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Some songs hurt because they're too real, and  Saticöy 's latest single, " Sugar Pills ," hits exactly that nerve. The LA-based alternative rock band returns to their emotionally raw roots with a track that's deceptively upbeat and sonically radiant, until you start listening to the lyrics. Underneath the infectious guitar riffs and a wildly catchy saxophone hook lies something much heavier: a story about two people performing the motions of love while quietly coming undone. "Sugar Pills" captures that eerily familiar feeling of staying in something because it used to feel good, even if, now, it's just going through the motions. There's no villain here, just emotional fatigue. A relationship dulled by avoidance, padded with half-truths, and numbed by whatever little "sugar pills" we use to make it through another day, pretending things are fine. It's the sonic version of smiling through gritted teeth. And it hits hard. But what makes "Sugar Pills" special isn't just its lyrical honesty; it's how Saticöy delivers that honesty without ever sounding defeated. The song explodes with energy. A driving beat, shimmering guitars, and that unexpectedly perfect saxophone line give it a kind of glossy urgency that feels both nostalgic and completely now. Think Jimmy Eat World heartache meets COIN's bounce, wrapped in the emotional punch of The Wrecks or Wallows. It's a clever emotional sleight of hand. The song feels like an anthem, something you'd scream in the car with the windows down, but when you catch your breath between choruses, you realize it's not about a love that's thriving. It's about one that's barely breathing. The band calls "Sugar Pills" a return to their alt-rock roots, after experimenting with a heavier sound in recent releases, and that clarity is evident. It's confident, cohesive, and creatively daring in all the right ways. That standout sax? It doesn't just work, it defines the track, adding a layer of warmth that makes the emotional fallout feel even more bittersweet. Lyrically, the band is unafraid to sit in ambiguity. No finger-pointing, no dramatic fallout, just the honest ache of a bond stretched too thin. As they put it: "We hope 'Sugar Pills' reminds people that it's okay to admit when something's no longer working, even if there's no one to blame." And that's exactly the kind of emotional intelligence that's earned Saticöy their place in the Southern California alt scene, and beyond. With previous music placements in TV and film, editorial playlist features, and a reputation for dynamic live performances, the band continues to build a cult following by writing songs that feel like something. "Sugar Pills" is no exception. It's a heartbreak song with rhythm. A mirror disguised as a dancefloor. And proof that even emotional unraveling can sound like a revelation when it's this well-crafted. “Sugar Pills” balances heartbreak with so much sonic brightness. Was that contrast intentional from the beginning? Thanks, that contrast was intentional! We've long been interested in writing songs that are up-tempo but have mixed valence. This is an example of a song that you can move to, but also sit down and introspect to. We love making emotional weight with upbeat energy: we think it mirrors how people often try to carry on like everything's fine when it's clearly not. That duality helped us express the tension in "Sugar Pills": feeling like you're unraveling while still trying to present something polished and functional to the world, to each other, and, most importantly, to oneself. What inspired the decision to bring the saxophone into the mix, and how did that shape the final sound? We always look for ways to get our keyboardist to hop on the sax for our songs! Once the starting hook for "Sugar Pills" was finalized, we heard the skate-punk potential and found there was a natural opening for a saxophone to complement the guitar line. It ended up being the perfect voice to add: Tim made it nostalgic, emotional, and unexpected but nuanced. We feel it represents the post-processing clarity you get when you're working through a personal problem. Once we added the sax to "Sugar Pills," the whole track clicked into place. This song feels more lyrically vulnerable than your recent heavier releases. What pulled you back toward that emotional alt-rock space? Honestly, it just felt right for where we were at emotionally. Our heavier songs ("Over," "Cut It & Run") captured a kind of external chaos, but "Sugar Pills" is more about internal struggle: a bittersweet breakdown, emotional numbness tinged with hope, and the fatigue of trying to keep a relationship alive when it's already fading. Since our first release, "Faded From Color," we've always had a soft spot for personal storytelling and vulnerability, and this was a chance to tap back into that side of our songwriting. You mention that there’s no villain in the story, just emotional fatigue. Was it difficult to write from such a gray area without assigning blame? Definitely! It's way easier to write a song when someone's clearly at fault because you can focus on only the object: the perspective is assumed to be true. But "Sugar Pills" comes from a place of the subject feeling stuck, not wronged, and the perspective is less reliable and inherently more interesting. To us, that gray area is harder for the listener (and singer) to sit with, but it's also more honest. It reflects those relationships we've all had in real life where no one did anything unforgivable, but the relationship just isn't sustaining either of you anymore. Writing from that place made the song more real and required more vulnerability on Derek's part. What do you hope listeners feel when they hear “Sugar Pills,” especially those clinging to a relationship that might already be slipping away? As with all of our music, we hope "Sugar Pills" makes our audience feel seen. That feeling of clinging to something that once had meaning but now feels hollow is incredibly isolating. We've all been there; we all know that feeling! If "Sugar Pills" gives someone the clarity to say, "This isn't working, and that's okay," then we've done our job. To us, it's not about giving up; it's about choosing truth over comfort, even when it hurts. If they see hope in this song, we've also done our job: the real meaning is whatever the listener makes it out to be. Or just skate to it: be our guest!

