“Unalive” by BAKSH isn’t subtle, and that’s exactly why it works. The track doesn’t try to package pain into something digestible or inspirational. It’s chaotic, heavy, and emotionally honest in a way that almost feels invasive at times. Listening to it feels less like hearing a polished single and more like overhearing a conversation not meant for you. At its core, the song plays out like an argument within himself. Multiple versions of BAKSH collide instead of forming one clean narrative. Anxiety pulls one direction, distraction pulls another, while something deeper sits underneath both. Rather than forcing clarity onto the emotion, he lets the tension exist in real time. Sonically, “Unalive” leans cinematic without abandoning its hip-hop foundation. The production feels spacious yet constantly on edge, like it’s holding something back the entire track. Piano melodies drift in and out, creating an eerie calm, while BAKSH’s vocal delivery cuts through with urgency. He doesn’t sound like he’s performing emotions. He sounds like he’s actively processing them while the song unfolds. That’s what separates “Unalive” from the wave of overly curated “mental health rap” dominating social media right now. This doesn’t feel manufactured for relatability. It’s messy, contradictory, uncomfortable, and deeply human. The song also ties into BAKSH’s larger “Tripolar” concept, where identity is split across multiple internal dimensions. It sounds abstract on paper, but the way he translates it emotionally is what makes it land. You don’t need to fully understand the philosophy to feel the conflict running through the track. The accompanying visuals push that idea even further, using division and fragmentation as metaphors for losing yourself and the people around you. Thankfully, it never turns preachy. It simply presents the emotional consequence and lets the weight of it sit there. What makes “Unalive” hit hardest is knowing it came from a real breaking point. You can hear that reality baked into every line and every pause. There’s no distance between the artist and the emotion. “Unalive” may not be an easy replay, but it’s incredibly difficult to forget. Honestly, to us, that matters more. You let different versions of yourself clash openly on this track. Was there ever a moment when you considered simplifying that narrative for the listener? I didn’t wish to simplify the narrative for the listener, instead I chose to believe in the audience to be intelligent, intuitive and expressive themselves (not to mention dramatic). Humans have layers, and some of those layers are primal. Music often inspires that layer of people who are primal, who respond to emotions when they listen to music about themes such as laugh, cry, love, sex, fight, fail, persevere, dance, abolish, demolish, jealousy, greed, etc. Problem is that the marketing of music is segmented by demographics, and if the music constantly only appeals to one layer of their primal instinct, and they “simplify the narrative” to do this effectively, the audience becomes less diverse and sadly also less accepting of music that speaks on wider topics, eventually leading to their communities exiling members for talking about specific topics in real life. As an artist, I chose to speak my mind freely, as I don’t write my lyrics; I produce a beat for the feeling, and then I record into a mic line by line if I must, therefore my language is more spoken word than written rap sometimes, which makes it digestible to the audience, however my themes will always be multi-layered, like humans. The idea of “Tripolar” reframes how people think about identity. What’s one misconception about mental health that you think this project directly challenges? The misconception this directly challenges is the label of illness on people who have constant polar opposite thoughts, feelings, and reactions, or those who “talk to themselves”; it instead suggests self-consultancy and giving room for both sides to exist, which is a far healthier and more realistic outcome than trying to feel just one of them. Every human is multipolar, which means they can feel different things, be different people (some people do things online they would NEVER do in real life, but part of their nature exists there). The goal is to understand our two selves and be the third self to keep ourselves in check. The way it happens is through self-awareness. I was clinically diagnosed with anxiety and adhd, but now I know that one side is the depression that sees the world and my own traumas and things I can’t control and breaks, then the 3. 4. adhd kicks in to be like “nah man don’t look at that look at these things that are cool infront of us right now”…granted when I do focus on those cool things infant of me like music, I get distracted every 20 seconds with random thoughts running up and down the stairs haha; but the point is they both work in tandem to protect me, one tells me threat that is very real, and one tells me diversion strategy, and if I can let both sides exist, the side that choses to balance both becomes the new boss; the third side only wants balance. The idea is to accept yourself, don’t be one thing over the other, be both, and understand both. You blend cinematic elements with raw hip-hop delivery. What’s one production choice that made the song feel more real instead of more polished? One production choice was mixing the final version of the song in surround sound instead of stereo through Dolby Atmos. Music is designed for stereo left and right, but a lot of new equipment is being coded to handle Spatial Audio. And as for me personally, the sounds of the real world are happening spherically around me, so to capture the essence of sound in the natural world in music means, every word every drum line every bass line has an impact that feels like you’re inside the song, not listening to it…the lyrics doesn’t sound like your’e hearing them, it sounds like you’re speaking them, from the stomach. And as a mixing engineer, the final version in surround, the right way, gives a lot of room, so the distortions that may happen in stereo will not happen in surround mixes. There’s a fine line between honesty and overwhelming the listener. How do you decide how far to push before it becomes too much? There’s a fine line between honesty and overwhelming the listener. How do you decide how far to push before it becomes too much? This is a real problem. I have tried to control this force before, but it doesn’t work too well for me. I am usually at an emotional point of overwhelm; therefore, the people who listen to me and understand usually come from that place of being overwhelmed as it is. Now, for capturing a new audience, with these themes alone, I have had multiple reviews about my songs, making them feel dreadful. It wasn’t the intention, however, as an artist, I can only make people feel what they feel may be personal to them. I am trusting the audience to decide what they like and skip over what they don’t, rather than forcefully supporting an artist because everyone tells them to, while making millions talking about how they’re so much better than everyone. A lot of mainstream artists use that theme, to create favouritism amongst audience and move chart metrics by creating competition, but when rappers say I am better than “YOU” in a song they’re probably thinking about one competing artist in their head…but the listener takes it as, Oh he is better than me I guess, which causes the bully syndrome, where they find someone else to make em feel that way. I don’t do that in my music. It has been carefully crafted to make people hopeful and inclusive, while also showing