Between Anger, Hope, and Identity: Pinwheel Valley’s Transformative 2025

Pinwheel Valley isn’t just a music project; it’s a vessel for the emotional, spiritual, and existential weight of being human. Led by Jordanian-Canadian singer, composer, and multi-instrumentalist Qais Khoury, the project has carved out a space where Indie Soul, mellow Alternative Rock, and Folktronica blur into something atmospheric, cinematic, and deeply introspective. The sound feels like dusk: warm, moody, textured, and full of quiet revelations. Whether he’s layering falsetto against delicate guitar lines or weaving electronic elements into organic spaces, Qais builds worlds you step into, not just listen to.

His journey has always been shaped by depth and curiosity. After graduating from Point Blank Music College in London and earning early accolades across international songwriting competitions, Khoury spent years building Pinwheel Valley into a project defined by its emotional honesty and creative integrity. That dedication led to airplay on NPR and RTE 2FM, features in Clash, Wonderland, Earmilk, Kaltblut, and recognition across major video award circuits, proof that his art resonates far beyond genre boundaries.

But 2025 became a particularly transformative chapter. With releases like Going Away, Someway, Can’t Hear A Sound, and collaborations under his DJ alias Nativalien, Qais explored new textures and emotional vantage points. Yet Werewolf stands out as the project’s emotional spine. The track isn’t simply a metaphor; it’s a mirror held up to anyone who has ever felt like an outsider. It speaks to the immigrant experience, the racialized experience, the “othered” experience. It channels anger without endorsing violence, compassion without romanticizing pain, and transformation without ignoring the weight that comes before it.

“Werewolf” gives shape to feelings many people carry but rarely articulate. It acknowledges what it’s like to be pushed to the edge by society’s expectations and judgments, and to reclaim that identity with self-awareness instead of shame. It’s music for misfits, for those who feel “too much,” for anyone whose life has existed on the edges of belonging. And that’s exactly what makes it so powerful.

Outside of music, Qais experienced one of the most profound moments of his life: welcoming his daughter, Florence Evangeline. Fatherhood layered new meaning onto everything: his sense of purpose, his desire for balance, and the emotional color of the art he’s creating next. In his own words, it felt like a divine blessing, a grounding force that reconnected him to gratitude and personal clarity.

Looking ahead to 2026, Pinwheel Valley is entering a new era: new music, a UK tour, Nativalien shows, and a fresh desire to stop measuring his success against timelines or comparisons. Instead, he’s embracing acceptance, growth, craft, and the joy of simply making honest art.

“Werewolf” is the release you chose for our Best Independent Artists of 2025, a song about anger, survival, and feeling pushed to the margins. What life experiences or observations shaped the emotional core of this track?

I’d say this track comes more from observation than personal experience. Thankfully, I’ve never been deported, detained in an immigration facility, or lived through bombings. But it’s not hard to imagine how marginalized people can be pushed so far to the edges that their anger becomes volcanic. The “werewolf” metaphor captures that feeling of being seen as an outcast, forced into painful transformations by systems that misunderstand or dehumanize you. Even when someone’s core is good, that pressure can drive them to a breaking point, where revolt becomes both a possibility and a powerful response.

Your music lives at the intersection of Indie Soul, mellow Alt-Rock, and Folktronica, a blend that feels both intimate and cinematic. What draws you to that hybrid space, and how do you know when a song has found the right sonic identity?

They say your sonic identity really takes shape in your late teens and early twenties, and I’ve always felt that’s true. Whatever you’re absorbing during that stretch, what you’re obsessed with, what hits you emotionally, starts to form the blueprint for the sounds you end up loving or even creating. For me, artists like Jeff Buckley, Fink, Ben Howard, Coldplay, and Radiohead were huge early influences, and as a young guitar player, I naturally drifted toward that crossroads of songwriting.

Figuring out when a song has actually found its sonic identity took a lot longer, though. It’s been about two decades of sharpening my ear and learning what truly feels like “me.” I recorded my first album at 15 (2004) and never released it. My second album, which came out in 2013, lived on streaming for a couple of years before I pulled it. It didn’t meet the standard I was aiming for. With my third and fourth albums (2016 and 2018), I ended up cutting them both down to about half their original tracklists for the same reason. Some songs just didn’t feel like they belonged in the timeless sonic space I was trying to carve out.

Looking back, it’s pretty simple: if a song gave me the ‘cringe factor’, it didn’t survive. These days, I’m much more aware of that instinct as I write and release new music. Honestly, that’s still why I don’t release half the ideas I work on now. I might finish a song all the way through, but if it even hints at cringe, I’ll move on to the next thing without thinking twice.

You’ve been recognized by competitions, film festivals, international media, and editorial playlists over the years. How do those milestones impact your internal sense of success… or do you try not to let them define you?

Accolades and recognition are all wonderful things to have, but it’s tricky not letting them seep into your head. It’s important that you don’t. Songwriting has to come from a real, grounded place, from the experiences that make the music feel human and relatable. The moment you allow the accolades and recognition to define your identity, your center moves and your voice changes, and suddenly you’re creating from a place of ego rather than authenticity. 

Becoming a father this year feels like a major shift,  a grounding moment. How has welcoming your daughter influenced the way you think about art, ambition, balance, or the emotional layers of your songwriting?

