obee Turns Self-Doubt Into Jet Fuel on the Club-Ready Anthem “DON’T STOP ME”

There’s a specific kind of dance record that doesn’t just want you moving, it wants you surviving. obee’s new single “DON’T STOP ME” lives in that lane. It’s a house-pop release built for dark rooms and flashing lights, but emotionally it reads like a diary entry written in all caps. This isn’t escapism. It’s confrontation disguised as a banger.

The Vermont-born producer, real name Owen Barclay, has always chased what he calls heart-string euphoria, and you can hear that mission in every layer of the track. The production is clean and deliberate: pulsing bass, glossy synth lines, and a drop engineered to feel like a release valve. When the beat hits, it doesn’t explode so much as lift. It’s the sound of tension turning into forward motion. You don’t just dance to it, you exhale into it.

Lyrically, “DON’T STOP ME” is a middle finger aimed at gaslighting, comparison culture, and the creeping doubt that shows up right when life is finally going well. obee frames the song as an intentional act of self-preservation, a way to metabolize old toxicity and the residue it leaves on confidence. There’s a maturity here that separates the track from generic motivational dance pop. He’s not pretending the scars aren’t there. He’s dancing with them.

That emotional honesty pairs perfectly with his DIY ethos. obee writes, produces, and engineers his own work, and the control shows. The song feels tightly wound but never sterile, polished without losing its pulse. You can trace the lineage from his early electronic influences and New York club energy, but the record doesn’t feel nostalgic. It feels current, like a snapshot of late-twenties pressure translated into sound.

What makes “DON’T STOP ME” stick is its dual purpose. It functions as a club weapon and a personal mantra. It’s for anyone staring down opposition, whether that’s industry gatekeeping, past relationships, or their own internal critic. obee isn’t selling fantasy. He’s offering momentum. The track doesn’t promise everything will work out. It promises you can keep going anyway, and sometimes that’s the more powerful message.

You’ve described “DON’T STOP ME” as an intentional act of self-gaslighting to fight doubt. When you’re in the studio, how do you tell the difference between healthy confidence and just trying to outrun your insecurities?

I’ve been doing this for a little over 10 years, it just took a lot of practice to be vulnerable. Developing a conscious voice of reason has helped me in process, and being super critical of what I write. Asking myself if I’m really being honest. I think a part of music, no matter how honest we are, is “escaping”. A lot of art is rooted in escapism. With that said, every song I write is a healing process as well. A lot of times I do a brain puke into my notebook at the start of a song, and then I hash out and rewrite like an insane person. 

The track turns past relationship toxicity into dance-floor fuel. Was it harder to write from a healed place looking back, or would this song have sounded different if you wrote it in the middle of the chaos?

Mmm. I like this question. I think it definitely would’ve been harder to write this song amid some of the chaos I was going through years ago. I wasn’t as skilled a writer and I didn’t have as much agency over my work. I also think reflection and time helps process things, and allows us to speak with more wisdom on what hurts us. I think if I wrote this song back then, it would’ve felt more anguish-inducing and targeted. I wrote this from a place of thinking of my audience and other people who need this song, versus getting back at someone or a group of people. 

You handle your own production, engineering, and writing. Does total creative control feel empowering, or does it sometimes amplify the pressure to prove yourself? Both things for sure. I’m a control freak when it comes to my music and art. This industry can be shady. I do feel a lot of pressure for sure - at first it was super overwhelming. I’ve sort of gotten into a rhythm with the work though, and once you do it enough it doesn’t feel like weight - it just excites me. I love the process so much. The hurdles and challenges, the victories. It’s so satisfying building the obee world myself - that’s sort of how I think of it, world-building. My work feels way more authentic too knowing I made everything myself. So much of the industry is fake and plastic, I want my stuff to be an amalgamation of my blood sweat and tears. 

A lot of your music chases euphoria but still carries emotional weight. Do you think dance music today avoids vulnerability too much, or is the scene finally opening up to more honest storytelling?

