Search this site

Ethan Gold’s “The Inhibitionists” feels like wandering through a European dreamscape with a secret lover and a head full of poetry. It’s the kind of track that slips under your skin and makes you want to stay up all night, wandering, wondering, and feeling deeply human. Drawn from his upcoming EARTH CITY 2: NIGHTFOLK , the song is a love letter to introversion and nocturnal life, sparked by Gold’s time immersed in Berlin’s creative undercurrent. If the first installment of the trilogy introduced Earth City as a concept, this one takes you into its quietest corners filled with moonlit misfits, wistful barbacks, and dreamy-eyed drifters. Musically, “The Inhibitionists” is soft-spoken yet rich in tone. Acoustic strums blend into a pulsing synth beat, while Gold’s low, velvety vocals gently guide the listener into a hidden after-hours world. There’s a gentle defiance here, an insistence that beauty doesn’t need to shout to be seen. It exists in the subtle, the slow burn, the eye contact across dimly lit rooms. Lyrically, Gold taps into a shared craving for intimacy and authenticity. The song’s message is clear: You don’t need to be loud to be alive. You don’t need to perform to be real. There’s power in quiet connection, and sometimes shedding inhibition means simply existing as yourself without apology. The video, set in Berlin’s Kreuzberg district, paints that narrative with warmth and nostalgia. It’s not about escaping reality but finding freedom within it, dancing softly through the city’s alleys, bars, and subways, unbothered and wide-eyed. Gold invites listeners into a space where daydreamers reign supreme at night. With “The Inhibitionists,” he offers a welcome sanctuary for those who crave meaning in a world that often rewards noise. It’s a song for the lovers, the loners, and the late-night wanderers. And it hits exactly where it’s meant to. How did your time in Berlin influence the sound and spirit of "The Inhibitionists"? "The Inhibitionists" was written in Los Angeles, inspired in part by a love affair that had us meeting late, exploring the far reaches of the city in what Louis Cole calls "the weird part of the night". There's a different kind of romance to cities in the strange hours after 2am, when the distances shrink but the mystery expands. Both of these because you're alone out there.  Berlin is obviously known as a late-night city, and this second part of my  Earth City  trilogy of albums, which I'm pre-releasing a bunch of singles from now, is stories about the nighttime and the people who live in that time zone in cities across the world. When I finished the song, I was living in Berlin and trying somewhat unsuccessfully to find an alternative to the club life. I directed the video over a long summer night, starting on the streets around Görlitzer Park, where we had to move quickly to avoid the dealers. We then headed to a cafe-like bar where I often performed, and I gave a mini performance. Afterwards, we hit the streets of Kreuzberg again, where the U-Bahn runs above ground, which feels like some metaphor for the energy I was trying to capture.  I cast two pals from my favorite music bar, both of whom are singer-songwriters, to play my life in another city. In contrast, I played the kind of introverted observer who gets himself into those situations in the first place. You talk about introversion as a kind of magic. How do you express that musically? Being a loner gets a bad rap. It's a superpower to be self-reliant, not just to be able to feed one's body, but to be able to feed one's life with imagination. I express introversion in my lyrics, certainly. I'm standing up for all the people who know that this ability to be alone is the flip side of having a rich inner life. We don't need others as much. And introversion is also expressed through the details in my music. "The Inhibitionists" has layers of instruments — percussion, two drum sets, multiple acoustic guitars, electric guitars, synths, vocals, but they all interlock and appear and disappear in a way that should feel organic, like a brain chugging along through thoughts, and ideally uncluttered even though it's busy.  This love of detail is related to sensitivity and introversion. People who love loudness and crowds probably love music with fewer layers. And I find most pop music now is basically three layers - chordal loops, rhythm track, and vocal. So in some way, I think my approach to arranging is introverted, even though this song has a lot of energy. We aren't all shrinking violets. What role does place play in the  Earth City  trilogy, especially in this second installment? Earth City 2  is the nightlife record.  Earth City 1  was the longing side of aloneness.  This upcoming record should feel, for sensitive people, for sensitive instruments — literally — like the interlocking life within and between cities. The trains, the subways, the people, pulsing quietly through the night.  So it's an 'urban' record, but not in the way radio programmers have turned that into a racial term. The video feels deeply nostalgic. Were there real people or places that shaped it? My life in Berlin shaped the setting and the casting — the people in it were people in my life. And my life in LA shaped the song. For the video, I wanted it to feel a bit like an Éric Rohmer film, perhaps with a bit of  Run Lola Run .  Youthful, in a style of another time, not exactly the early 60s, not exactly the 80s, but a time when cafe culture was a valid form of nightlife. When people would stay up all night discussing literature, kissing, falling in and out of love —at least, that's how I imagine it —this culture has been blasted away by other cultures I'm not so fond of. What do you hope this song says to listeners who don't feel seen in today's loud world? People say you're weird. You're too quiet. You read too much. You dance oddly.  Well, don't care about what they say or how they look at you.  Don't even pretend to care, because deep down you already know you actually don't.  You don't just have the  right  to live the way that turns you on. It's your f-ing moral duty to be who you are.

