas card. Not the kind with a sparkly snowman, though. This “A Christmas Card” album feels more like a rambling, joyous postcard sent from a slightly tipsy, globe-trotting relative. They’ve taken the usual folk/Americana framework and tossed in some maracas and maybe a sneaky jazz trombone. It’s the sort of unexpected musical mashup that makes you nod your head, think for a second, and then keep right on nodding.
The whole album dances around this idea of holiday diversity – not just different cultures, but also different moods. It doesn’t sit still. There’s this undercurrent, a playful insistence that Christmas isn’t some single, perfect snapshot, but more like a crazy quilt stitched together with different fabrics and patterns. I’m thinking of those massive tapestries in castles – you know, the ones that are half faded with time and still tell a grand story somehow. That’s kind of what this sounds like, in musical form.
It avoids the sugary cliches too. No forced jollity here, just good tunes played with sincerity. The instrumentation bounces between familiar and new, like discovering an old box of toys only to find that a few of them have unexpectedly sprouted wings.
I can’t quite explain why it works, this hodgepodge of musical styles under a single festive roof. Maybe it’s just refreshing to hear Christmas from a few different angles? You know, not everything needs to be polished glass. Some things shine best when a little bit gloriously crooked. The overall effect isn’t predictable. In fact, it feels kind of… necessary? Makes you wonder how many other corners of Christmas music are yet to be explored. This is something to chew over, like a strange spice at a dinner party that, at first, confounds, but then you find yourself craving.
"Drive Me Home" by Loup Miracle: A Sonic GPS for the Soul.
Okay, let’s talk about Loup Miracle’s “Drive Me Home.” This isn’t your run-of-the-mill Friday night jam, you know? Vincent Leservoisier, Paul Douvier, and Miguel Romero— these guys are wading through something deeper. They’ve crafted this sonic landscape, a blend of that psychedelic, almost-melting rock with a bluesy undercurrent, but with this strange electronic pulse keeping the whole thing alive. Imagine finding a lost vinyl record in a field, but the grooves have circuits humming beneath them.
It’s a heavy song. Not heavy like a metal album, but the weight of feeling…untethered. “Drive Me Home” feels like a handwritten note scrawled on a rainy window, blurred edges and all. Loss hangs in the air; it’s almost a character in the song. I mean, have you ever seen the sun disappear behind a cloud and felt that pang, the sort that makes you want to call out for… something? This is that feeling, distilled into audio waves. Like if Magritte painted the blues, but also plugged it into a synthesizer. A lot like a car that just keeps driving on that lonely road with no one coming the opposite direction. It just keeps going, going…
“Drive Me Home” by Loup Miracle: A Sonic GPS for the Soul.
I keep thinking about the old radio towers on the edge of town. Big, skeletal, reaching for something far beyond what we usually notice. I guess that’s what “Drive Me Home” is reaching for too. Maybe we’re all just searching for a signal, a way back home. A direction.
This single…it lingers. What does it mean to be unanchored? That, I suspect, is the question Loup Miracle wants you to sit with a while.
Breaking Boundaries: Kroyan Discusses His Experimental Sound
“Kroyan’s new single, “Yekaye,” is seriously something else. It’s like a trip through different soundscapes, blending Afro-house rhythms with these cool, progressive beats and organic sounds. You’ve got this awesome mix of tribal grooves, really dreamy vocals, and sparkly synths that give the track this energy but also this thoughtful vibe.
Right from the start, “Yekaye” grabs you with its detailed percussion and this smooth, flowing bassline that just keeps things moving. Then these synths and arpeggios weave in and out, adding this light, almost magical feel. It really takes you somewhere else.
What’s really cool is how the song develops. It’s almost six minutes long, but it never feels boring because it’s always shifting and changing, with these subtle shifts in sound and texture. It’s definitely got that Afrobeat groove that makes you want to move, but it also has these moments where you just want to chill and think.
Kroyan’s not afraid to push boundaries, and you can hear it in this track. It really shows his idea that music has no limits. Whether you’re dancing, walking around, or just relaxing, “Yekaye” just connects with you. It’s a great way for Kroyan to kick things off, and it makes you really excited to hear what else he has coming.”
What does the name Yekaye mean and how does it relate to the themes of the songs? I actually came up with the word Yekaye myself, as I sang a small part of the word Yekaye yekaye (letters and sounds I came up with) while creating the track and of course I decided to call it that.
How would you describe the mood and style of Yekaye to someone who is hearing it for the first time? A cheerful yet soft African style that makes you beat your heart out and makes you move and breathe easily.
Were there any challenges or surprises while creating the single? During the creation I was thinking about making it lighter without synthesizers and sequencers) But still decided to develop and of course, like many producers, I thought for a long time about the final sound and I had 5 versions of the sound, in the end I left this sound) the main problem is deciding which version to publish).