them healthy expressions of fire and darkness…so if I, as an artist, can exist in the music space, then I am grateful because it’s not about me; it will show that art, artists, and audiences have evolved. I don’t want or need the credit nor the blame, to inspire nor overwhelm. Thematically, my music may have depth, but to make it easy for the listener, I make it melodic and musical, with tones and words to inspire, but also, I reduce frequencies I have researched, such as 250Hz and 111Hz, linearly, as I have primarily tested them to cause anxiety within the self. Usually, a lot of music causes aggression due to spikes in these low frequencies, which become prevalent during concerts, so if some songs rile the crowd up too much, it may be someone messing with frequencies that are harmful. I believe in ethics, I'll tell dark stories, my life was dark AF, but I learned to live and love and create through the darkness, and that is what I intend to project to the audience; not just trauma, but healing. When someone hears this song at their lowest point, what do you want it to interrupt in their thinking right then? At someone’s lowest, the problem is they feel alone, exiled, and isolated. From personal experience these are the thoughts that come to mind If I died, others life would be better Non existence would be better than living in this cycle When I’m gone they will realize what they lost / When I’m gone everyone that knows me will move on My debts will be forgiven if I die (this is dangerous due to binding impulse to logic) I want it to directly interrupt their thoughts of wanting to unalive themselves from the title and know they’re not alone. Then from the first line of the song, “Is it god or is science the truth? I do not look for the proof, I rather believe in real s*** like the systematic destruction of youth. which actually absolves them, saying a lot of the things you’re feeling are due to systemic socio-economic failures that the youth invading you from a younger you have been put through. THEN, the second line is supposed to bring those two parts of themselves that are divided between the nouns “life” or “death” together, and translate the language into a verb for “live” and “die”…the line is as follows “I might wanna die, but I don’t wanna kill, sometimes I’m divided by two”…translating the nouns of life/death to the verb of live/die creates space for Action based thought, which tells them they have the control and choice over their actions, returning the power to them. The goal is to interrupt the pattern that is mentally draining, feeling bad for themselves and about themselves, and instead help them to understand that even if someone else did this to provoke us, the choice to act on being provoked is on us; so if we can understand that we didn’t cause the problem yet we ARE part of the problem…it makes us immediately part of the solution. My hope is that this will return the power to the listener, who may have had it taken away from them by some other force.

Touring life means long days and nights on the road. Many artists forget that daytime hours pose a real threat to their health. Outdoor stages and load-ins put you directly under the sun for hours. Staying safe requires a smart plan to avoid painful burns and long-term skin damage. Mastering The Load In Process Loading gear into a venue takes a lot of time and effort. High-quality clothes, like Men’s Long Sleeve Sun Protection Shirts, offer a shield against harsh rays as you work. Quality garments help manage heat so you do not overheat before the set begins. Find a shady spot to stack your road cases whenever possible. Standing in direct light for hours drains your energy quickly. It makes the physical work much harder on your body than it needs to be. Keep a cold water bottle nearby to stay hydrated during the heavy lifting. Heat exhaustion hits fast when you are moving heavy amps. Take short breaks in the shade to let your heart rate settle down. Understanding Skin Health Trends Younger generations of performers are seeing a rise in skin issues. An article noted that nearly 50% of Gen Z and millennials experienced sunburns. The trend shows why protecting your skin is more than just a suggestion for modern artists. Burned skin makes it hard to wear stage costumes or move freely. Painful blisters can distract you from your performance during the show. No musician wants to deal with a peeling face in front of a large crowd of fans. Many roadies and musicians ignore the risks until they see permanent damage. Start a routine now to keep your career going for years. Healthy skin is a part of maintaining your professional image on and off the stage. Picking The Best Fabrics For Outdoor Stages Standard clothing does not always block the light effectively. A separate study found that UPF 50 garments allow only 2% of UV rays to reach the skin. Protection is much higher than what a normal thin cotton tee provides on a hot day. Choosing the right materials involves looking for specific ratings: Check for a UPF 50 rating on the tag. Look for moisture-wicking properties to stay dry. Select lightweight knits that allow for airflow. Choose dark or bright colors for better defense. Cotton shirts often have a very low rating of 5 to 7. This means most of the harmful rays go straight through the fabric. It is like not wearing anything at all for protection from the elements. Avoiding Peak Intensity Hours The timing of your soundcheck or festival slot matters a lot. One report explains that workers exposed to sunlight between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. face the highest risk of UV-induced DNA mutations. Sunlight during this window is much more powerful and dangerous. Try to schedule your outdoor setup for early morning or late afternoon. If you must be out at noon, seek cover under the stage roof. Using the architecture of the venue can save you from a nasty burn. UV rays are strongest when the sun is directly overhead. Use this time to rest inside the tour bus or a green room. Staying out of the heat helps preserve your voice and energy for the performance tonight. Strategic Use Of Sunscreen And Hats Some skin remains exposed to the elements even with good clothing. Apply a high SPF cream to your face and neck before heading out. Reapply the lotion every few hours if you are sweating under the lights or moving heavy gear. A wide-brimmed hat protects your scalp and ears from burning. Many musicians forget these spots when they are focused on their instruments. Lip balm with sun protection is another helpful tool for singers. Cracked lips make it difficult to hit those high notes during the bridge. Keep a stick in your pocket for quick use throughout the day. Creating A Safety Kit For The Road Keeping your gear organized makes it easier to stay protected daily. Put your sunblock and extra shirts in a dedicated bag near the van door. It keeps your safety tools within reach during every stop on the tour route. Ask your tour manager to include shade structures in the contract rider. Having a tent over the merch table helps the crew stay cool. It prevents your physical media and vinyl from warping in the summer heat. Encourage your bandmates to follow the same safety rules on every tour. Staying healthy together keeps the show on the road without any delays. A full band of healthy players delivers a much better performance for the audience. Protecting your skin is a part of being a professional musician. Taking small steps today prevents major health problems in the future. Stay cool and covered so you can focus on the music. Your fans want to see you healthy and performing for many years.