Miami singer/songwriter PJ Aviles isn’t here to hide behind overproduction or try to be the next algorithm-friendly TikTok hit. With his new single Lucky! alongside a music video you won’t forget, he strips it all back to what actually matters: the story, the emotion, and the kind of melodies that stick in your chest long after the song ends. Aviles has been doing this music thing for over a decade, writing and producing his own tracks while quietly racking up the kind of experience most “overnight sensations” never touch. Born into a household where music wasn’t just background noise but a way of life (his dad’s a touring sax player to this day), PJ picked up his first instrument before most kids had mastered long division. Sax at ten, guitar and songwriting by high school, and eventually, a steady run of gigs across Florida, everything from blues festivals to smoky dive bars to songwriter circles where the craft matters more than the clout. Then COVID hit, live shows went dark, and PJ doubled down on what he really loves: writing and producing. Lucky! is the first taste of that renewed focus, a love song in the purest sense, but not just about romance. “I hope listeners are able to reminisce on their own love story, whatever that may look like, and feel a sense of hope,” Aviles says. “This song isn’t just considering romantic, bubbly love but also friendships, community, and any iteration of love as well. I truly believe that as humans, we’re lucky to get to experience that.” The track’s production is intentionally stripped-down, putting the spotlight on PJ’s warm vocal delivery and unpretentious storytelling. And the video? It’s not your standard candlelit montage. Picture this: two young lovers, their decades-long story, and a beat-up 1980s Volvo that eventually goes up in flames. It’s cinematic, it’s heartfelt, and it’s got just enough chaos to keep you hooked. And if this is the opening shot for PJ’s next chapter, with more singles on the way, consider us strapped in for the ride. Because sometimes, love really is the luckiest thing you can get. And sometimes, it sounds exactly like this. You’ve played everywhere from Florida dive bars to blues festivals. How did those early shows shape the way you write and perform now? Live audiences showed me how people respond to certain genres, different song structures, and melodic choices. Performing the songs live is still the best way to pressure test them. Even in this era where a lot of artists are trying to go viral with online audiences,  I think a lot of musicians' “songwriting” part of their brain is controlled by the “live performer” part of their brain. We’re oftentimes imagining an audience singing the song as we’re writing, even if it’s subconsciously. “Lucky!” isn’t just about romantic love. You’ve said it’s also about friendships and community. What personal moment sparked that wider lens?  Google says that the Beatles used the word “love” 613 times in their music. I would go as far as saying that every song ever written is a love song at its core. Maybe not romantic Hollywood love, but some iteration of love (or lack thereof). For “Lucky!”, I realized that as you get older, you start to appreciate the love that you receive and the love that’s been able to last through tough times. I know the “lasting” part isn’t always the case for most people, so for the ones who do experience some form of lasting love, isn’t that luck? The music video ends with a vintage Volvo in flames. What’s the story behind that visual, and how does it tie into the song’s message?  To be honest, I really just wanted to set a car on fire. Or at least make it look like it. If I were to really think on a deeper level, the whole video is trying to portray a love story from start to finish. A young couple falling in love in the car, getting older, and ultimately, someone passes. Since the focal point of the story is the car, maybe the car on fire signifies the end? A bit dark, I know, but there’s lots of joy in between. You took a step back from live shows during the pandemic to focus on writing and producing. How did that shift change the kind of music you make?  A lot of "life" happened during & post-COVID - I stopped thinking so much about songwriting and just started living. I told myself that if music was really my thing, the songs would just come. And they did. I released an album called “Anything” with nine songs (which is available everywhere). I’m actually really proud of those. Now I was gifted with a few more, which I’m organizing into a project. “Lucky” is the first of the bunch. I fell in love with the production side of music, not just songwriting. When people press play on “Lucky!” for the first time, what’s the one feeling you hope sticks with them after the song ends?  To me, the song gives me a strange nostalgia. I feel like it already exists somewhere (if it does, please don’t sue me). More than a musical nostalgia, it’s an emotional one, as if I’m put in the spot of a 90-year-old man who is looking back at his life. I’m still in my 20s, so I’m not sure where it came from, but part of me enjoys the retrospection. I guess I’d want listeners to look within at their own love story, however that may look like, and potentially feel hopeful. If not, sorry, maybe listen to Drake. That’s what I do most of the time anyway.

