There’s a fine line between “carefree” and “trying too hard to be carefree.” Dear Luna’s “Strangers Maybe” actually lands on the right side of that line, and not by accident. This careful balance sets the tone for how the rest of the track unfolds. From the jump, the track surges forward. Bright guitars shimmer without slipping into cliché, the rhythm section stays taut but never sterile, and there’s a subtle urgency in the production that makes you move instinctively. Building on this energy, it’s pop-rock alive with momentum, not a playlist filler faking it. Taylor Plasz’s vocals are the real hook here. There’s swagger, but not the empty, TikTok-core kind. Hesitation simmers beneath the bravado, making the “I’ll make the first move” narrative land. She’s not selling perfection; she’s selling risk. That tension elevates the track from catchy to lasting, forging a distinct dynamic. Lyrically, “Strangers Maybe” flips a tired trope and gives it teeth. Instead of waiting around for something to happen, the protagonist takes control, embraces the unknown, and accepts that things might go nowhere. That last part matters. Following the honest emotion in the vocals, the song isn’t promising a fairytale payoff. It’s romanticizing the leap itself, which feels way more honest in 2026 than another love-at-first-sight fantasy. Production-wise, Dear Luna keeps things polished but never dulls their edge. The arrangement bounces playfully, yet they avoid overcrowding. Each element claims its place. That discipline sharpens the song's themes of risk and restraint, a skill many emerging bands lack, and it pays off. If anything, the track’s biggest flex is its replay value. It’s light enough to throw on at a party, but there’s enough emotional texture to keep you coming back when you’re alone and overthinking your last bad decision. This versatility highlights the song’s lasting impact beyond a first listen. With upcoming shows at Moe’s BBQ and Goosetown Station and a full rollout of singles leading into a 2026 album, Dear Luna isn’t just building momentum. Instead, they’re building identity. As the natural culmination of the elements discussed earlier, “Strangers Maybe” feels like a turning point, not just another release. “Strangers Maybe” leans into risk and rejection. What’s a creative decision you made recently that genuinely scared you, and how did it play out? Honestly, starting my songwriting business, Denver Song Lab, was a little terrifying at first. Songwriting has always been such a personal thing for me—something I’ve kind of kept close, so opening that up and inviting other people into the process felt like a big leap. I definitely had moments of thinking, “Am I ready for this?” or wondering if people would actually connect with what I do. But once I leaned into it, it’s already been incredibly rewarding! I'll get to help people tell their stories and turn them into songs ~ It already feels like one of the best decisions I’ve made, and I can tell it’s only going to grow into something really special. denversonglab.com to book.  The track balances polished pop instincts with emotional messiness. Where do you draw the line between making something accessible and keeping it brutally honest?  I think for me, accessibility comes from how something feels. The emotional messiness is usually where the real connection lives. So I try to showcase that in our music. The balance comes in how it's delivered. I’ll use melody, structure, and production to invite people in, and once they’re there, I want them to imagine themselves in that situation and picture the story playing out.  Taylor, your vocal delivery walks this tightrope between confidence and doubt. Was that intentional in the studio, or did it just happen in the moment? Yes, definitely intentional! I like to use different vocal textures like playing with breathiness and head voice in certain moments to add nuance and emotion, and then contrast that with stronger, more grounded belts in sections to highlight. I also love layering vocals and building harmonies.  You’ve built a name in Denver’s scene. What’s something about that local ecosystem that people outside the city completely misunderstand?  I think one of the biggest misconceptions about Denver’s music scene is that it’s small or limited. From the outside, people sometimes assume it’s just a stepping stone market, but there’s actually a really diverse and deeply supportive community here. What people don’t always see is how collaborative it is. Artists, producers, and musicians genuinely show up for each other—whether that’s through sharing stages, co-writing, or just building community behind the scenes. At the same time, being based in Denver teaches you to be self-sufficient. There’s not a single “industry machine” driving everything, so you learn how to build something real from the ground up. With a full album on the way, are you chasing cohesion or chaos? In other words, should fans expect a clear sonic identity or a curveball every track?  I’d say it’s a balance of both, but intentional. I’m definitely focused on building a cohesive identity for Dear Luma across the album—we are really growing into our "sound" right now.  At the same time, I don’t want every track to feel predictable.