The Lethargics are not interested in comfort. Or trends. Or genre, for that matter. This Knoxville-based collective has long prided itself on dodging labels, and with their latest release, ' Here It Comes Again ," they offer something even more radical: honesty. Brutal, brave, and beautifully bleak, this track is a raw conversation with clinical depression, a lifelong companion that refuses to be ignored. “If you got it, you get it. If you don’t, let me explain.” That’s not just a lyric. It’s a mission statement. This is not your typical sad song. It’s not a breakup ballad or a gloomy aesthetic. It is a visceral, lived-in depiction of what it feels like to be haunted by something you can’t see but always feel. Depression here isn’t just an emotion. It is a character. A stalker. A shadow that never leaves. The track captures this with slow-burning intensity: sparse instrumentation, jagged textures, and a vocal delivery that sounds like it is pulling itself out of the dirt. There is no flashy production. No studio gloss. It's just stark, sincere storytelling. And that makes it hit even harder. What the Lethargics do so well is take the unspeakable and give it shape. The song doesn’t romanticize mental illness. It doesn’t hide it in metaphors or wrap it up with a hopeful chorus. Instead, it lingers in the fog, inviting listeners to sit with the discomfort, the confusion, and the quiet terror that it all evokes. For those who live with clinical depression, this track will feel painfully familiar. For those who don’t, it’s a rare and much-needed dose of perspective. It asks listeners to pay attention, to listen more closely, and to acknowledge a type of pain that doesn’t always appear obvious from the outside. The Lethargics remain a fiercely independent, shoestring-budget operation. But what they lack in polish, they more than makeup for in purpose.

Photo by Meghan Marshall Yas Akdag’s ' Home, Anywhere ' isn’t just a debut EP; it’s a cinematic, emotionally rich diary entry carved in alt-pop gold. The London-raised, Brooklyn-based songwriter and producer delivers a tightly knit five-track project that’s deeply personal yet universally resonant. Written during her final year at NYU’s Clive Davis Institute and the year that followed, the EP is a reflection of that in-between space, the blur of youth and adulthood, of place and purpose. Akdag threads these themes with startling clarity, carried by her warm vocals and a production palette that feels both intimate and expansive. The opener, “Without You,” sets the tone immediately. It is a synth-laced, emotionally raw track that leans into MUNA’s influence without losing Akdag’s distinct storytelling voice. Co-produced with fellow Clive Davis alum emory, the song’s pulsating rhythm and atmospheric synths swirl beneath confessional lyrics, capturing the dizzying weight of vulnerability. “White Picket Fence” and “The Way You Love Him” lean more toward folk-pop, yet maintain the ethereal tone that defines the EP. There’s something especially cinematic about these tracks. Perhaps it’s the 6/8 time signature or the way Akdag lingers on memory like a film still. Caroline Meade’s production on “The Way You Love Him” adds a dreamlike layer that elevates the track into heartbreak territory without ever sounding bitter. Standout contributions from Sarah Goldstone (Lucy Dacus), Sam Everett, and Bobby Wooten inject richness into the live instrumentation, keeping the sound grounded even in its most ambient moments. The project doesn’t attempt to offer a linear narrative. Instead, Akdag explores different relationships and moments through the lens of what makes a space or a person feel like home. That idea that “home” can be fluid and ever-shifting is the beating heart of the EP. 