Most pop songs don’t come with a switchblade. But Ra7ael isn’t most pop artists. The Brazilian-born, LA-based artist is done with playing safe. On his latest track “ Handbag ,” he fuses pop, alt, and hip-hop into a gritty, glam, and unapologetically political statement. It is cheeky, dangerous, and defiant, and it refuses to make the listener comfortable. Inspired by stories of queer and trans resistance, especially from Brazil’s LGBTQIA+ community, “Handbag” functions as both protest and anthem. Ra7ael wrote it during a period when he carried a blade in his bag for protection. While many artists chase algorithm clout, he turns survival into sonic art. The handbag in this song is not just an accessory. It is a weapon, a shield, and a symbol of everything queer people carry simply to exist. With cutting lyrics and a beat that struts, Ra7ael balances camp and confrontation like a runway performance with teeth. This is not trauma on display for pity. It is power reclaimed. Equal parts satire and strategy, the track bites back while looking spectacular. It embodies the type of energy 2025 feels built for. “I want people to know they’re not minorities just because society says so,” Ra7ael explains. That sentiment drives the song. “Handbag” reminds us that queerness has always been political, long before rainbow capitalism and long after fleeting social media trends fade. Blast it in your headphones, march to it in the streets, or strut with it blasting like the world is already yours. Ra7ael has made a track that doesn’t just speak to survival, it commands celebration. What was the moment that pushed you to turn real-life fear into a track like "Handbag"? I remember walking around the downtown area of my hometown when a group of boys started picking on me. One of them slapped my shoulder as he walked by. It could have been worse—I know people who've been beaten up just for being queer and existing, but I had just graduated from high school, and going through something I used to experience back then really bothered me. I was never physically assaulted or had my life threatened, but there were moments when I wished people would see me as more than some pathetic label. I think it's weird—I wouldn't be wasting my time treating someone like that. So, I decided to put those feelings on paper and into the recording studio. You mix satire with serious themes. How do you strike that balance without diluting the message? I make it sour and rough, but still keep a balance so it doesn't come off as too aggressive. The listeners will understand that there's nothing funny about it, but sometimes, using unusual language is the only way to capture their interest and make them pay attention to the lyrics. When they ask me personally, I feel like it helps create a connection between us. How has your Brazilian background shaped your view of queerness, both in life and in music? The community taught me that not everyone is your friend, even if they come from the same background. As an artist, it's very risky to come out as something people often make fun of—or are afraid to admit they even like. After living in another country, I realized that most queer artists who are successful either had to act a certain way to be accepted or had to work twice as hard to pop the bubble. What do you hope queer listeners feel when they hear "Handbag"? I hope they realize there are many people out there who feel the same: afraid and disconnected.  Handbag  is about the loneliness of being a feminine boy and having your family, society, and even your community against you. Sometimes, creating a persona or a defense mechanism is the only way to survive what the world throws at us. I want my songs to remind people that, yes, we can wear suits and ties and work in corporations to get ahead, but ultimately, no one gets to define who we are. If "Handbag" were turned into a short film, what would it look like, and who's playing the villain? If there were a short film based on the lyrics and inspiration behind  Handbag , the main character would be a trans woman working as an escort on the streets. The antagonist would be a fake client planning to hurt her as part of some sick agenda—or maybe a disguised police officer set on ruining her life. In real life, that story could have ended in tragedy, but in my "perfect" version, she turns the tables.