There’s something almost painfully sincere about “Starlight Fever,” and honestly, that’s either going to completely pull people in or make them uncomfortable. In a music landscape where everybody’s hiding behind irony, aesthetic branding, or detached one-liners about heartbreak, Isaiah Angel Hubbird goes in the exact opposite direction. No emotional armor. No pretending to be unbothered. Just raw feeling from beginning to end. Weirdly enough, that’s exactly what makes this album work. “Starlight Fever” unfolds like an emotional timeline documenting the rise, collapse, and aftermath of a relationship. But instead of framing love through toxicity or revenge-fantasy songwriting, Hubbird focuses on something much more human: attachment. The desperate, confusing, all-consuming kind that lingers even when both people already know things are falling apart. The album opens with “Butterflies” and “Fire in the Distance,” two tracks that capture the almost delusional optimism of early love. The songwriting leans heavily into warmth, softness, and idealization. Lyrics like “Every moment we share feels like a secret meant for two” feel innocent in a way modern music almost seems embarrassed by now. That innocence slowly begins unraveling as the album progresses. “How I Feel” captures the anxiety of emotional vulnerability with surprisingly effective simplicity. There’s no complicated metaphor hiding the emotion. The song is literally about not having the courage to tell someone you love them, and that straightforward honesty gives it weight. Hubbird’s songwriting works best when he stops trying to sound poetic and just says exactly what hurts. By the middle of the project, tracks like “I Am Dead (Without You),” “Jump Right In,” and “Dreams Of You” spiral through obsession, denial, grief, and emotional dependency in ways that feel uncomfortably real. “If loving you’s a free fall, I jump right in” stands out as one of the album’s most self-aware moments because it fully acknowledges the danger while surrendering to it anyway. What makes “Starlight Fever” compelling isn’t technical perfection. It’s emotional consistency. The album never feels like it’s chasing a hit or trying to reinvent acoustic singer-songwriter music. Instead, Hubbird commits fully to documenting emotional aftermath as honestly as possible, even when that honesty becomes repetitive, messy, or self-destructive. Ironically, that repetition strengthens the album’s realism because heartbreak itself is repetitive. Toward the end of the album, songs like “The Mess We’ve Become,” “Stability,” and the title track begin shifting toward reflection instead of desperation. Not perfect closure. Not cinematic healing. Just exhaustion slowly turning into acceptance. “Starlight Fever” feels less like a polished commercial release and more like emotional documentation. It’s vulnerable, messy, occasionally overwhelming, and deeply earnest in a way most artists are too afraid to be now. Isaiah Angel Hubbird may not be making music for the algorithm, but he is making music that people with real emotional scars will probably sit with longer than they expect. A lot of artists romanticize heartbreak after the fact, but “Starlight Fever” feels like it was written while still emotionally trapped inside it. Were there moments making this album where revisiting those feelings actually became unhealthy for you? Making this album definitely forced me to sit with emotions I probably would have avoided otherwise. There were nights when replaying certain memories over and over stopped feeling creative and started feeling self-destructive. I think that’s why the album sounds so raw, because I wasn’t writing from hindsight; I was still in the middle of it emotionally. At the same time, music became the only way I could make sense of what I was feeling without completely shutting down. Looking back now, I had to learn where honesty ends and where emotional self-harm begins. Songs like “Jump Right In” openly acknowledge toxic patterns while still emotionally surrendering to them. Do you think self-awareness actually helps people escape unhealthy relationships, or does it sometimes just make the pain easier to justify? I think self-awareness is complicated because sometimes you can know exactly what’s hurting you and still not be ready to walk away from it. “Jump Right In” was me admitting that contradiction out loud instead of pretending I had it all figured out. There’s a line in the song where I say, “Every red flag feels like déjà vu again,” and that really sums up the cycle of recognizing the damage while still emotionally chasing the connection. I think awareness is the first step, but it does not automatically heal you. Sometimes it just makes you painfully aware of the choices you keep making. Modern music culture rewards emotional detachment and “coolness,” but this album is extremely sincere and emotionally exposed. Were you ever tempted to hold parts of yourself back to avoid seeming too vulnerable? Honestly, yeah, there were moments where I wondered if I was revealing too much. A lot of music right now leans into being emotionally untouchable, and this album does the opposite of that. But I realized pretty quickly that if I started filtering the uncomfortable parts, the album would lose what made it real. I wanted these songs to sound like actual late-night thoughts, not polished versions of pain. Vulnerability can feel risky, but I think people connect more deeply when they can tell you are telling the truth. “Stability” feels bigger than heartbreak and starts touching identity, burnout, and mental exhaustion. Did this relationship change who you were outside of romance, too? Absolutely. The relationship affected way more than just romance for me; it started changing the way I saw myself and the way I moved