I love this, because I ask myself this question a lot. There’s so much music coming out today, it’s hard to say. I think dance music is rooted in freeing people and creating safe spaces for people to feel vulnerable and dance, set their soul free, connect. I can’t really hate on dance music. Despite a lot of the stuff I hear on social media having one liners that can feel stale, those lyrics and production still can come from very vulnerable places. Only the artist really knows. I don’t know, people are smart. You can tell when a song is written without much emotional thought. Music’s interesting, something that can feel dull and bland to an audiophile, can resonate with millions of people around the world and be a chart topper. To answer your question, I think the scene has always been open to vulnerable storytelling. Fred again is a great example of that. Some of my favorite songs today are instrumentals and have no lyrical content, and they feel more narrative than some songs that are lyrically thick. I think it just depends on the listener. 

If someone listens to “DON’T STOP ME” on their worst day, what do you want it to interrupt: their thoughts, their habits, or the way they see themselves?

Hmm. Gosh, I mean I hope it doesn't interrupt too much haha. I'd say a bit of everything. I just hope it strikes a chord. The walls they've put up preventing them from doing something they've always wanted to do. I hope it interrupts their voice of fear and doubt. I think we all kind of have that. I want the song to hit at people's energy and boost that, act as a sort of shield against the outside forces that distract us and bring us down. I want it to remind people of who they are and have always been... and to keep f*cking dancing. I sort of think of it as Mufasa's voice in the Lion King when he's talking to Simba on his journey... I love that scene. "Remember who you are".

What has been the biggest obstacle in your process as an artist, and how did you overcome it? The COVID-19 Pandemic, and having to live back home with my family during a time that was hard for me and so many. I was dealing with depression, and my relationship with my family took a serious toll during the pandemic. At one point, I was sleeping in the garage, and I was being kicked out of my house for smoking weed. My parents wanted me gone, and for a while, they pretended like I didn’t exist. It was ugly and scary. I was checked into a hospital and underwent therapy for a long time. It took years to unpack a lot of trauma; things I was dealing with, things my parents were dealing with, and learn how to carry on with life with that trauma. I’ve dealt with adversity my whole life, and no one in my family is in music, so it was hard for my parents to understand that. I came out the other side by practicing healing techniques I learned in therapy, like meditation, breathing, and writing down my pain and struggles, in lyrics and through my production. Learning to vocalize clearly and to process things with a transparent lens… and singing. My relationship with my family isn’t what it was, and it’s hard for me to connect with them like I used to, but we’ve since reconciled our differences and are in a much better place than we were during the pandemic. I’m a mental health advocate, and a lot of my pain is what fuels my music. I want my music to help those who are struggling and have struggled, and to liberate them. I’ve always felt the most seen from the EDM community and in dance club culture - it’s the most accepting environment. Everyone is there for each other, and there’s so much love and freedom. My time in Nashville has been transformative in that - I’ve met people here who I really trust and care about, who I can call family. It’s led to collaborations and shows that have helped shape “obee”, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without the relationships I’ve made here (huge shoutout to Night We Met). The music I’ve made over the last year or so has really been the biggest healing process. I cut out a lot of distractions in my life and have some songs coming out that I’m really excited about, to say the least.

What do you see for the future of your project? I’ve seen the path clearly for a long time now. I firmly believe in a higher power and believing in something bigger than yourself, call it God, the Universe, Great Spirit — I’ve had something guiding me for a long time. I want to play to bigger audiences and tour, definitely. I have a lot of collaborations happening at the moment, and I look forward to keeping that ball rolling. I want to produce and write for other people as well. A dream of mine is to collaborate with brands and organizations that have like-minded mentalities - I love fashion and art, it would be awesome to combine mental health advocacy with those, and help elevate other people’s platforms. I also dance, and I love stand-up comedy; it would be sweet to intertwine those into a live show setting. I love pure entertainment and things that challenge norms. At the end of the day, I just want to make music and write with other people every day. I want my lyrics to feel raw and ruthless and to hit home for people. Another dream of mine is to score films and do music for tv or film. I went to film school and was working in that industry for a while. It would be fun to be a part of a feature film.