Award-winning Canadian Egyptian artist and producer Sarah Shafey has kicked the door down on the tired "princess in need of rescuing" trope with her new album, The Paper Bag Princess . Drawing inspiration from Robert Munsch's groundbreaking 1980 children's book, Shafey flips the narrative, embracing grunge's raw edge to explore agency, authenticity, and rebellion against societal expectations. "I can't stand the idea that women have to conform to certain standards to be considered attractive or feminine," Shafey says. "This album is a rebellion against those toxic messages that have been fed to us our whole lives." Across eight tracks, Shafey brings 90s-inspired grit to modern feminist storytelling. The title track is a cathartic, politically charged anthem, layering distorted guitars and powerhouse drums beneath fearless lyrics. Tracks like "New World Disorder" channel punk ferocity, while "The Fame Game" tucks pop hooks into grunge textures. Ballads such as "Wake Up Your Heart" and the cinematic closer "Come Over" showcase her ability to pivot from snarling commentary to poignant vulnerability without losing cohesion. Co-written with Jess Boomen, co-produced with Kyle Ashbourne, and featuring contributions from top Canadian musicians, the album thrives on collaboration while keeping Shafey's vision front and center. The result is an immersive collection that dismantles damaging beauty standards, celebrates women's strength, and offers listeners a jolt of empowerment. With The Paper Bag Princess , Sarah Shafey cements herself as a fearless voice in alt-rock, one unafraid to mix vulnerability with ferocity. Keep an eye on her website for upcoming LA shows and future releases. How did  The Paper Bag Princess , a children's book, influence your vision for this album? The children's book "The Paper Bag Princess" profoundly influenced my album's vision by inspiring a lyrical journey of self-worth and autonomy, much like how the book empowers young girls to challenge traditional princess narratives. The album embraces this spirit of independence, using a seemingly simple concept to explore complex themes of reclaiming one's power and rejecting conventional fairy-tale endings. Why did you choose grunge as the primary sound for such a personal and political record? I chose grunge because it is the most natural form of musical expression for me, and the genre where I feel I can express myself most freely. It is my favorite style to play and sing. It also gave me the chance to challenge myself to get away from the piano and rip it on the rhythm guitar. The title track feels particularly charged. What emotions were you channeling during its creation? It's that moment when someone builds an entire fictional character of you based on your online presence, and then you show up in real life, not meeting their dainty, carefully curated expectations. They get mad, and you're just like, 'Yeah, no. Get outta here with that nonsense.' How do you balance vulnerability and empowerment in your songwriting? Balancing vulnerability and empowerment comes naturally to me, as I try to embrace both the feminine and masculine energies within myself in my day-to-day. My songwriting reflects this yin and yang, showcasing the art of being in both states and trying to see life from different perspectives. What can fans expect from your upcoming live shows in LA? I've been playing my new album in two different ways, and I plan on doing both for my LA shows. You can expect a whole lot of noise and fun with a high-energy rock set, and I'll also perform an alternative, stripped-down version of the album on other nights as a singer-songwriter on the piano. I can't wait for the fun to begin!