That’s an interesting question, because there’s still a part of my brain running on autopilot that assumes I’ll keep making and performing music exactly the way I always have. But the more aware part of me knows things have shifted. Becoming a father hasn’t changed the way I think about art, but I’m sure it’ll shape my songwriting in ways I don’t even notice yet. I’ve already written a song just for her, my baby girl Florence, which I’ll be releasing on December 26th through my alter alias Nativalien. That should give listeners a glimpse into that world. 

Each part of your question touches on something different, so I’ll break it up a bit. Ambition-wise, I think the idea of me chasing the “world-famous rock star” dream is pretty much out the window now. My priority is stepping up for my family and keeping them safe and secure. The music industry has never been a reliable place for that. The creative side of music is beautiful, and I’m absolutely going to keep making things. But the financial side of it is often brutal and uncertain, and that changes the choices I’m willing to make.

That ties directly into balance. I still want to create, to experiment, to put things into the world, but I have to be smarter about where my time, energy, and money go. Saying no to certain opportunities isn’t just about boundaries anymore; it’s about protecting my daughter and my family. And, as you and I both know, this industry is heavily plagued by scams and opportunists, so that sense of caution is even more important now. I can’t afford to operate on faith or impulse the way I used to.

Fatherhood hasn’t rewritten my artistic identity, but it’s definitely sharpened my awareness of what, and who, I’m doing all this for.

You mentioned wanting to stop stressing about where your career is “supposed” to be. What moment or realization pushed you toward that mindset change, and how does it shape the way you’re approaching 2026?

It wasn’t a single moment that pushed me toward that mindset shift. And sorry if this gets a bit long-winded, but I think it all matters. First, as mentioned, becoming a father reshaped my sense of what’s truly important. I’d been hopping from one “next best” PR company to another, convinced each one might finally propel my career forward, only to realize none of them were actually helping me grow. They were just expensive illusions dressed up as opportunity.

And while it’s true that we’re all on our own individual paths, that constant pressure of stressing about where my career was “supposed” to be wasn’t inspiring me or advancing anything. If anything, it drained me, financially, emotionally, and took a real toll on my mental health. And honestly, mental health has to be a priority if you want to stay steady in any long-term pursuit.

Another layer of it was how triggered I felt seeing people I knew (from high school, college, or my close community), sometimes with very little experience in songwriting, start their music journeys later than I did, and somehow climb further up the industry ladder. It sent me spiraling through all sorts of blame: my parents’ hesitance about me pursuing music, friends or followers who only seemed supportive when things were going well, even my physical appearance, and whether it was holding me back. And while there may be pieces of truth in some of those things, I eventually realized that constantly molding myself to gain listeners or followers was only feeding my insecurity. It pulled me away from the joy of creating and pushed me into this mindset of unhealthy spending, where hiring PR companies month after month started to feel like the only viable route forward. 

Underneath all of that was a quiet resentment toward anyone I knew who got ahead without ever offering support or even checking in. And reaching out for support felt like a barricaded approach, since I’ve also come to see how fiercely people guard their own success and networks. Plenty of folks, even the truly talented ones, aren’t actually interested in helping others rise, because in our late-stage capitalist world, some measure their value (In a very Joffrey-from-GOT sort of way) by watching others struggle beneath them. That’s simply not the headspace, or the heartspace, I wanted to inhabit anymore.

So moving into 2026, I’m approaching everything with a lot less pressure and a lot more intention. I want to create from a grounded, joyful place again, without constantly chasing some invisible benchmark of where my career “should” be.

You’re preparing for a potential UK tour, new releases, and even shows as your DJ alias, Nativalien. What creative space or energy are you excited to tap into that fans may not have seen from you yet?

I mentioned that I was preparing for a potential UK tour with my band Pinwheel Valley, although I would love to tour as Nativalien (my producer alias for electronic dance music). It would be so much easier to do a solo DJ tour with just a USB stick as opposed to a million instruments and a minibus full of flatulence :) 

Back to the question: I won’t be going on a UK tour anymore. I’m happy to have drawn the attention of booking agents, but after doing some of the math around the costs of touring, I realized these aren’t pursuits I can pull off without the support of a label. And I’m not saying a label needs to cover my tour costs, because I know that’s a bit outside the ambition scale for us indies. I mean, at least a reputable entity that understands the value of my music and can get real ears on my work before I choose to single-handedly sink a new vehicle’s worth of expenses into ten days of “you never know how it’s gonna turn out.” 

“Werewolf” gives voice to people who feel different or excluded. As someone who moves between cultures, genres, and identities, what does “belonging” look like to you, and how do you create that feeling in your music?

Belonging, to me, always comes back to family. And yes, Vin Diesel might deliver that line with extra cheese, but I genuinely mean it in that simple, earnest way. At the end of the day, having a supportive, joyful family, whether by blood or by choice, feels like the real endgame. It’s the place you should be able to retreat to when the world gets loud or heavy, and feel warmth, safety, and comfort waiting for you.

In my music, I try to build that same sense of refuge. Each song becomes its own little universe, a small world the listener can step into. By shaping those spaces with honesty and emotion, I hope to create something that feels like family. Familiar, welcoming, and personal. If someone can press play and find a moment of solace, a place where they feel understood or at home, then that’s the truest form of belonging I can offer.