through everyday life. “Stability” came from feeling mentally exhausted and disconnected from the version of myself I used to recognize. Lines like “Where is my youth, I’m missing the torch” were really about feeling burnt out emotionally and creatively at the same time. I think heartbreak can slowly bleed into your confidence, your energy, and even your sense of identity if you stay inside it long enough. That song was me trying to hold onto myself while feeling like parts of me were slipping away. The album ends more with acceptance than closure. Do you personally believe people ever fully move on from relationships that deeply shape them, or do they just learn how to carry the memories differently? I do not think you fully erase relationships that genuinely change you. I think some people leave fingerprints on your life that stay there no matter how much time passes. For me, acceptance feels less like forgetting and more like learning how to carry those memories without letting them control you anymore. That’s why the album ends the way it does, because life rarely gives you perfect closure. Sometimes healing is just reaching a point where the memories stop feeling heavier than you are.

Latina Bohemian’s latest single “BLACK LEATHER” is an emotionally charged EDM release that dives deep into themes of inner conflict, longing, faith, and personal healing. Rather than creating a typical dance track focused purely on escapism, Bohemian uses electronic production as a backdrop for emotional reflection, encouraging listeners to confront uncomfortable feelings instead of suppressing them. Another independent release, “BLACK LEATHER” showcases clear artistic growth. Following her debut musical poem “HEALING POETRY,” Bohemian steps further into experimental territory by blending atmospheric dance production with poetic storytelling and spiritual undertones. The song explores the emotional storms people silently battle while trying to navigate trust, pain, and self-discovery. Known for her intellectual and abstract creative style, Latina Bohemian draws influence from pop, R&B/soul, abstract art, and humanity itself. That fusion gives “BLACK LEATHER” a unique identity that feels both cinematic and deeply personal. Her willingness to combine genres and ideas freely allows the record to stand apart from more formulaic electronic releases. “It’s okay to process uncomfortable feelings; there’s inspiration in grievance,” says Bohemian — a statement that perfectly captures the emotional core of the release. “BLACK LEATHER” is not just a dance track; it’s a reminder that healing often begins by facing what hurts.

Most “genre-bending” albums today just sound confused. 'Goddess from the Machine' sounds intentional. Ashavari uses genre like emotional architecture, turning every sonic shift into part of a larger psychological collapse and rebirth. There’s a reason so much modern pop music feels emotionally hollow right now. A lot of artists aestheticize pain without actually interrogating it. Trauma becomes branding. Vulnerability becomes marketing language. Ashavari’s “Goddess from the Machine” rejects that approach entirely. This isn’t an album performing darkness for attention. It feels like somebody is building an entire sonic universe out of survival itself. From the opening track “Welcome to the Opera,” Ashavari makes it clear this project isn’t meant to be consumed passively. The album unfolds like a cinematic descent into psychological fragmentation, where every genre choice acts as emotional vocabulary instead of random experimentation. Alternative rap becomes rage. Shoegaze and grunge become emotional paralysis. Ethereal R&B becomes reflection and dissociation. Drum and bass becomes escape velocity. That discipline is what separates “Goddess from the Machine” from the endless wave of interchangeable alt-pop releases flooding streaming platforms. Tracks like “Freakshow,” “Hung by the Ribbon,” and “I Wish I Was A.I.” hit especially hard because they don’t just describe trauma. They sonically simulate it. The glitch-heavy production on “I Wish I Was A.I.” mirrors dissociation in real time, while “Hung by the Ribbon” transforms romantic imagery into something unsettling and claustrophobic. Despite how heavy the subject matter gets, the album never collapses under its own darkness. The central metaphor of the “Machine” representing destructive systems, while the “Goddess” symbolizes reclamation and survival, gives the project emotional direction instead of letting it spiral into hopelessness. Musically, the influences are fascinating. You can hear flashes of gothic rock, experimental pop, trip-hop, industrial textures, and modern alternative rap production all colliding together. Somehow, Ashavari makes it coexist without losing cohesion, which is not easy when a project takes this many risks. By the time “Glitter in the Dark” closes the album with fragile optimism and explosive energy, the emotional shift feels earned. “Goddess from the Machine” isn’t easy listening, but that’s exactly why it works. It’s immersive, psychologically heavy, sonically fearless, and deeply intentional from beginning to end. 