Touring is a world full of energy, late nights, and last-minute adjustments. Whether you’re in a rock band with a roaring crowd or a classical violinist stepping into a concert hall, the backstage life has more similarities than you might think. Both live for the rush of performing, both rely on a tight team, and both have gear that makes or breaks the experience. One item both worlds value is a dependable instrument case. For violinists, that means knowing brands like Great Violin Cases  offer designs that keep their most important tool safe from bumps, temperature changes, and unexpected travel chaos. For a guitarist in a rock band, it’s the same principle—protect the gear so the music can flow without worry. Photo by Thibault Trillet The Universal Language of Tour Prep Before the first chord or note is played, the work starts behind the scenes. Musicians, regardless of genre, have a mental checklist before every show. It’s not just about remembering the setlist. It’s making sure the essentials are in place—gear tuned, cables tested, and cases packed. Classical players might check that spare strings are in their case and that their bow has fresh rosin . Rock bands might double-check their pedalboards and make sure extra picks are ready. It’s a different style, but the same mindset: everything must be performance-ready before stepping under the lights. Cases: The Silent Guardians Instrument cases don’t get much attention in interviews or music documentaries, yet they play one of the biggest roles in tour life. A case is the first line of defense against knocks in a crowded van or sudden rain outside a venue. For a violinist, the case also controls humidity, protects delicate wood, and offers space for small tools. Many modern cases have lightweight shells and comfortable straps to make travel easier. Rock musicians rely on sturdy guitar or drum cases for the same reason—moving gear from show to show without fear. Backstage Must-Haves That Cross Genres While the vibe in a rock band’s green room might feel different from a classical ensemble’s dressing area, the actual gear on hand often overlaps. Here are a few staples you’ll find in both worlds: Instrument protection  – Whether it’s a violin in a climate-controlled case or a guitar in a hard shell, this is non-negotiable. Maintenance tools  – From tuners to cleaning cloths, keeping the instrument stage-ready is a shared habit. Snacks and water  – Long rehearsals and late nights demand quick energy boosts and hydration. Spare parts  – Extra strings, reeds, or drumsticks  can save a show when something breaks mid-set. Travel Realities Touring is rarely glamorous when it comes to logistics. Flights get delayed, buses break down, and hotel rooms may be far from the venue. This is where having reliable gear cases becomes more than a convenience—it’s peace of mind. Classical musicians often travel alone or with a small team, meaning their case has to fit in overhead compartments or tight spaces. Rock bands sometimes load their instruments into vans or trailers with stacks of other equipment. In both situations, the wrong case can lead to damage that’s costly to repair and emotionally draining. The Emotional Side of Gear For many musicians, their instrument is more than just a tool. It holds personal history—first performances, recording sessions, late-night practice hours. Losing or damaging it can feel like losing a part of their musical identity. That’s why investing in solid protection isn’t just a practical choice; it’s an emotional safeguard. Rock players talk about their guitars like old friends. Classical players often describe their violins as extensions of themselves. In both cases, the bond is deep, and protecting it is a priority. Why Comfort Matters A case’s role isn’t limited to safety. Comfort is a major factor for any musician constantly on the move. A well-designed case balances weight, durability, and ease of carrying. Adjustable straps, padded handles, and accessible compartments help musicians stay organized and less stressed before a performance. Even small details like zipper placement or latch design can make a difference when setting up in a hurry. This is why musicians often stick with the same trusted brands once they find one that works for them. Shared Values, Different Sounds Rock bands and classical players may perform for very different crowds, but they share a respect for preparation and care for their craft. That mutual dedication is what keeps shows running smoothly and instruments sounding their best. When you strip away the genre differences, the core of a musician’s touring life is about protecting what matters most—gear, health, and the music itself. Whether it’s a violinist walking into a chamber recital or a guitarist stepping onto a festival stage, the essentials don’t change. Photo By Eleazar Ceballos The next time you’re at a concert—whether it’s a rock show or a symphony—think about all the unseen work that brought the music to life. From careful packing to case selection, these details keep performances seamless and musicians ready for the spotlight. It’s proof that while the songs may sound worlds apart, the heart of touring is built on shared essentials.