During the creation I was thinking about making it lighter without synthesizers and sequencers
What message or emotion do you think listeners will take away from Yekaye? First of all, they will feel the rhythm and soft voice that creates a mood and an atmosphere of lightness, comfort, the growing sounds of sequencers and arpeggios that create a wave that subsides after a storm) I would like to convey with this composition the feeling of goodness, peace and dancing on the seashore
Is Yekaye a separate release or part of a larger project, such as an upcoming album or mini-album EP? Individual approach
I decided to release singles to understand the audience’s reaction and how music critics, bloggers and ordinary listeners will perceive it, while I look at what the female audience likes more. I am preparing an album where I combine Afro classical and electro, I have been working on the album for 2 months, but I may release an EP.
In my future releases you can hear operatic Satvki, classical instruments, orchestra mixed with electronic sounds and African elements, it is difficult to explain in words, but I am working on the sound quality after creating a composition, it takes a lot of time for the best result in my opinion. I have big plans because I now sit at the keyboard a lot and spend all my time in the studio eating and sleeping)).
How do you manage to maintain a balance between being true to your style and experimenting with new sounds? Honestly, I don’t have such a specific style, I experiment more and look for something new, create and try to be different, which is why I often get rejections from labels that need exactly what they already have 300 releases, they demand a similar 301, but I experiment trying to keep the style trends and my ideas
What can fans expect from you in the near future? In the near future, the single Ofsanna will be released together with the Armenian female choir, where I mix Afro house and Armenian folk song.
The Afro Nick Is Telling Us To "Get There Before Noon (LA Mix)"
The Afro Nick has dropped “Get There Before Noon (LA Mix).” It’s like sunshine colliding with a late-night diner, if that diner happened to be on a planet with a perpetually rotating sky. The music bounces, it genuinely does, propelled by the ever-reliable George Athanas’s bass, but it’s Leonardo Genovese’s synths that seem to be holding impromptu conversations with the rest of the band— sometimes echoing, sometimes pushing, never entirely predictable. Like trying to catch a soap bubble: you see where it’s going, but you can’t be totally sure.
The whole “seize the day” theme? It’s not shouted, which I appreciate. It’s more of a gentle nudge, delivered through layers of sound. It’s the feeling you get walking in a forest at midday, dappled with light, a feeling that says, “hey, you’re part of this, you know? And it’s gonna keep moving whether you do or not.” Reminds me a bit of those impressionist paintings where the whole world seems to pulse. Did Monet even know he was low-key rock-n-roll, I wonder?
The Afro Nick Is Telling Us To “Get There Before Noon (LA Mix)”
There’s something refreshingly random about it, this song, in the best way possible. It’s not some tightly packaged product; It’s like opening a box and finding, you know, a rubber chicken, a beautiful postcard of a place you’ve never been, and some really, really cool rocks. All coexisting in delightful, if perplexing, harmony. How do all the little pieces keep clicking together so perfectly? Is it a calculated chaos? Probably. But also, it doesn’t matter.
It feels like listening to the inside of someone’s head after a particularly good afternoon nap and, if that makes no sense to you, then, well… you probably should listen to it. Get there, or somewhere like it, before midday. You just might need to, to actually be free.
NTGB Ignites Sunderland: "BURN DOWN THE NOW" is Fire
NTGB. Sunderland. DIY. Okay, got it. This “BURN DOWN THE NOW” single – it’s got teeth. Not sharp, pointy canines, more like the comfy, slightly crooked ones you find on a friendly stray dog. You know the type?
The sound itself, it’s that indie-pop-rock thing, but there’s a pulse beneath it. Something like that old dial-up modem hum that always felt like the universe was quietly breathing nearby. Nick Thompson and Gaz Brown are channeling some kind of determined energy. This isn’t some whimsical daydream; it feels grounded, like the North Sea coast where I imagine they craft these sounds.
Forget about yesterday’s news, they seem to suggest. The future’s messy and maybe even a little terrifying, but it’s coming, so we’ve better just get a move on. And it isn’t a bossy get a move on. It’s more like they’re handing you a slightly battered, reliable compass, nudging you gently on your way. That’s how this all translates, for me, anyway. I once saw a seagull steal a bag of chips and somehow that moment felt linked to this song’s theme. Completely unrelated, sure, but everything is connected somehow, right?
NTGB Ignites Sunderland: “BURN DOWN THE NOW” is Fire
The thing about struggle and focusing onward: isn’t that every single human story, rehashed again and again? Yet here, it feels, well, newish. Like the colour of a sunrise you’ve never seen before. Or when you bite into something expecting one flavour, but you get another altogether – a jolt of unexpected pleasantness.
There’s an honest graft to this. No posturing, no manufactured drama. Just a good honest go at something. I am listening and thinking, ‘Fair play.’ I am also now considering the merits of wearing mismatched socks. Not really sure how I got there.