'Goddess from the Machine' doesn’t use genre as aesthetic decoration. It uses genre almost like emotional psychology. At what point did you realize different sounds could communicate trauma and dissociation more effectively than words alone? I think this came pretty naturally to me because different genres of music anchored me in different times of my life. I’ve always listened to multiple genres, and like most people, I make various playlists based on how I feel. At some point in the creation of GFTM, I created a playlist of songs I love and feel inspired by. Later on, I split up this playlist to represent different parts of myself. For this particular message and story, which I wanted to get out for a long time, I decided to lean into the darker sounds, while also drawing from the whimsical and theatrical to explore themes of introspection, reflection, and growth. A lot of artists talk about “healing” in very vague or marketable ways, but this album feels brutally specific about PTSD, dissociation, and survival responses. Was there ever fear around making something this emotionally exposing? I actually don’t feel exposed talking about my cPTSD because I think breaking the silence & destigmatizing mental health is incredibly important. I’ve been open about it for years, and so I think the idea that it’s “too private” to talk about can often reinforce the stigma. For me, making art like this is empowering. The songs are crafted to be bangers for a reason. Some of the songs that make the loudest statements are also the ones getting radio play. Just last week, the lead single Angels Weep at Night aired on CBC Music Radio and was featured in a piece for Asian Heritage Month. I think it’s beautiful that my message reached people through music. Art gives shape to emotions and experiences that can otherwise feel impossible to articulate, so I love how it can transmute pain into something beautiful and greater than myself. I’ve always felt deeply witnessed by artists who are emotionally raw in their work, artists like Evanescence, DPR IAN, or FKA Twigs. So in the same way, I hope people listening to Goddess from the Machine feel seen, or that it offers a lens for more empathy and nuanced understanding. The real fear for me is in being perceived. It’s not knowing how people will interpret the album or judge me through it. Being recognized for something this vulnerable can definitely feel terrifying, but the message and values behind it matter more to me than that fear. I mean, I literally have “burn fear” tattooed across my knuckles, haha! The “Machine” metaphor feels much bigger than one relationship or personal experience. Were you intentionally trying to critique larger systems around abuse, silence, and victim-blaming within society, too? Absolutely. As a survivor of both IPV & SA, I’ve had to navigate this a lot in my life. I would say it’s a core theme in my art, so I’m happy you picked up on that! You’ve described yourself as a world-building artist, and this project genuinely feels cinematic. Do you see “Goddess from the Machine” more as an album or almost like a psychological universe people are stepping inside? Ooh i love this question!! Before it was an album, I had the narrative already mapped out, down to the emotional journey with characters, climax, and resolution. In January 2024, I was deeply inspired by Studio Ghibli films in all their whimsical world-building and felt the wave of creative energy hit me to concept the entire tracklist of what GFTM would become. See, I love anime in general, and you’ll find that a lot of anime aesthetics have appeared in my art since my first EP. I love the idea of songs being like episodes in my own anime, with albums & EPs being like seasons, and singles being like the special screenings or filler episodes from different chapters, or eras. This cinematic approach was very intentional, partly because it’s fun and partly because it helped me set some boundaries when writing about this. These boundaries helped me create some space between my real-world experiences and the crux of what I want to share, to avoid re-traumatizing myself, but still show up authentic and raw. I wrote this project from a healed place, where I was able to reflect on my past trauma and understand what I went through without blame and shame. Because of this, I was able to make parallels and use metaphors for my experiences inspired by Phantom of the Opera, Ex Machina, Blade Runner, Gone Girl, and Alice in Wonderland. So while the listener definitely steps into the psychological universe of Goddess from the Machine, at the same time, each song can be enjoyed on its own, as part of an album. I like to think that there’s a little something for everyone. You can choose to engage with the concept and narrative if you want, but you can also just vibe out and interpret each track how you want. As a South Asian woman making dark, experimental alternative music, do you feel like you’ve had to fight against expectations of what people think artists who look like you are “supposed” to sound or behave like? Yes, for sure! I think it’s amazing that South Asian music in general is popping off right now, and with that comes a lot of new categories in music that people in the diaspora are absolutely thrilled to see! We deserve this representation and love on the global stage. But with that, there is a tendency for industry to place us in boxes or reduce us to certain stereotypes & specific definitions that we don’t all identify with. We are not a monolith, and we never have been. We share overlapping struggles and a lack of representation, but we all have widely different experiences and upbringings. I occupy a very transnational space in terms of my identity. I moved from Mumbai to the suburbs of Toronto as a child after completing part of my early schooling in India, so I have vivid memories of that time, and that’s also where I first started singing, performing, and learning piano. After moving to Canada, I grew up fully immersed in Canadian culture, like the local radio, TV, and shared cultural references with my peers, so my identity has always existed across both worlds. So it’s interesting. I have this unique set of experiences that’s different from other South Asian creatives, but I’ve also met other alternative South Asian creatives, and I think there’s a huge opportunity here for us to take up space and show the world that we exist too and that our unique experiences matter.