There is the public version of heartbreak, the messy breakups, the dramatic unfollows, and the curated “look at me thriving” photos. Then there is the quiet, unglamorous middle part, where you are not broken anymore but not healed either. That is where Vinlisa plants herself on her latest EP, ' until then .' Across five tracks, “on the way,” “convo,” “out the blue,” “focused,” and the title track “until then,” she transforms that in-between space into a soundtrack. It is vulnerable without being fragile, intimate without oversharing, and most importantly, honest enough to feel lived-in. The lead single, “on the way,” sets the tone. Built on a slow-burning groove layered with airy harmonies, it feels hypnotic in its simplicity. Lyrically, it speaks to the promises people make and the silence that follows when those promises are broken. Vinlisa’s delivery is equal parts ache and acceptance. She does not beg anyone to stay; she acknowledges the absence and moves forward. Produced entirely by Jack Perry with vocal production from Ianne Lloyd, the project is sonically cohesive from start to finish. The mixing work by Joni Myllari and Tyler Tisi gives each track its own space to breathe without breaking the dreamy flow of the EP. It is the kind of R&B production that does not demand attention with flashy tricks but instead pulls you in and keeps you there. What makes ' until then'  stand out is that it is not just a breakup record. Vinlisa uses the songs to frame heartbreak as part of the process of becoming. Mistakes are lessons, not failures, and loss becomes a step toward growth. The reflection is gentle, but the message is empowering. Until Then  is made for listeners caught in the middle, those moments you cannot quite capture with an Instagram caption. It is a soulful reminder that patience is not passive and that healing carries its quiet strength. You’ve called 'until then' the “waiting room between heartbreak and healing.” What does that space look and feel like for you? For me, that space was deeply introspective. I had to choose between moving forward or staying in a place filled with hurt, regret, and yearning. Taking that first step toward healing isn’t easy, and it looks different for everyone. That’s why I think of it as a “waiting room.” It’s a place where you sit with your emotions, process what’s happened, and figure out when you’re ready to walk out the door into something new. “On the way” is about emotional unavailability. Do you think it’s harder to walk away from someone inconsistent than someone who’s outright hurtful? It’s harder to walk away from someone inconsistent because there’s always that “what if.” They make you hope that they might become the person you want them to be. If someone is outright hurtful, it’s easier to draw the line and leave because their intentions are clear. But with inconsistency, you get pulled in by the highs, which are those moments when they do something endearing. Next thing you know, you’re left wondering where they’ve gone the next day because they haven’t texted you back. That unpredictability keeps you on your toes, and unfortunately, it makes breaking away so much harder. This EP is sonically very cohesive. How did your work with Jack Perry and Ianne Lloyd shape the sound compared to your last project? Thank you! Funny enough, I didn’t set out to make an EP at all. It started on the way, which I originally intended to release as a single. But as Jack curated new beats, I found myself connecting the songs and building a storyline from heartbreak to healing. Before I knew it, that process became the EP until then. Since my last project, Jack and I have honed our workflow, so creating this EP felt effortless. He was always open to experimenting and exploring sounds we hadn’t touched before, which made me feel completely comfortable being vulnerable on each track. I knew I could tweak anything to bring my vision to life, especially with Jack being able to provide a great foundation for me to shine.  With Ianne, he helped polish my sound without losing the rawness of the music. He guided me in adding harmonic blends to enrich the vocals and fine-tuned moments where I needed extra support. He was the one who provided the icing on the cake, turning the songs into a fuller, more immersive experience.   You blend vulnerability and empowerment so naturally. Has that balance always been part of your songwriting, or is it something you had to grow into? I had to grow into it. When I first started, songwriting felt more like an assignment. I’d usually stick to a structure, come up with a catchy melody, add some relatable lyrics, and that was it. As I got older and went through more life experiences, it started feeling more like storytelling. I had to get comfortable in my skin and allow myself to write from a vulnerable place. Once I did, the empowerment just followed. I think there’s something really powerful about artists tapping into that shared human experience because life isn’t perfect, and neither are we.  If a listener only has time for one track from "until then," which song would you tell them to start with and why? Oh, focused. It’s for sure my favorite track I’ve made to date. I like to call it my “elegant crash out” because it’s me telling someone, “Look, you need to get it together and keep your eyes on me and me only.” It’s bold, it’s direct, and it sums up the vibe of the EP. The Until Then EP is about wanting that undivided attention from someone you deem special, and I'm focused on serving that message with a bit of extra flair.

Los Angeles’ own Amelia McLean isn’t playing it safe; she’s ripping pages out of her own life and turning them into anthems. Her latest single, “Dark Days," is the kind of track that doesn’t just sit in the background; it grabs you by the chest and makes you feel every ounce of it. “Dark Days” is cinematic pop at its core, but it’s not just pretty production. It’s grief. It’s identity. It’s standing at the edge of change and deciding you’re not gonna collapse, you’re gonna rise. The sweeping arrangement and gut-punch lyrics make it feel bigger than just a song. It’s therapy dressed up as a movie soundtrack. This single is the second taste of McLean’s debut album, Frowned Upon Daughter, dropping this October. And let’s be clear: this isn’t some half-baked pop record. It’s a two-year grind of self-funding, traveling, and bleeding into every note. With heavyweight producer Justin Glasco (Paris Paloma, Rufus Wainwright) and guitarist David Levita (Alanis Morissette, Lana Del Rey) in the mix, the sound is rich, cinematic, and unapologetically raw. Amelia herself sums it up: the album is a stream-of-consciousness reflection on an “absurd upbringing.” Translation: she’s airing the stuff most of us keep buried, and somehow making it sound gorgeous. It’s personal but universal. Whether you’ve dealt with grief, identity shifts, or are just trying to claw your way out of your own dark days, this hits. Amelia’s not whispering her story, she’s amplifying it, and daring you to feel it too. If “Dark Days” feels this massive, imagine the weight the full album’s about to carry. Catch her live before the world catches on, Amelia hits Sofar Sounds LA on September 19 to preview more from Frowned Upon Daughter.