Lisa Rogers debut EP 'About Time' arrives as a confident statement from an artist stepping fully into her own identity. The project captures Lisa Rogers blending polished pop production with emotionally direct songwriting. Across the EP, Lisa Rogers explores self-discovery, growth, and the process of reclaiming oneself after being pulled off course. Previous single “Love In The Dark” showed her cinematic vulnerability, while “Get Back” brought a brighter, attitude-driven energy rooted in reflection and reset. Together, they frame “About Time” as a project that balances introspection with empowerment. What makes the EP land is its clarity. Lisa Rogers does not hide behind glossy production. Her vocals carry control, warmth, and conviction, giving each track a sense of lived experience. 'About Time' is not just a debut milestone. It is a focused introduction to an independent pop artist ready for a larger stage. “About Time” feels like both a debut and a personal statement. What did this EP allow you to say about yourself as an artist that single releases could not fully capture? I feel that an EP for me was about putting together a collection of personal stories that builds a journey for the listener, to become closer to me as an artist, and get a real insight into who I am.  You moved from session vocalist into your own solo identity. What was the biggest creative shift in learning how to take up space as the lead voice, not just vocally but emotionally? I feel like becoming the lead vocalist within my music allowed me to learn a whole lot creatively, thinking about what message I wanted to put out for my listeners and the way I wanted to perform the lyrics from an emotional perspective. It gave me freedom to express when writing and producing, and I really enjoyed experimenting with that.  The EP moves between cinematic vulnerability and more confident, attitude-driven pop. How did you decide which sides of yourself needed to be represented on this project? I think it was a really natural process once I'd decided the themes of each song and the lyrics started to come together. For me, these were real experiences, and so the truth of the stories came through in the music organically. “Get Back” deals with recognizing when you have lost your way and choosing to return to yourself. What does that idea mean to you at this stage of your life and career? It's significant for me at this point in life. After living through a whole lot of different things, I got to a stage where I felt I wanted to re-evaluate the person I'd become, and look at the parts I might have lost along the way, as well as how I'd grown. Your music blends polished pop production with emotionally direct writing. How do you keep the songs feeling honest while still building something bold and commercially sharp? I think the crafting of the lyrics came from the collaboration with Adam Kelly, who produced all the tracks. We sat and discussed and refined the structure of each until we were both happy, which I feel is an important element in any songwriting process.

There’s a difference between writing a breakup song and writing a boundary, and Desiree Choy knows exactly which side she’s on with “ CAKE .” Let’s be real. A lot of pop R&B right now is still stuck romanticizing toxic loops. Late-night texts, emotional breadcrumbs, men doing the absolute bare minimum, and somehow still getting songs written about them. “CAKE” shuts that entire narrative down in under three minutes. From the jump, the production feels clean but intentional. It leans into that nostalgic R&B DNA but filters it through a modern, almost cinematic polish. Nothing feels overproduced or desperate for attention. It just sits confidently, like it knows you’re going to run it back anyway. Vocally, Desiree doesn’t overdo it. That’s what makes it hit. There’s control, there’s clarity, and there’s just enough attitude baked into her delivery to make every line land like a direct message you probably should’ve sent months ago. When she draws that line, you believe her. And that’s really the core of this track. It’s not just about rejecting an ex. It’s about rejecting the entire expectation that women should stay polite, stay open, stay available, even when the situation is clearly disrespectful. The songwriting doesn’t try to be poetic for the sake of it. It’s sharp. It’s direct. It calls out the exact behavior everyone’s tired of, but rarely addresses this cleanly. Exes circling back while they’re already taken. Guys in DMs offering nothing but audacity. “CAKE” doesn’t entertain it. It laughs at it. Culturally, this is where things get interesting. Songs like this are starting to shift the tone. Less longing, more self-respect. Less confusion, more clarity. And honestly, it’s about time. People are tired of pretending the bare minimum is enough. “CAKE” isn’t just a song you play. It’s a statement you send. And yeah, some people are going to feel personally attacked by it. That’s kind of the point. You made a conscious choice to be direct rather than vague about “CAKE.” Was there a moment when you decided you were done softening your message? CAKE actually started as a freestyle—just me getting some pent-up feelings out. I realized I had been trying to stay nice and polite about my ex reaching out inappropriately, but in doing that, I was kind of reinforcing the behavior by not speaking up. I’ve always leaned more indirect because I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings… maybe it’s the Asian in me wanting to save face and hope what’s implied is understood– but clearly that wasn’t landing.  To be honest, I wasn’t even fully at the point of saying these things to his face yet, so writing it into a song felt like a safe first step. It was empowering. Like… ok maybe I can say what I mean in the best way I know how to. The production walks a line between nostalgic R&B and something more cinematic. What specific references or risks shaped that sound? I love that you picked up on that. The song started really simply, just keys and bass, but it had an attitude from day one. I wanted to preserve that rawness while building something empowering off it too. My producer Jaye and co-writer Luke, and I had so much fun building that vibe around the initial pass and the final ended up being so layered and rich… pun intended :P  The biggest ‘risk’ was not over-polishing it. I wanted it to feel honest and a little playful, and deliver the message in a way that feels true to me.  A lot of artists still romanticize toxic dynamics. Do you think songs like this are part of a bigger shift in how people view relationships? I think music absolutely shapes how we view relationships: what we normalize, what we accept, even subconsciously. Toxic dynamics are relatable, and they can feel intense and exciting, so I get why they show up so often. But for me, I’m more interested in shifting the narrative toward self-worth. ‘CAKE’ is about reminding yourself who you are, and having fun while basking in your glory. You talk about maintaining standards even when it would be easier not to. What does that look like in your real life outside the music? To me, maintaining standards is about not shrinking yourself to fit what’s easy or expected. There’s a lot of messaging out there that subtly encourages us to settle or play small, and it takes awareness to push back on that. In my real life, it looks like staying aligned with what I actually want, even when it’s uncomfortable or takes more time. Showing up consistently, trusting that I’m deserving of what I’m working toward, and not accepting less just because it’s available. And for the record, sliding into someone’s DMs with “you’re so beautiful” isn’t effort… If someone sends “CAKE” to an ex or a situationship, what reaction are you secretly hoping it triggers? I hope it creates a little “no scrubs” moment, where it clicks that you don’t get access to a high quality woman with that kind of half effort, low-quality approach.