'Home, Anywhere' is a stunning debut that showcases Akdag’s deft ability to merge lyricism with production, crafting songs that feel like lived-in spaces. She doesn’t just write tracks; she builds emotional architecture. You mentioned that you didn't set out with a specific theme, but the songs organically revolved around the idea of "home." What does that word mean to you now, post-EP? When I titled the EP, I wanted to invite listeners to come up with their definitions of what "home" meant to them. That's what I was thinking about after the EP — how a home can be a physical place, but also people (your friends, family, etc.) and other things, like a special object or a memory. It really can be whatever you make of it, and that's the concept I wanted to highlight with "Home, Anywhere." Can you tell us more about your collaboration with emory on "Without You"? What was that creative process like? Emma (emory) and I went to college together and were both working together as TAs one summer. I had just written "Without You" and took it into the studio. I brought up my sonic references, and Emma had some really great ideas on how to start the song. We tracked piano first (with me playing), and then Emma came up with those skittery, arpeggiated synth parts (using the Moog Little Phatty) you hear in the song. Our session together definitely built the foundation for where I took "Without You" production-wise. "White Picket Fence" feels so cinematic; was there a particular image or moment that inspired it? I was thinking about the clashes couples can have and how if you've been together for a certain amount of time, you may grow to want different things, but it's hard to know what to do next because there's a lot of love and you've been a massive part of each other's lives until then. What if one of you wants a life of domesticity and "settling down," and the other seeks adventure and travel? How do you meet in the middle with such opposing desires? At the same time, I was listening to MUNA's "Live at Electric Lady" album and had been especially drawn to their version of "Taken." I was drawn to the lilting 6/8 feel of the song, as well as its organic, live energy. With the lyrical concept I had in mind, as well as my sonic inspiration from MUNA, I started writing "White Picket Fence." Since I had such a strong vision of what I wanted to say in the song, it came together really quickly; I probably wrote it in an hour total.  How did studying at the Clive Davis Institute shape the sound and ambition of this project? Through studying at Clive, I felt a freedom to explore various sonic approaches to the project, both through the inspiring nature of the program as well as the people I studied alongside, but also thanks to the resources of having free studios and a bunch of instruments, microphones, and other equipment to use. It meant I recorded a lot more live components than I would have had I not had access to these studio spaces. I also experimented with real hardware synths, which were incredibly cool and lent a retro feel to the project. I definitely couldn't afford any of that equipment in my studio at home, so I was really grateful for being able to play around with it.  As a producer and songwriter, which part of the creative process excites you the most, building the track or telling the story? My first love has always been writing. Before I made music, I wrote short stories all the time as a kid. I even wanted to be an author at some point. So, for me, songwriting is my favorite part. I love crafting a strong story and building from there, I want listeners to be able to visualize the song and story as they listen and have it play out like a movie in their heads. If the lyrics lend themselves to that happening, then I know the song is done.