Boston’s own Isabelle Gitlin just came through with the kind of track that makes you stop mid-scroll and actually listen. Her new single, “ Feel My Soul ," isn’t just music; it’s a damn reminder to breathe, let go, and actually feel something in a world that’s always trying to numb us out. This track hits different. Isabelle’s vocals are lush without being over-polished, the production is textured and alive, and the message? Straight liberation. “Feel My Soul” is about dropping all the dead weight, fake friends, toxic love, your own self-doubt, and stepping into the unknown like you own it. “This song came from a very real place. It’s about letting go of what holds you back and trusting that you’ll land where you’re meant to.” Translation: it’s the soundtrack for cutting ties and leveling up. Why It Slaps Versatility:  Blast it in the whip, loop it in your bedroom, or throw it on when you’re about to make some reckless life decisions; it fits all moods. Honesty:  No gimmicks, no fake “deep” metaphors. Isabelle’s just telling it like it is. Energy:  It doesn’t preach about freedom; it feels  like freedom. Isabelle Gitlin isn’t just out here making songs; she’s crafting whole experiences. From the lyrics to the harmonies to the visuals, she’s in her bag creatively, and it shows. “Feel My Soul” is just the first taste of what’s coming, with a full project on the horizon that promises to dive even deeper into her artistry. So yeah, queue it up. Whether you’re moving on, moving forward, or just moving through, Isabelle’s got you covered.

Sanjay Michael is no stranger to the pulse of classic rock and blues. With “Wall Street Blues,” the Singapore-based artist revives that raw, unfiltered sound while tackling the age-old dream of getting rich quickly. What starts as a seductive fantasy of fast money and high living turns into a cautionary tale, delivered through explosive guitar riffs and a knowing grin. The track opens with a heavy blues lick that instantly evokes the sound of BB King, layered with the bold swagger of vintage hard rock. It’s clear from the jump that Michael is in his element. The lyrics tell the story of a hopeful investor seduced by luxury and the illusion of easy wealth. Trading stocks seems straightforward until the truth hits like a crash. No matter how much you hustle, the game is rigged. Lines like “Doesn’t matter which bank you choose, they’re gonna win and you’re always gonna lose” hit hard. But there’s no self-pity here. Michael’s delivery is tongue-in-cheek, leaning into the absurdity of a system that’s designed to beat the average person down while pretending anyone can rise to the top. The instrumentation drives the message home with fierce energy. Stomping drums, groovy basslines, and a chorus made to chant in unison make “Wall Street Blues” a working-class rallying cry. Whether you’ve lost a paycheck to crypto or just feel the burn of late-stage capitalism, this song is for you. Sanjay Michael has always aimed to bring joy and grit back to rock. With “Wall Street Blues,” he does precisely that, reminding us that while the system might be broken, the soundtrack doesn’t have to be. What inspired you to write  "Wall Street Blues,"  and how much of it is drawn from personal experience?  I was inspired by my experiences (and failures!) in online stock trading. I would constantly be taking two steps forward and two steps back. When I was fooling around with my guitar and got the main chorus riff, I thought of some kind of song that was very grounded yet something that everyone would understand, and the chorus came out.  How do you blend humor and frustration without losing the emotional punch in your music? I guess this is directly a matter of what kind of artist you want to be. I always appreciated the humour and salt-of-the-earth lyrics of Johnny Cash and BB King, so I'm automatically geared to write these kinds of songs. I don't like listening to songs about drugs, depression, or trauma, but some people do, and when it comes time to write a song, they may gravitate to these themes. Which artists shaped the sound and attitude behind this track?   This pretty much has that Bon Scott-era AC/DC energy behind it, so I would say those guys! How do you approach storytelling in a genre traditionally known for big riffs and bold energy?  Stick to the basics of a beginning, a middle, and an end - I've got three verses for a 3-act story. I kind of do the same with the last song on the EP, "Who'll Be My Friend." What do you hope listeners feel when they hear this song for the first time? I definitely want them to feel energised by the music and amused by the lyrics! This is meant to be a crowd-pleaser with the problem most guys can relate to, which is trying to make money to attract women... So they should be tapping their feet but also nodding "Yeah, he's right!"