For independent artists, radio still matters. Streaming might dominate headlines, but tastemaker stations around the world continue to break careers, build loyal audiences, and give new music real cultural weight. The difference is knowing where to aim. Not every station is closed off behind label walls. Some are actively built to discover emerging talent and give unsigned artists a real shot at airplay. Here are 14 radio stations that consistently champion independent music and accept submissions from new artists. KEXP 90.3 FM, Seattle, USA KEXP is one of the most respected indie discovery stations in the world, known for championing alternative and experimental artists long before they hit the mainstream. Their DJs curate deeply personal shows and actively search for new sounds. Artists submit by reaching out to individual DJs through the show pages on kexp.org , which allows you to target the programs that match your style instead of blasting a generic pitch. BBC Introducing, United Kingdom BBC Introducing is arguably one of the biggest pipelines for unsigned artists anywhere. The platform exists specifically to find and elevate new talent, with many major UK acts first gaining traction through the program. Submissions are made through the uploader at bbc.co.uk/introducing , and standout tracks can move from regional radio to national BBC exposure. KCRW 89.9 FM, Los Angeles, USA KCRW is synonymous with forward-thinking indie and alternative programming. Their curators have a strong track record of introducing artists before they explode globally. Submissions go through the music contact section at kcrw.com/music/contact , where a polished press kit can make a big difference. Amazing Radio, UK and USA Amazing Radio was designed from the ground up to support independent artists. The station programs exclusively indie music and operates as a global discovery hub. Artists upload directly through amazingradio.com , making it one of the most accessible entry points for unsigned musicians. WFUV 90.7 FM, New York, USA WFUV blends indie, alternative, and singer-songwriter programming with a strong reputation for breaking thoughtful, lyric-driven artists. The station maintains an active submission channel at wfuv.org where new releases are reviewed by their music team. Radio K (KUOM), Minneapolis, USA Radio K is a college station that thrives on underground energy. Their programming leans toward indie, experimental, and DIY sounds, and they remain open to discovering artists outside traditional industry pipelines. Submissions are accepted through radiok.org . KUTX 98.9 FM, Austin, USA Austin’s music culture runs through KUTX . The station supports independent and alternative artists while reflecting the city’s live music identity. Musicians can submit through the official music submission portal at kutx.org . Soho Radio, London, UK Soho Radio curates eclectic programming that blends music and culture, giving independent artists a platform inside one of the world’s most influential creative cities. Artists submit via the contact form at sohoradiolondon.com . FBi Radio, Sydney, Australia FBi Radio is dedicated to championing emerging artists and underground scenes. The station has built a reputation for supporting new voices early and consistently. Submissions are accepted at fbiradio.com/music-submit . WXPN 88.5 FM, Philadelphia, USA WXPN is widely respected for its tastemaker programming and history of introducing independent artists to broader audiences. Musicians submit through the music contact section at xpn.org . KALX 90.7 FM, Berkeley, USA KALX is a long-running college station with a deep commitment to independent and experimental music. Their programming reflects underground culture and student-driven discovery. Artists submit through kalx.berkeley.edu . Resonance FM, London, UK Resonance FM supports experimental creators and boundary-pushing artists. The station embraces unconventional music and sound art, offering space for artists outside mainstream formats. Submissions are handled through resonancefm.com/contact . CJLO 1690 AM, Montreal, Canada CJLO is one of Canada’s strongest college stations, known for underground programming and indie advocacy. The station actively reviews new music and accepts submissions through cjlo.com . CJSW 90.9 FM, Calgary, Canada CJSW champions independent artists across genres and has a long-standing reputation for supporting DIY musicians. Artists submit directly through the station at cjsw.com . For independent artists, radio isn’t about chasing mass exposure overnight. It’s about finding stations that care about discovery, culture, and community. These outlets are run by people who still believe in music first. A thoughtful submission, the right fit, and a little persistence can open doors that algorithms never will.

Sleepy Bronco is not here to romanticize the road. The Burden and the Bliss make that clear fast. Let’s be honest about alt-country. When it’s done poorly, it turns into aesthetic cosplay. Vintage tones, sad lyrics, zero actual weight. When it’s done right, it feels like someone hands you their worst thoughts, unfiltered. This EP chooses that second path. It opens with “Clear, Clean, Whole and Free,” which sounds like a promise on paper but lands more like a quiet lie you tell yourself to get through the day. The instrumentation is warm and restrained, but there’s tension sitting underneath it. Nothing resolves the way you expect, and that’s the point. “Hostage Situation” pushes things further into discomfort. This is where Sleepy Bronco leans into emotional paralysis without spelling it out. The writing trusts you to connect the dots. It’s not dramatic, it’s just heavy in a way that feels familiar. That balance between direct and implied is intentional. As Sleepy Bronco puts it, sometimes tone and expression hit harder than over-explaining ever could. “How to Run” brings in that subtle nostalgia, but not in a cheap way. It feels reflective without getting stuck in the past. There’s movement in it, even if the lyrics suggest the opposite. It’s one of the clearest examples of how this project builds cohesion through sound instead of forcing a narrative arc. On “Shelter from the Cold,” the emotional weight sharpens. This is where the stripped-back production really works in the project’s favor. There’s nowhere to hide, and Sleepy Bronco doesn’t try to. The delivery stays controlled, almost detached, which somehow makes it hit harder. Think straight-face storytelling where the impact sneaks up on you after the fact. By the time “Time Is Not Your Friend” closes things out, the EP has fully committed to its tone. No redemption arc, no clean resolution. Just accept that not everything gets fixed. It’s easily the most direct moment on the project, but even then, it avoids turning into something overly dramatic. Across all five tracks, Sleepy Bronco doesn’t chase a single storyline. That might sound messy on paper. It isn’t. The cohesion comes from the sound. Worn-in guitars, steady twang, and just enough grit to keep everything