Let’s get one thing straight: Angel Dweh isn’t here to chase trends; he’s building his own world. And his Scorpio EP isn’t just a project; it’s a cultural flex wrapped in rhythm, passion, and purpose. Born in Monrovia and raised in the States, Angel Dweh, aka the Afro-Prince, blends his Liberian roots with American influence so naturally that it feels like a genre of its own. On Scorpio , he doesn’t just fuse Afrobeat, pop, and R&B, he owns  them, weaving his identity into every melody, beat, and lyric like someone who knows damn well where he came from and exactly where he’s going. From the jump, the EP feels intentional. The production is crisp but still lets the rawness breathe. You’ve got tracks that move, like actual dancefloor bait, and others that sit in your chest like a confession. Dweh’s vocal range isn’t just technical, it’s emotional. He glides from smooth melodies to vulnerable falsettos without ever losing control. That kind of dynamic storytelling? That’s rare. Let’s talk collabs: Nuchie Meek and J Slught don’t just guest star; they add weight. Their contributions elevate the project, not just because of name value, but because Dweh knows how to create space for other voices without losing his own. That’s a sign of a real artist, one who’s not insecure about sharing the spotlight because he knows it’s still his stage. The lyrical content digs deeper than your average "vibe" project. It’s not all about love or lust (though that Scorpio  energy is definitely present); there’s emotional reckoning, legacy-building, and a clear mission: Angel’s ambition is rooted in service . As he puts it: “My ambition goes beyond just being a star. I’m committed to inspiring and nurturing the next generation of Liberian musicians and artists.” That’s not just talk. The Scorpio  visual film, set to drop with the Deluxe version, is proof. He’s not just releasing an EP; he’s building an era . The film isn’t an afterthought; it’s a cinematic counterpart that brings his sonic universe to life. Gorgeous visuals, thoughtful direction, and themes that go beyond surface-level aesthetics. It’s a project made with heart, not hustle. So here’s the verdict: Angel Dweh isn’t just doing Afrobeat. He’s reshaping it through his own lens. Scorpio EP  is what happens when cultural pride, genre mastery, and authentic storytelling collide. It's polished, it's personal, and it doesn’t pander. If you’re sleeping on this, that’s on you.

While the 2010s Top 40 charts were dominated by the mega-machines like Katy Perry’s glitter bombs, Drake’s brooding hooks, and Taylor Swift’s reinventions, something way more interesting was bubbling just below the surface. Indie bands, long sidelined to blog hype and late-night sets at dive bars, were quietly building the future. They weren’t chasing hits; they were literally shaping our culture. Their edgy sounds, aesthetics, production choices, emotional nuance... all of it. What was once “too weird” or “too niche” slowly became the very fabric of pop as we know it now. By the time the mainstream caught up, indie wasn’t just influencing pop, it had infiltrated it. So let’s give credit where it’s due. These are the bands that actually changed the game. 10 Indie Bands That Quietly Shaped Pop as We Know It Tame Impala Tame Impala  didn’t just bring psychedelic rock back; they made it chart-friendly. Their signature blend of swirling synths, lo-fi guitar textures, and introspective lyricism influenced everyone from Rihanna to Travis Scott. By the mid-2010s, pop embraced psychedelic sounds and reverb-heavy production, much of which could be traced directly to Lonerism and Currents. Parker even collaborated with Lady Gaga, The Weeknd, and Kanye West. The ripple effect? A new, dreamy pop era. Vampire Weekend When Vampire Weekend  first emerged, their prep-school aesthetics and Afrobeat-tinged rhythms were called pretentious. Fast forward a few years, and their sharp songwriting and cultural mashups became the template for intelligent, globally-conscious pop. By the end of the decade, artists like Lorde, Bleachers, and even Taylor Swift’s Folklore-era sound had echoes of Vampire Weekend’s playful yet sophisticated sonic fingerprints. CHVRCHES Glasgow’s CHVRCHES  helped spearhead the 2010s synthpop renaissance. Their glossy, anthemic hooks and emotionally raw lyrics resonated far beyond indie circles. Mainstream artists soon followed suit, just listen to the synth-heavy pop landscapes in tracks by Halsey, Ellie Goulding, and even mainstream powerhouses like Selena Gomez. The lesson? Big feelings and bigger synths were back in business. The 1975 At first glance, The 1975  were just another Tumblr-famous band with catchy hooks and neon aesthetics. But their willingness to blur genres, combining rock, R&B, electronic, and even jazz, became a defining pop feature by the late 2010s. Their introspective, self-aware lyrics also paved the way for artists like Billie Eilish and Olivia Rodrigo, whose emotionally honest storytelling now defines Gen Z pop. Alt-J Alt-J  embraced the weird. Their off-kilter