At just 17, Toronto-based artist Aashika Reddy is proving she is far more than a rising star. She is a cultural force in the making. With her debut EP LOOK AT ME , Reddy delivers a powerful introduction that blends R&B, pop, and global influences with South Asian identity, filling a gap in mainstream music where representation has too often been absent. The six-track project is both a coming-of-age soundtrack and a bold statement of intent. Across its songs, Reddy explores the chaos of teenage life: messy crushes, fleeting heartbreaks, delusional daydreams, rekindled friendships, and moments of joy that feel larger than life. It is music that speaks directly to the reality of being young, vulnerable, and ambitious, without sanding down the rough edges. What sets LOOK AT ME apart is its unapologetic cultural fusion. Reddy weaves Carnatic-inspired vocal runs, thabla percussion, and South Indian melodic phrasing into a foundation of R&B grooves, Afrobeat rhythms, and pop textures. The result is a sound that is simultaneously experimental and commercial, a sonic landscape that challenges the status quo while remaining irresistibly accessible. Reddy describes the EP as “bigger than music,” and it is hard to disagree. Tracks that explore playful but raw expressions of love sit alongside vulnerable ballads that act as mirrors for listeners who rarely see themselves represented in pop spaces. Her ability to pair universal teenage emotions with a distinctly South Asian lens makes LOOK AT ME a landmark project. Beyond the studio, Reddy’s DIY ethos defines her artistry. She writes, directs, edits, and creative directs her work, embodying the self-sufficient energy of Gen Z artists determined to carve their own space. Her performances at TD Music Hall, Nathan Phillips Square, and collaborations with Grammy-winning producer Yonatan Watts only add weight to her fast-growing resume. LOOK AT ME is more than a debut. It is a declaration. For South Asian girls seeking visibility, for teenagers navigating identity, and for anyone longing for authenticity in pop, Aashika Reddy is a voice to watch. You have said you want to be the “brown girl pop star” you never had growing up. How does  LOOK AT ME NOW  fulfill that vision? LOOK AT ME  is the first step toward fulfilling that dream. It is my first major project, curated as an introduction to me and my artistic world. The EP takes listeners through a journey of emotions that every teenage girl (or boy) might experience, and it tells a story that invites people into my world. The EP blends R&B and pop with Carnatic and South Indian influences. How do you balance cultural authenticity with global appeal? I love including my culture whenever it naturally fits. In songs like  Time Machine  and  3 Steps , you can hear tablas, which are traditional South Indian instruments. Some of my melodies and toplines are also inspired by Carnatic runs and the vocal inflections I grew up with. Blending my culture with global sounds has never felt forced. It comes naturally because I was raised with South Indian music and also grew up listening to pop stars like Selena Gomez and Sabrina Carpenter. Both worlds shaped me equally. I never add South Asian elements just for the sake of it. They appear where they belong, and that is what makes it authentic! What was it like working with Grammy-winning producer Yonatan Watts so early in your career? It was incredible. We made the whole song over FaceTime. I shared some ideas about the sound I wanted, and he immediately started building the track. Then I began riffing on melodies, and we just bounced ideas back and forth. Watching his creative process live and seeing a song come together from scratch was such a surreal and inspiring experience! You handle much of your creative direction yourself. Why is it important for you to keep that control over your artistry? I have a very specific vision for how I want to present myself as an artist. Even though I am still learning along the way, I want everything I create to feel authentic and true to me. Staying involved in the creative direction allows me to make sure my artistry reflects exactly who I am. What do you hope young South Asian listeners and your global audience take away from this project? I hope they feel seen, inspired, and safe in my music. Most of all, I want people to find at least one song that they connect with, because that is the most important part of music. If someone listens to  LOOK AT ME  and feels understood or simply has fun with it, then I have done what I set out to do.