grounded. The arrangements leave space instead of filling every second. It sounds like something built to breathe, not something engineered to perform. Vocally, there’s a quiet conviction carrying everything. No forced rasp, no over-the-top delivery trying to sell authenticity. That restraint is a conscious choice, and it works. Like the classic songwriters Sleepy Bronco draws from, the emotion hits harder because it isn’t being pushed in your face. Lyrically, this is where the EP separates itself. Regret, distance, and the kind of emotional weight that doesn’t resolve cleanly. Sleepy Bronco isn’t trying to package these themes into something palatable. If anything, the goal feels closer to forcing you to sit with them. What’s interesting is how the project balances heaviness with listenability. It never drags. Even when the subject matter gets dense, the music keeps moving, pulling you through instead of pinning you down. Zoom out, and The Burden and the Bliss is an introduction that actually matters. It’s not a highlight reel or a safe sample. It’s a true snapshot of an artist testing how much truth they’re willing to reveal. You lean into darker themes without over-explaining them. How do you decide what to leave unsaid versus what needs to be direct? I think inference can go a long way. It gives the cerebral listener options on how to interpret some of the content. Then there are other times when things work best when it's put to the listener directly. But through tone and expression, it can be felt in a way that hits on another level, even though it's direct. Many alt-country artists rely on nostalgia. What were you intentionally avoiding when building this EP’s sound? Really, the only thing I try to avoid is sounding unoriginal or too much like other artists - especially the ones I'm really influenced by. Sometimes it's difficult, but it's something I'm always cognizant of when writing. But I think there is a fair amount of nostalgia on the record, in songs like "How to Run" and "Shelter From the Cold", just not in a maybe typical way you hear on other alt-country records. Your delivery stays restrained even when the lyrics get heavy. Is that a conscious choice or just how the emotion comes out? I think the music and style of my writing lends itself best to a more restrained delivery. I think of artists like Townes Van Zandt, Guy Clark or even John Prine; they aren't overly emotional in their tone, but like a joke told with a straight face, it can have more of an impact (in my opinion). This EP feels cohesive through sound rather than story. Was that always the plan, or did it come together naturally in the process? I had a bunch of songs recorded when it came time to put the release together. I wanted to offer up a variety of themes and topics to showcase the scope of material I write about. For instance, I like a good love song as much as the next person, but if song after song on a project is just love songs, then I'm not as fulfilled as a listener. I prefer to experience a variety of themes when I listen to an album or EP.  When listeners sit with The Burden and the Bliss, what part of themselves do you think they’re going to recognize first? I hope they recognize the more vulnerable parts of themselves. I hope the songs can pierce through the listener's ego in a way that makes them see it's ok to be a bit messed up in today's world. I try to write about down-to-earth everyday experiences, but in a poetic, romantic sort of way. At least that's the goal.

There’s a fine line between vulnerability and self-abandonment, and Evan Croft walks it like he’s got nothing left to lose on “What’s It Gonna Take?” This track is not polished to perfection, and that’s exactly why it works. It feels like a late-night voice note you weren’t supposed to hear. The kind you play back and immediately regret sending. Croft leans fully into that emotional discomfort and, instead of trying to clean it up, lets it sit there. Raw. A little messy. Way too honest. Vocally, he doesn’t overperform. No unnecessary runs, no forced theatrics. Just a steady, almost defeated delivery that carries more weight than any vocal flex ever could. You can hear the tension in his tone. Not anger. Not even heartbreak. It’s that in-between space where you’re still trying, even though deep down you know it’s already over. Production-wise, Ceasar Mclain keeps things intentionally minimal. Soft keys, restrained percussion, and just enough atmosphere to hold the emotion without drowning it. It never distracts. It just exists to support the confession happening front and center. That restraint is what gives the song replay value. It doesn’t overwhelm you. It lingers. Lyrically, Croft is asking a question nobody wants to admit they’ve asked before. What do I have to do to be enough for you? And yeah, it hits. Because we’ve all been there at some point, doing mental gymnastics to prove our worth to someone who already decided we weren’t it. The uncomfortable truth is baked into every line. This isn’t romantic. It’s a quiet identity crisis. What makes this release actually matter right now is how it pushes against the hyper-confident, untouchable persona dominating pop and R&B. Everyone wants to act like they’re the prize. Croft is out here admitting he felt like he wasn’t. That honesty cuts through the noise instantly. If this is him stepping back into R&B, it’s a smart move. Not because it’s trendy, but because it feels real. No gimmicks. No algorithm bait. Just a guy processing rejection in real time. At what point did you realize this song wasn’t about winning someone back, but about confronting your own limits in that relationship? Back when I was dating, I put most of my time and energy into making her happy. It felt like most of my efforts earned just a ‘thank you’ or a ‘you’re so cute’ response. It felt like nothing was working to get to first base until I finally decided to take a shot and tell her my feelings. There’s a quiet restraint in your vocals here. Was that intentional, or did the emotion naturally strip everything back during recording? For this track, I decided to use some vocal control, especially since it’s an instrumental without bass. You’re stepping back into R&B with this release. What did you feel was missing from your sound before that made you return to it now? Before, I didn’t have my own sound. I was trying to sound like my favourite artist(s) and it didn’t work out. So I tried a couple different styles & genres and when I went back to R&B, I could hear the sound more clearly. The question in the title feels almost rhetorical by the end of the track. Do you think you ever actually wanted an answer? I believe communication is a key component of a great relationship, so yes, I wanted an answer. When fans hear this, some will relate, and some might feel called out. Who did you really make this song for? Initially, I wrote this song to ask a girl I was dating what I should do to prove I’m the one for her.  Now, it’s to let people know that even someone like me is still searching for a special someone.