There’s something refreshing about an artist willing to stare directly into the messier parts of being human instead of polishing them into something easier to consume. Emily Brooks does exactly that on “Black Cat,” a track that feels less like a performance and more like an emotional unraveling happening in real time. The Los Angeles-based alt-rock artist dives into themes of rebellion, desire, shame, rage, and transformation, creating a song that’s gritty enough to leave bruises but vulnerable enough to actually mean something underneath the noise. “Black Cat” fully embraces the energy society has historically labeled “too much” in women: emotional, seductive, angry, loud, and unpredictable. Instead of apologizing for it, Brooks turns it into power. Using the black cat as both metaphor and alter ego, Brooks reclaims the symbolism of something misunderstood and demonized, transforming it into an anthem for outsiders and emotionally chaotic people still trying to unlearn the idea that authenticity has to be digestible. “Black Cat” feels cinematic without sounding overproduced. The track pulls from alt-rock, garage rock, blues, and darker pop textures, creating a soundscape that feels like neon lights reflecting off wet pavement after midnight. It’s messy, seductive, and emotionally unstable in the best way possible. Brooks’ vocal performance carries the emotional weight of the track effortlessly. One second, she sounds fully in control, the next like she’s about to combust. That tension gives “Black Cat” its pulse and keeps the song from settling into one emotional lane for too long. What separates Emily Brooks from many artists operating in this darker alt space is that the aesthetic never overshadows the humanity. Nothing about “Black Cat” feels manufactured for internet cool points. There’s lived emotion underneath every second of it, and that’s exactly why the song lingers long after it ends. “Black Cat” feels deeply personal while still sounding massive and cinematic. Was writing this song emotionally freeing for you, or did it force you to confront parts of yourself you were still struggling with? Thank you! Honestly, it was both. Writing “Black Cat” felt incredibly emotionally freeing, but it also forced me to confront how disconnected I had become from parts of myself while chasing my goals. I’m such a workhorse with music that I had sacrificed a lot of my social life to focus on surviving in Los Angeles and becoming better at my craft, and at the time, I was really craving deeper human connection and more excitement in my life. I think the song became an outlet for the parts of me that refused to stay small, numb, or emotionally disconnected anymore. You talk a lot about embracing the parts of ourselves we were taught to hide. Growing up, what was something about yourself that you felt pressured to suppress? Growing up in the Catholic school system, I felt pressure to suppress a lot of who I naturally was. I was colorful, emotional, creative, and very ADHD, and instead of being understood, I was labeled a ‘bad kid’ from a really young age. When you hear that enough as a child, it starts to shape your psyche and the way you see yourself. I also grew up bisexual at a time when those conversations weren’t really happening openly at all, especially in religious environments, so even though I knew I felt different, I didn’t fully understand what I was feeling yet. There was definitely a sense that parts of me were something to hide or be ashamed of. I think a lot of my music now comes from reclaiming those parts of myself instead of apologizing for them. There’s a really raw tension in the song between confidence and emotional unraveling. Do you think creating music has helped you become more comfortable with chaos in your own life? Definitely! Creating music has helped me understand myself so much better; it helps me process and unravel my emotions in real time. I’ve always felt things very deeply and intensely, and for a long time, I almost felt bad for experiencing life that way. Music gives me a place to channel all of that energy, the chaos, the beauty, the pain, into something meaningful, and it honestly feels magical sometimes. It’s like I feel things this deeply for a reason: not just for my own healing, but hopefully to help other people accept the messy, emotional, beautifully human parts of themselves too. The visual world around “Black Cat” feels incredibly intentional and immersive. When you’re building a release like this, do the visuals come first for you or does the emotional feeling of the song lead everything? The emotional feeling always leads me to the visuals. For me, the music creates the world first; the visuals are almost an extension of the emotional energy of the song. I’m very cinematic in the way I experience music, so when I’m creating something like “Black Cat,” I start seeing colors, textures, characters, symbols, and scenes almost immediately. I never want visuals to just look aesthetically cool; I want them to feel like they’re pulling you deeper into the emotional and psychological world of the song. “Black Cat” feels like an anthem for outsiders and wild-hearted people trying to reclaim themselves. What do you hope fans emotionally feel when they hear this song live for the first time? I hope they feel excited about the parts of themselves they’ve been taught to feel shame around. I hope the song makes people feel free, inspired, alive, like they don’t have to fit neatly into a box to be worthy of love or connection. “Black Cat” is really about reclaiming the wild, emotional, untamed parts of yourself instead of hiding them, so more than anything, I hope people leave feeling more empowered to fully be who they are.