rhythms, cryptic lyrics, and genre-defying approach inspired a wave of artists to take more experimental risks within pop structures. Without Alt-J breaking through with An Awesome Wave , there might not have been room for the likes of Glass Animals or Billie Eilish’s more avant-garde early work. Florence + The Machine Florence Welch ’s sweeping vocals and orchestral arrangements brought a level of grandiosity and emotional intensity that seeped into pop’s DNA. Artists like Halsey, Adele’s later albums, and even Beyoncé (Spirit, Don’t Hurt Yourself) show echoes of Florence’s dramatic, poetic approach. Arctic Monkeys By the time AM dropped in 2013, Alex Turner and company had evolved from post-punk revivalists into smooth, moody, R&B-influenced rockers. Their tight, sultry production and minimalist hooks inspired not just indie acts, but mainstream pop and hip-hop producers looking for that less-is-more vibe. Haim Haim  brought musicianship, harmony, and West Coast cool back to the mainstream. Their blend of Fleetwood Mac nostalgia and modern pop-rock became a huge influence on Taylor Swift’s evermore and folklore, and you can hear their fingerprints in everyone from Clairo to Harry Styles. Paramore While they started in the emo and pop-punk scenes, Paramore’ s evolution in the 2010s, especially with their self-titled album and After Laughter, blurred the lines between alternative rock, synthpop, and mainstream pop. Hayley Williams’ lyrical vulnerability and the band’s knack for catchy yet emotionally deep hooks paved the way for the pop-punk revival and influenced everyone from Olivia Rodrigo to Billie Eilish to Miley Cyrus. The xx The xx  perfected the art of space, silence, and intimacy in music. Their stripped-down sound and delicate emotional storytelling became a playbook for modern pop’s softer side, think Lorde’s early work, Khalid, and even Drake’s more contemplative moments. Indie Didn’t Just Influence Pop, It Became Pop The 2010s indie bands didn’t just sprinkle flavor into pop; they rewired its DNA. Today’s biggest pop hits owe as much to bedroom producers and quirky indie bands as they do to the Max Martins of the world. As we cruise through the mid-2020s, the indie spirit, genre-bending, emotionally raw, and fearlessly experimental, is the pop mainstream. What’s Next for Pop in 2025? As pop music continues to evolve in 2025 , one of the biggest trends shaping the genre is the blending of indie and alternative influences into mainstream production. Today’s top pop artists are no longer confined to one sound; instead, they pull from bedroom pop, electronic, R&B, and even lo-fi aesthetics to create a more emotionally resonant and genre-fluid sound. With platforms like TikTok driving discovery and niche fan communities gaining more power, the definition of “pop” is more expansive than ever. Whether it's through raw, vulnerable lyricism or experimental production choices, pop music in 2025 is becoming a space where authenticity, innovation, and individuality are front and center.

Karen Alice Dunbar ’s latest single, “ The Other Side, ” is a beautiful paradox. It’s soft yet firm, lonely yet empowering, and rooted in heartbreak while blooming with hope. As the first single from her upcoming EP Calamity State , due July 11th, this folk-pop ballad invites listeners into a world of midnight emotions and morning clarity. Written over a decade ago, “The Other Side” captures the raw moment of waking up alone, aching for a presence that’s no longer there. But it doesn’t stop at the pain. It evolves. It unfolds into a gentle act of reclamation—of bed space, emotional ground, and self-worth. As Karen sings about sleepless nights and ghosted memories, her voice remains both soothing and soul-baring, drawing from the emotive styles of London Grammar, Haim, and Kacey Musgraves. The production is minimal yet lush, allowing the lyrics to breathe and resonate. A dreamy guitar line carries the melody while layered harmonies slowly rise like the morning sun over the emotional wreckage left behind. There’s an intimacy to this track that feels timeless, as though it was always waiting to be released at just the right moment. Dunbar, a North Wexford native, has traveled far with her music; from Greece and Germany to Nashville and Canada, but “The Other Side” brings her songwriting back to the bedroom, the place where most heartbreak lives and lingers. What sets this song apart is its delicate transition from sorrow to strength. The act of sleeping on “their” side of the bed becomes a metaphor for taking back what’s yours, even in the smallest, most symbolic ways. “I’d like people to feel comforted in the fact they’re not alone during those sleepless nights of missing someone,” Karen shares. “And a sense of hope that the morning will come soon.” That hope glows through every note. “The Other Side” is not just a breakup song. It’s a lullaby for the broken, a quiet anthem for those learning to rest with their own heart again. And as the curtain rises on Calamity State , Karen Alice Dunbar proves that