There’s a version of vulnerability in music that feels performative. Overwritten, overproduced, begging for sympathy. Sami Siteman doesn’t do that on “Mount Everest.” She strips it all the way back and lets the truth sit there, uncomfortably honest and impossible to ignore. Framed as a letter to her younger self, the song could have easily leaned into cliché. It doesn’t. Instead, it lands somewhere quieter, more grounded, and way more effective. This isn’t about romanticizing pain. It’s about recognizing survival without turning it into a spectacle. The production leans folk, but not in a gimmicky, Pinterest-core way. It feels intentional. Acoustic textures sit front and center, giving her voice room to carry the weight of the story. There’s restraint here, and that’s what makes it hit. No unnecessary layers, no dramatic overkill. Just space. Vocally, Sami walks a tightrope between softness and control. She doesn’t oversell the emotion, which ironically makes it land harder. You can hear the growth in how she delivers certain lines, like she’s not just revisiting those past versions of herself but actually standing above them, seeing the full picture for the first time. Lyrically, this is where the song separates itself. Instead of focusing on what went wrong, she focuses on what it took to keep going. The bullied kid, the insecure teenager, the version of herself that almost didn’t make it through. They’re all there, but they’re not the headline. The headline is resilience. And that message hits differently right now. Everyone’s obsessed with the next milestone, the next glow-up, the next version of themselves. Nobody’s talking about pausing long enough to acknowledge what you’ve already survived. “Mount Everest” forces that moment, whether you’re ready for it or not. It also quietly reinforces Sami’s bigger point about genre. This doesn’t feel boxed in. There’s pop sensibility in the melody, country honesty in the storytelling, and folk intimacy in the delivery. It’s fluid, and that’s the point. With a mini headline tour coming this August and a debut album on the horizon, Sami Siteman isn’t just building a catalog. She’s building a narrative. And “Mount Everest” feels like one of the chapters people are actually going to keep. You’re intentionally releasing music across multiple genres. At what point does genre experimentation stop being creative freedom and start becoming a branding risk?  Honestly, I think it's been a branding risk from the start, but I'm ok with that. Our brains are always trying to categorize things we encounter; it's a survival mechanism that our brains have developed over the entirety of human history, intended to help keep us safe and process the world in a more predictable way so we can react faster, better, etc. It's been a dream of mine for forever to release music across tons of genres because my music truly is influenced by SO many genres and labeling all of my songs in just one genre feels like a disservice to all the amazing music that has inspired me. I don't fit into any singular box, and neither does my music. It has elements of pop, country, singer/songwriter, folk, rock, even jazz; who am I to say that it's not all of those things wrapped up together? I don't even always write the songs with a specific genre in mind. I really just write what I am feeling because I need to express or process something, and I kind of just follow the thread of where it feels like the song wants to go. If you stripped all of the instrumentation of my songs back, I would say they are singer/songwriter vibes because I am a singer/songwriter at heart, but the instrumentation and production can take them anywhere. So I just follow what I'm feeling and what music has been inspiring me lately, and give that direction to my amazing producer Dylan Emmet (who's also an amazing songwriter and artist in his own right), who turns my music from piano-based singer/songwriter tunes into any genre I'm feeling. So, to finally answer the question you asked, I do think it's a branding risk to span across many genres because it doesn't give people a clear box for me to fit into. But I'm ok with that because this is what is authentic to me, and while, of course, I can't deny that branding as an artist is important, I almost feel that at this point, not fitting in perfectly into a singular box is a part of my brand. I am an amalgamation of all the music that has inspired me, and I think that's actually what helps set me apart.  “Mount Everest” is deeply personal without feeling overly exposed. How do you decide what parts of your story stay yours versus what gets shared with the world? First of all, thank you for your kind words about "Mount Everest." It's a really special song to me, and I think part of what makes it so special is that it is really vulnerable. I wrote that song with my friend and collaborator Michelle Hall, and honestly, writing it together really felt like a therapy session. One of the amazing things I have realized about music is that often, the more vulnerable and specific the song, the more that people relate. Because even though the situations we encounter in life may differ, the feelings we experience before, during, and after those situations are often very similar or the same. That's the thing that really makes music so magical and healing for me, and for so many people I know. So though the verses of "Mount Everest" truly do describe my personal experiences as a kid and a teenager, the feelings behind those situations (being made fun of for just being who you are or struggling with mental health and feeling alone) are ones that so many people can relate to. I always say I write my music for me because I truly need to express or process something, but I share it to provide healing, comfort, and solace for others, the same way my favorite artists have done for me. So I guess in terms of deciding what parts of my story I share versus what I keep to myself, I usually just write out what I'm feeling because I genuinely need to get it out, and then I can think on it a bit more and decide later if it's something I want to share or not. Usually, though, I'm pretty open to sharing because, as I said, I share my music to connect with others, and how can I truly do that if I'm not being vulnerable? Your songwriting tends to be reflective rather than reactive. Do you write in the moment of emotion, or only once you’ve processed it? I think that songwriting itself