“Runaway Baby” feels like the kind of song that makes you want to disappear for a weekend with your phone off, gas tank full, and absolutely zero long-term planning. There’s something extremely refreshing about a song that knows exactly what it wants to be. “Runaway Baby” by The Star Prairie Project doesn’t try to reinvent Americana, force itself into modern pop trends, or fake emotional depth for streaming playlists. It just leans fully into melody, storytelling, and vibe, and honestly, that confidence is what makes the track work so well. The song carries this sun-faded Southern California energy straight out of a 1960s roadside fantasy, but it never feels trapped in nostalgia cosplay. Instead, “Runaway Baby” sounds like two artists genuinely obsessed with the craft of timeless songwriting. You can hear it in the layered harmonies, the guitar work, and especially the playful lyrical double meanings woven throughout the track. At its core, the song plays with the idea of the “runaway” as both a girl and a car, constantly blurring the line between the two. It’s slick, tongue-in-cheek writing without sounding corny, which is honestly harder to pull off than people think. A lot of retro-inspired music today mistakes aesthetics for substance. “Runaway Baby” actually understands the mechanics behind what made those classic records feel alive in the first place. The chemistry between Tom Tikka and Nolen Chew Jr. is probably the biggest reason this release lands so naturally. According to the story behind the track, the collaboration was originally only supposed to produce a couple of songs before evolving into an entire album together. That creative momentum is all over this record. Nothing about it sounds forced or overthought. And honestly, the timing couldn’t be better. Music right now feels weirdly overprocessed emotionally. Every song either wants to devastate you psychologically or become a 15-second TikTok audio trend. “Runaway Baby” cuts through all of that by simply being fun. Not shallow. Not empty. Fun. There’s a difference. The Beach Boys-style harmonies during the outro especially deserve attention because they completely transform the final stretch of the song into something euphoric and weirdly cinematic. It’s the kind of ending that lingers in your head long after the track finishes, which is probably why the duo themselves described it as a “parting gift.” What also stands out is how lived-in the whole thing feels. Even though the song has this polished summertime glow, there’s still looseness underneath it. You can almost picture the recording sessions happening naturally instead of being hyper-engineered to death. Bottom line: “Runaway Baby” feels like proof that great songwriting still wins when artists stop chasing trends and trust chemistry instead. The Star Prairie Project aren’t trying to sound cool here. Ironically, that’s exactly why they do. “Runaway Baby” feels intentionally nostalgic without sounding stuck in the past. What do you think modern music is missing emotionally that older Americana and California records seemed to understand naturally? Nolen: “Runaway Baby” is naturally nostalgic. Car songs don’t seem to be much of a thing these days. I remember my older brother had an early 70s Firebird. He’d tear that engine down and put it together again. I can still hear that growl when the engine would catch. That car was an extension of his personality; he loved it. I remember a time my sister-in-law took it for a joy ride, and my brother was apoplectic! Nostalgic music seems to key on memories of past emotional events. Today is a time of emotional numbness and burnout. Since 911 it seems there’s one emotionally jarring event after another, and since COVID, it only seems worse. But for me, when I’m the most frazzled, it's the time when I turn to music and crank it up! The song plays with this double meaning, where the “runaway” feels like both a girl and a car at the same time. Was that metaphor planned from the beginning, or did the song naturally evolve into that world as you were writing it? Nolen: Tom came up with the “Runaway Baby’ line, and when I started to write the lyrics for the chorus and subsequent verses, the double meaning came immediately. I love to employ that double entendre technique in the song lyrics from time to time. I was influenced early on by the songwriting of Lennon and McCartney, and they loved to have fun in their lyrics, and so it’s sort of rubbed off on my own songwriting. In the case of “Runaway Baby,” the double meaning applied to the car and the girl works really well. I love the cover art for the song with the woman driving the cherry red sports car out in the wide open. It’s classic! You originally planned to write only a couple songs together before it unexpectedly became a full collaborative project. At what moment did you realize the chemistry between you creatively was bigger than a one-off collaboration? Nolen: Right away, actually. The first song we wrote together was ‘California Smile,” and we cranked out nine more songs pretty much back to back. The pace at which the songs were coming together was amazing. We had five or six songs on a demo tape in just a few weeks, so we decided just to press ahead and do a ten-song album. Tom just sent me a melody arrangement for an eleventh song that I’m roughing out lyrics for right now. Writing songs isn’t automatic. I just finished a song I was playing with for a couple of months. Rarely do songs fly off your pen the way our collaboration came together. It’s very thrilling as a songwriter and artist to feel such creativity explode. The album is full of high-quality work without a single filler song in the bunch. We are excited about finishing the album and releasing it soon. It is something for our fans and listeners to look forward to. There’s a looseness and fun to “Runaway Baby” that feels rare right now because so much music sounds overly optimized for algorithms. Do you think artists are overthinking music too much today instead of trusting their feelings and instincts? Nolen: Yes, definitely. Many artists are overthinking it. I think trying to write music to please an algorithm is a fool's errand. I’ve never followed trends or fads. Good music is enduring. Just follow your heart and artistic instinct, and things will fall into place by themselves. If it doesn’t, then it was never meant to be. When things are flowing, creative thinking often gets in the way. “Runaway Baby” was such a fun song to write with Tom because it came together effortlessly. I know when Tom came up with the outro harmonies, he wasn’t thinking about the algorithms. The outro harmonies are one of the strongest moments on the track and leave a lingering emotional rush after the song ends. Why do you think harmony-driven songwriting has become less common in modern music, even though people clearly still connect to it emotionally? Nolen: I think musical trends come and go in the music industry. I think personal influences and preferences come into play, too. I personally grew up listening to the Beatles and later in the 70s, the Eagles. Both of these bands really excelled at harmony-driven songs. They have influenced my songwriting personally. I agree that Tom’s outro vocals on “Runaway Baby” are some of the highlights of the song. I was thrilled the first time I heard the ending. I thought the song was great, the way it was, but that ending, wow, it’s the icing on the cake.