And as the final chord fades, I find myself pondering whether burning down the “now” is about destruction or just the necessity for a really good bonfire.
Feeling is Believing: Livvy Lauren's "Felt Love" is the Real Deal
Right then, Livvy Lauren. “Felt Love”. A single, a dispatch from the heart’s erratic GPS, apparently. This isn’t a slow burn; it’s a sun-flare. That first thrum of a connection, bottled, shaken, and sprayed all over the dance floor. Kent, huh? Always seemed like a place where secret drum and bass anthems might be brewing. I picture it now: rolling hills meeting synth waves, like a medieval knight stumbling upon a rave. The lyrics, simple enough to feel like shared secrets, yet specific, are that feeling you get after accidentally touching hands when reaching for the same box of popcorn. You know, that one.
There’s a rhythmic backbone here, something of a Frankensteinian blend, which surprisingly works. House. RnB. A hint of what feels like the early 2000’s garage spirit. It’s the music equivalent of a perfectly curated chaotic kitchen where suddenly a three-course meal emerges – somehow – without burning down the house. This is pop music that wants you to feel, and not just feel good, but feel. That slightly giddy disorientation when your breath goes a bit wonky. This is what love felt like when I was nine, building Lego fortresses, completely and utterly convinced I was a time traveler, or a ninja, or a time traveling ninja? I’m drifting, aren’t I? Sorry.
Feeling is Believing: Livvy Lauren’s “Felt Love” is the Real Deal
It’s a strange thought to make dance music about new love – how can you be vulnerable and dance your heart out at the same time? This song makes me believe you can. There’s no attempt to be ‘deep’ here, it’s unapologetically buoyant. This isn’t a slow dance on a moonlit balcony; it’s stumbling, laughing, and spilling a drink at 3 AM.
“Felt Love” doesn’t claim to be a cure for world issues, but maybe… just maybe it’s a reminder that the rush of connection can briefly silence everything else. What does that say about us, I wonder?
Unholy Polyrhythms: Outside Pedestrian's "Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring"
A rubber band ball, meticulously constructed and then unceremoniously dropped, that’s what Outside Pedestrian’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” feels like. Not the ball itself, mind you, but the brief, elastic snap of unexpected order being momentarily… let go. We know the Bach tune. It’s a holiday staple, often served up with a side of polite reverence. But here, Anthony Fesmire’s guitar, David Lockeretz’s bass, and Steve Tashjian’s drums wrestle it into something almost unrecognizable.
It’s not disrespectful. It’s like studying a cathedral, brick by meticulous brick, then deciding it would also look great with, I don’t know, neon graffiti and a couple of skate ramps bolted to its side. The polyrhythms tangle and leap. The notes tumble out not like snow, but like loose change spilled on a cold sidewalk. There’s a driving force, like trying to chase a kite in a hurricane.
Unholy Polyrhythms: Outside Pedestrian’s “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring”
And it works! It really works. This isn’t smooth jazz. This is a controlled, beautiful explosion. Is it a Christmas single? Technically. Does it make you want to bake cookies or gather ‘round a fire? Probably not. But does it provoke thought? Yes. In the same way that a kaleidoscope reveals a pattern you never expected, “Jesu, Joy” is suddenly new, urgent, somehow less than solemn and way more important. I bet the architects of those cathedrals never expected the future to have distortion pedals. They should have though.
Sometimes, music reveals not just notes, but the potential in noise itself. What will they break next?
Okay, so picture a flamingo trying to tap-dance. That’s the kind of delightful weirdness Rosie Belvie’s “CRUSH” embodies. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill heart-flutter track. It’s like someone took the fizzy feeling of first crush and poured it over a polyrhythmic, funk-splattered canvas. We’re talking the kind of sonic paint that makes you want to move, even if your body doesn’t quite know how yet.
There’s an undeniable sunshine in it, a golden-hour glow wrapped around something more complex than simple romantic bubblegum. I found myself thinking about… well, I don’t know, maybe ancient trading routes? Somehow, Belvie manages to layer these playful, almost chaotic rhythms with a core that feels grounded. Like a vibrant bird with very strong feet.
It’s Afro-beat, but with these little stabs of something else. A dash of jazz sneaks in, like an uninvited guest at a really good party. Maybe it’s the way Belvie’s voice sits atop the whole thing – not exactly shouting, but definitely not shy. It’s there, a captivating invitation to join in the slightly manic, entirely charming dance of new affection. This feels intensely personal yet wildly universal, like seeing the world for the first time, but knowing you’ve somehow been here all along.
The whole thing leaves you with this weirdly wonderful feeling— a fuzzy static clinging to the edges of your senses. Was that music? A dream? Or simply a well-placed flamingo? You’ll have to listen again to try to figure it out.