is actually often what helps me process my emotions, so by the time I finish the song, it may sound like I've processed more than I really have in that moment. And there are certainly times I write about things that have happened in the past from a very reflective lens. But many times, I truly sit down to write because I have unprocessed emotions, and songwriting helps me make some sense of them. For example, my grandma, with whom I was so close, passed away in October 2024. For so long, I felt so absolutely buried under my dark cloud of grief and genuinely could not see the other side of it, where I was myself again. That exact struggle is what I wrote "Lost & Found," the first single I released from my upcoming album, about. I sat down at my keyboard one day shortly after she passed, feeling like I truly didn't know who I was anymore or if I would ever find myself or joy again, and "Lost & Found" just poured out of me in less than an hour. Parts of it may sound more reflective than reactive, but if it does, it's only because writing it literally helped me process my grief in real time in a way that nothing else up to that point had been able to do. I really can't tell you how grateful I am to have found an outlet like that in songwriting.    You’ve built a global audience independently. What’s something fans assume about your journey that’s completely inaccurate? I think sometimes when people are just finding out about me or my music, they assume I'm a brand-new artist/songwriter who is just starting out. While I 100% still have SUCH a long way to go in my music career and have so many things I still want to accomplish, I have been singing since I could speak, writing since I was 12 (I'm 29 now), releasing music for 8 years, and working with my manager for the past 2. I'm not new to music, writing, or the music industry. I don't say all of that to mean I know everything about music or songwriting or this industry - I certainly do not, and I am ALWAYS learning and growing still with every new song I write and with every new artist/producer/cowriter/exec I get the incredible opportunity to meet. What I do mean to say, as a reminder to both fans and other aspiring artists/songwriters alike, is that my journey to this point, which again still has eons to go, has not happened overnight. I have been, in one way or another, working towards this all my life, and especially over the past 8 years, while still balancing a regular 9-5 day job. Some people get lucky with a viral TikTok video that catapults them and their music into the spotlight. Maybe that'll happen for me one day, but even if it never does, I'm so grateful for the sustained and growing support I've been able to cultivate over the past 8 years.  With your debut album on the way, are you more focused on telling a cohesive story or proving your versatility across genres? If I'm being honest, I don't really think my focus is on either of those things. In terms of spanning across genres, I don't really feel like I need to prove anything about myself. I'm not necessarily trying to make the most perfect, traditional "pop" music and then go make the most perfect, traditional "country" music and be perfect at every genre; rather, I am really just trying to make a point that genres are just labels, music can be comprised of elements from so many genres, and good music is good music no matter what genre someone calls it. At the heart of it really is me saying I don't really feel like I fit perfectly into any of these boxes, so I'm just choosing to be a part of them all, even if only in a small way. In terms of cohesive storytelling, my debut album, Welcome to My Brain , is truly a concept album about mental health and the way I think and the beliefs that have shaped me; I feel like I have introduced my fans to my heart through my previous releases, but now it's time to introduce everyone to my brain, and my brain is a messy (and not necessarily cohesive) place! This album really displays the duality and multifacetedness of how my brain works, and of life itself, with all its messiness and joy and grief and amazement and pride and exhaustion that can all exist at once. The songs that comprise this album span 10+ years of my life, having been written at various points in time between September 2015 and December 2025, so the only real through-plot here is life itself. But I think (read: hope) that's what will make the album relatable and what will provide comfort to listeners - because it's not a shiny, put-together story with a perfectly happy ending; there are some incredible parts and there are some immensely challenging parts, and it's all mushed together into this thing we call life.

kenzie just dropped an EP that feels like scrolling through your own thoughts at 2AM and realizing you don’t actually have control over any of it. notes from the in between  doesn’t play by traditional pop rules. There’s no clear arc, no emotional bow tied at the end. Instead, it sits in that uncomfortable space between who you were and who you’re becoming, and refuses to rush through it. Let’s call it out. Most pop projects still hand-feed listeners a narrative. Heartbreak, healing, glow-up, done. This EP rejects that completely. It leans into confusion, unresolved tension, and the kind of emotional limbo that actually defines your early twenties. Sonically, the project keeps things fluid. Minimal, moody production dominates, but there are flashes of energy that cut through just enough to keep it from sinking into monotony. It never feels overproduced. If anything, it feels intentionally exposed, like the music is leaving space for the emotion to sit front and center. Tracks like “mutual destruction” and “kleptomaniac” lean into moral grey zones, where attraction and self-sabotage blur together in ways that feel a little too real. Meanwhile, “sophie” anchors the project emotionally, grounding it in personal reflection without over-explaining itself. And then “where do we go” zooms out into something bigger, questioning what any of this even means when nothing feels permanent. Vocally, kenzie keeps it raw. There’s no over-polished perfection here. Her delivery feels fragile in a way that actually works, like she’s still figuring things out mid-song instead of presenting a finished version of herself. What makes this EP land is its refusal to fake growth. It doesn’t pretend to have answers. It doesn’t rush toward closure. It just exists in the mess.