There’s a lot of electronic music trying to sound “ethereal” right now, but most of it feels like somebody threw reverb on a synth and called it a spiritual experience. Tiger Fist Ocular’s “Illumination” actually commits to the vision. The track doesn’t just flirt with fantasy aesthetics; it fully builds a world around them. From the opening moments, “Illumination” feels weightless and explosive at the same time. Delicate textures float across the production before the bass crashes in and completely shifts the energy. It’s cinematic without becoming bloated, chaotic without losing control. That balance is what makes the track hit so hard. What stands out most is Tiger Fist Ocular’s refusal to play it safe. “Illumination” constantly evolves, layering shimmering synth work with darker, club-ready percussion that feels massive through headphones or speakers. There’s an almost theatrical energy to the production, like stepping into a neon-lit fantasy universe where every drop feels designed to pull you deeper into it. The song also carries the kind of confidence many emerging EDM artists spend years trying to develop. Instead of chasing trends, Tiger Fist Ocular sounds fully immersed in her own artistic identity. You can hear traces of underground rave culture, fantasy-inspired aesthetics, and mainstream festival ambition colliding all at once, but none of it feels forced. At its core, “Illumination” is a track about escape. Not passive escapism, but the kind that makes you feel louder, freer, and more untouchable for a few minutes. It’s immersive, high-energy, and genuinely unpredictable in a genre that often rewards repetition. Tiger Fist Ocular isn’t just making electronic music. She’s building an atmosphere around it, and “Illumination” proves she knows exactly how to pull listeners into her universe.

WINACHI have always existed in that weird sweet spot where indie rock, funk, psychedelia, and northern UK swagger all crash into each other without sounding forced. On paper, that combination should honestly be a mess. But on “STATE OF MIND,” they somehow make it hit with the kind of confidence most bands spend entire careers chasing. The track feels like the musical equivalent of dragging yourself through emotional burnout while still trying to dance through it anyway. That’s what makes it work. There’s pain in this song, but it refuses to sit around crying for itself. Instead, WINACHI weaponizes groove, attitude, and nostalgia into something that feels genuinely human. Liam Croker’s vocal performance carries a lot of that weight. He doesn’t oversing or force emotion down your throat. There’s this lived-in exhaustion underneath his delivery that actually sells the message. When the chorus lands with “it’s all just a state of mind,” it doesn’t sound like some motivational Instagram quote your aunt reposts after yoga class. It sounds earned. Musically, this is one of the band’s heavier and more focused releases. The bassline punches harder, the drums feel bigger, and the guitars finally lean into a grittier edge without sacrificing the groove WINACHI are known for. You can hear traces of Madchester all over this thing, but it’s filtered through modern production and flashes of G-funk soul that give it its own identity. The 90s-inspired piano sections especially hit different. They inject this nostalgic rush into the chorus that makes the whole track feel larger than itself. What really separates WINACHI from a lot of bands right now is that they actually have something to say. Most “positive message” music ends up sounding sterile or overly polished. “STATE OF MIND” avoids that trap because the band isn’t pretending life is easy. The song openly wrestles with losing control, emotional evolution, and accepting change instead of fighting it. That honesty gives the track teeth. There’s also something refreshing about hearing a band embrace big hooks and groove-driven songwriting without trying to cosplay being emotionally detached. Too much modern music feels terrified of sincerity. WINACHI leans directly into it. Bottom line: “STATE OF MIND” sounds like a band fully understanding who they are. Confident, bruised, loud, soulful, and weirdly uplifting in a way that doesn’t feel manufactured. It’s one of those tracks that reminds you music still has a pulse when artists stop trying to algorithm-chase and actually mean something.

There’s a very specific type of pop song that feels engineered for the algorithm. Clean edges. Safe lyrics. Zero risk. Amelie’s new single “Monster” is not that kind of record. Instead, the rising pop artist leans fully into emotional chaos, obsession, and the kind of attraction that feels exciting right before it ruins your life. The result is one of her strongest and most fully realized releases yet. From the jump, “Monster” carries a darker energy than some of her earlier work. The production feels sleek and polished, but there’s tension underneath it the entire time. Nothing about the song sounds emotionally “safe,” and honestly, that’s what makes it interesting. Amelile doesn’t try to present herself as perfectly healed or detached. She lets the song exist in the uncomfortable space where desire and destruction begin to blend. Vocally, she knows exactly how to sell that tension. There’s confidence in her delivery, but also restraint. She never over-sings the emotion, which actually makes the track hit harder. You believe her when she says this relationship feels addictive. The song moves like someone knowingly walking back into a fire anyway. Lyrically, “Monster” taps into a side of modern relationships that pop music sometimes avoids talking about honestly. Not every toxic connection arrives looking dangerous. Sometimes it arrives dressed as chemistry, validation, excitement, or escape. Amelile captures that contradiction really well here without sounding cliché or overly dramatic. What also stands out is how intentional her artistic identity feels right now. A lot of emerging pop artists are still experimenting publicly in real time, throwing aesthetics at the wall to see what sticks. Amelile already feels much more focused than that. Between the darker sonic direction, fashion-forward visuals, and emotionally vulnerable writing, “Monster” feels like an artist actively building a world around her music rather than just releasing singles into the void. Her backstory only adds more weight to the record. Moving alone to the UK at 16, performing across Europe, and balancing music with a major public profile through fashion and media clearly shaped the confidence she carries as an artist now. But what matters most is that the music itself is starting to catch up to the ambition. “Monster” feels like a turning point. Not just another pop release, but the sound of an artist becoming fully comfortable with taking up space in her own way.