obee isn’t trying to fit into electronic music right now, and honestly, that’s exactly why SODA hits as hard as it does. Let’s be real for a second. A lot of dance and hyperpop has started to feel like empty calories. Big drops, glossy hooks, zero substance. SODA flips that on its head immediately. This project actually has something to say, and more importantly, it knows how to make you feel it without killing the vibe. Built as a concept where each track acts like a different “flavor,” SODA could’ve easily turned gimmicky. It doesn’t. Instead, it becomes a full-on emotional spiral disguised as a club record. The production is loud, chaotic, euphoric, sometimes overwhelming, but always intentional. You can hear the DNA of Daft Punk and deadmau5 in the structure, but obee isn’t cosplaying nostalgia. He’s using it as a launchpad. “CURRENCY” is where things start to get uncomfortable in the best way. It taps into that obsessive, borderline toxic relationship people have with money right now. The chase, the dopamine, the crash. It’s not subtle, and it shouldn’t be. That’s the point. “PLACES” leans more introspective, cutting into the constant noise of being told how to live, what to want, who to be. It feels like scrolling your life away at 3AM and suddenly realizing none of it is actually yours. The production floats, but the message lands heavily. Then there’s “BLOODRUSHBABY,” which is basically sensory overload turned into a song. It’s chaotic, addictive, and self-aware enough to call itself out while still feeding into the rush. It’s one of the strongest moments on the project because it doesn’t pretend to be above the problem. It lives in it. “HIGHLIGHTS 2.0” pulls things back just enough to breathe, tapping into French house nostalgia while digging into something deeper. Memory versus reality. Coping versus clarity. It’s easily one of the most layered tracks here, and it proves obee isn’t just chasing energy, he’s building worlds. What makes SODA actually stick is the tension. The darker undertones never fully disappear, even when the production explodes into something euphoric. That push and pull is the entire point. It mirrors exactly what life feels like right now. Overstimulated, uncertain, chasing highs while quietly dealing with the lows. And that’s where obee separates himself. This isn’t escapism that ignores reality. It’s escapism that understands it. “I hope people feel free… I hope it moves people in some way,” obee says. You can hear that intention all over this project. Not in a preachy way, not in a forced “message,” but in the way these songs let you sit in your own chaos without judging it. SODA balances escapism with some pretty heavy themes like money, identity, and overstimulation. Do you see your music more as an escape from reality or a way to process it? I see it as both. I think both the listener and the artist look to music for escapism - it’s always been that way. Some sort of gateway to focus on different things, to dream, to give energy, to deal with current issues. This record was very much a healing process for me, and helped me process a lot of what I see, deal with, and think about daily. It’s also a dance record and very feel-good in its sound, and was a total escape for me during stressful moments. I wrote it with the intent to be listened to with different lenses, so it works as a record that just sounds good and feels good, and also something that can be dove into, and dissected in its lyrics and samples. I think the most powerful music does that. “CURRENCY” taps into that almost addictive relationship people have with money right now. What made you want to confront that cycle instead of just ignoring it like most dance records do? Haha YES - this question. This song’s semi-ironic because music’s a business, and at the end of the day, we’re pushing a product that sells. Usually, music that talks about boatloads of money is what sells and is what artists write about. Don’t get me wrong, I love making money. I just wanted to write about something that I think is on the back burner for a lot of people, even the ones who make loads of money. I think deep down we all get a little sick of the chase, and time and time come back to speaking out about truer reasons of living life. A lot of this record is written about the roots of stress, something I think is kind of an issue right now, and how it’s sort of led to a mentally ill capitalistic society where everyone’s really overzealous and driven by financial success. I love competition, and I think a lot of people do as well. I just think we glorify making money because we’ve given into the cycle a little bit, and I wanted to write something that counters that. I think if you asked a lot of kids, they’d shamelessly agree. I think if you asked a lot of adults, they’d counter out of defense. I also think a lot of pop and hip hop records write about this, so I wanted this song to sound like something you’d hear on the radio everywhere; it’s super upbeat. Oh, and I still get McDonald’s - a McDouble with ketchup and a big ahh Coke. A lot of your sound pulls from artists like Daft Punk and deadmau5, but it doesn’t feel nostalgic; it feels current. How do you keep inspiration from turning into imitation? Mmm - this is a constant battle. I mean, all art is pretty much an iteration of something else created before it. I think there’s a difference between paying homage and being a copycat completely. Not going to lie, for the start of my career, I was making music that sounded exactly like other people. I feel like it wasn’t until the last two years that I found my sound. With that said, certain styles and genres call for that, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. So many people still try to make music that sounds like Michael Jackson. For me, what’s worked is being cognizant of where my heart and mind are before I start something - so I’m not really thinking about any other artists or musicians. From there, I can sort of escape to a new ether, and then I let go. I think it’s something that takes practice. A lot of my lyrics on this record are about personal experience, things that I think a lot of people can relate to for sure, but also things that are really subject to me and my life and what I’ve been through. I think no matter what, when people listen to music, they naturally compare. Oh, this sounds like this artist, or this band, or something from this era. It’s just a natural phenomenon. When I was making this record, I knew I didn’t want to sound like anyone else. I had genres I wanted to pay homage to, but I had a lot in me that needed to get out, and that’s sort of what was driving the wheel behind SODA. “BLOODRUSHBABY” feels like controlled chaos. When you’re making something that intense, how do you know when to push it further versus when to pull it back? For sure - I like this question because the production on this one is pretty straightforward and simple; deep bass, pads, and drums. Ironically, this was the hardest one to mix and master… I digress. This one’s about myself, but also a reflection of everyone alive today. How we naturally seek thrills, rushes, and have addictions to something. If it’s not a substance, it’s love, it’s talking, it’s working out, it’s reading, writing, sex, making money - serotonin. Whether people admit it or not, it’s true. I just think there are different levels to it for people. I’ve struggled with substance abuse in the past; I’m sober besides nicotine and occasional alcohol now, but yeah, this is about that, and being a natural thrill seeker. I love heights, and have hit rock bottom so many times before, that even the lows kind of get me giddy a bit, because I know the process of pulling myself out of it so well. I tried not to cuss on this record and to really make it about what the waves of those rushes are like for me. How something’s really awesome for one second, then total hell the next. Then you pull yourself out and feel like a god, and your ego takes over. Then the next moment, you're looking for something else to get a rush on. Even when we find a balance and a constant, which I think is the goal, I think there’s still that process of give and take within that constant, if that makes sense. Obviously, not everyone has dealt with substance abuse, but I think everyone deals with this. This was sort of me admitting this part of me and freeing it through a song. I’ve come to be really conscious of my health and well-being, as much as I can, and I think that’s all we can really do. Life’s so awesome and filled with things that give us these surges, you have to give in a little and let yourself live. In the words of Mac Miller, “Oh, it’s not sad, baby!” You said you hope this project helps people feel free and break out of their shells. What does “freedom” actually look like for you right now, outside of the music? Man, hit me where it hurts! I mean, for me, it’s finding joy in the little things and being able to do what I do with no constraints. Spending time with my girlfriend is a big one - staying up late goofing off and having deep conversations, spilling tea and jabbering. Gaming, giving myself time to relax, and smoking my girlfriend in Mario Kart. Cooking really good food and trying new foods, taking time to skateboard, going to shows, walking around the apartment naked, wearing the clothes I want to wear, being adventurous, getting boba when I shouldn’t be spending money, things like that. Just freedom of the mind and heart is a big one, so I guess just doing as much as I can preserve that magic while spreading it.

Los Angeles pop artist Stefanie Michaela is stepping into a new chapter with her uplifting single “Let Me See the Real You,” a song centered on authenticity, vulnerability, and the courage it takes to truly show up in relationships. After years devoted to raising her family as a mother of five, including two sets of twins, Michaela returned to music with a renewed sense of purpose. That life experience now shapes the emotional core of her work, giving her songs a perspective rooted in growth, resilience, and self-discovery. “Let Me See the Real You” reflects that mindset. Built on polished pop production and soaring melodies, the track encourages listeners to drop the expectations, emotional walls, and carefully curated identities that often get in the way of real connection. Instead, Michaela leans into the idea that the most meaningful relationships come from showing up exactly as you are. The song was co-written with songwriter Nitanee Paris, whose collaborative perspective helped shape the track’s emotional depth. Together, they crafted a message that feels both personal and universal, exploring the quiet bravery required to let someone truly see you. Michaela’s music often sits at the intersection of inspiration and pop storytelling. On her recent EP Turning Pages, she works alongside respected producers and songwriters including Nash Overstreet, Keith Thomas, Steve Dorff, and Michael Jay, helping shape a sound that pairs emotional honesty with bright, accessible pop melodies. With “Let Me See the Real You,” Stefanie Michaela continues building music meant to resonate with listeners navigating their own turning points. The message is simple but powerful: it’s never too late to start living more honestly, and sometimes the bravest thing you can do is let the world see who you really are . You returned to music after raising a family of five. What moment made you realize it was time to pursue your music career again? After years of focusing on my family, it wasn’t just one moment—it was a quiet, persistent pull that kept growing. As my kids got older, I felt called back to the part of me that creates and expresses through music. I realized pursuing my passion wasn’t taking anything away from my family—it was showing them what it looks like to follow your dreams at any stage of life. “Let Me See the Real You” focuses on authenticity in relationships. What inspired the message behind this song? The song came from the idea that so many of us hide parts of who we are—out of fear, insecurity, or the need to be accepted. “Let Me See the Real You” is about breaking down those walls and allowing ourselves—and others—to be fully seen. It’s about real connection, where you’re not performing or hiding, but showing up as your true self. How did collaborating with songwriter Nitanee Paris shape the emotional direction of the track? Working with Nitanee was incredibly meaningful. She brings depth and honesty to everything she writes, which naturally shaped the emotional core of the song. We were aligned in wanting the message to feel empowering but real—never forced. She helped bring out a vulnerability that made the song feel both intimate and uplifting. Your music feels both inspirational and deeply personal. How do you balance storytelling with creating something universally relatable? It always starts from a real place—something I’ve felt, experienced, or observed. The more honest and specific you are, the more people connect. Even if someone hasn’t lived your exact story, they can feel the emotion. I write in a way that invites listeners in, while leaving space for them to see their own story in it. With Turning Pages representing a new chapter in your life, what do you hope listeners going through their own life transitions take away from your music? I hope it reminds people it’s never too late to begin again. Life moves in chapters, and sometimes the most unexpected ones become the most meaningful. Whether someone is navigating change or stepping into something new, I want my music to feel like encouragement—to trust the process, embrace growth, and believe something beautiful can come from turning the page.