sometimes healing begins with something as simple as changing sides of the bed. "The Other Side" was written over 10 years ago. What made now the right time to finally release it? I hadn't released any new music since the COVID pandemic, as I had burned myself out trying to do too much in other aspects of my work. However, I took a step back from some of my teaching work last year, and as a result, I was able to create space for these songs to grow. The Other Side has always been one of my favorite songs I've ever written, but until recently, I wasn't sure where to go with the sound. Now was the time for it. There's a beautiful metaphor for sleeping on their side of the bed. Can you share how that small act helped you emotionally reclaim your space? Healing from a breakup of any kind is a form of grief, in my opinion - a loss. Part of the journey is feeling whole again without that other person, so sleeping on their side is a symbolic yet significant step in that process.  Your upcoming EP is titled Calamity State. What does that title represent for you, and how does this single set the tone? "Calamity State" is the title of one of the songs from the EP and the catalyst for these songs being plucked from the archives - the vault. It's about going through the motions, getting by in a functional freeze, and on autopilot because you're so burnt out and are leaning on whatever vice helps you get through. It's very personal and reflective, and 'The Other Side' is a song that represents those sleepless nights of overthinking and longing.  You've toured across Europe and North America. How have those experiences shaped your songwriting and perspective? Nashville definitely had a huge impact on my songwriting. I've taken several trips there, and from watching & listening to other artists at open mics to sitting down to co-write with them, it made me a better writer. I was 27 when I took my first trip there, solo, with no one to know, and making connections as I went along. It was a huge growing experience & learning curve for this sheltered Irish girl! You cite influences like London Grammar, Haim, and Kacey Musgraves. How do you balance their inspiration with your distinct voice? Something I learned with making this EP was that I didn't have to stick to one style per se. I felt much freer than I had previously while recording, and I wasn't trying to make the songs sound like anything in particular. It was liberating that I could let the songs sound like whatever they needed to. I draw inspiration from specific elements of different songs by these artists while maintaining my originality and integrity as the artist I am, not who I think I should be or what people would like. This EP is my personal rebellion against people-pleasing.

Los Angeles-based alt-pop artist Almondmilkhunni is entering a bold new chapter with Star Baby, her first EP since 2023’s ENJOY THE RIDE . Known for her dreamy vocals, raw confidence, and Jersey-born attitude, she blends electronica, sensual storytelling, and unapologetic truth in a way that’s entirely her own. We caught up with the rising star to talk about her new single “New Jerzey,” her roots in DIY house shows and strip clubs, and why vulnerability will always be her superpower. "New Jerzey" feels like both an ode and a confession; what inspired you to blur the lines between a lover and a mirror of yourself in this track? My best friend originally inspired me because she's also a Jersey girl. Then, while I was describing the quintessential Jersey girl, I realized how much I am also that girl.  You've always balanced softness with edge. How does Star Baby expand or shift that duality in your sound and persona? The edge in Star Baby comes from a more eager and angsty place. In Pleaser, that sense of edginess is based on feminine rage at the society we live in and the way women, specifically sex workers, are treated and viewed by men.  Coming from New Jersey's DIY house scene and now releasing music in LA with Hall of Fame Records, how has your environment shaped your evolution as an artist? Being born and raised in Jersey makes you real. I grew up with all of my friends being in bands, and even if they didn't "make it" big time, they were all so incredibly talented and earnest in their love for music. That shaped who I am. Even though I've gone through periods of not knowing myself earlier in my career, I've come back to the Jersey girl I always was, and that's where the authenticity lies. You've been open about your past, stripping to support yourself through school. How has that experience influenced your confidence, creativity, or even your lyrics today? Coming from a religious household, I accepted the fact that I would always have to carve my path in life. Being queer and a sex worker, I had to keep my head up and know that someone would always be unlike me. Knowing and accepting that has freed me from the pressure of needing to be what people expect me to be. I find that to be a fundamental character trait within myself, and it seeps into the music. Your music often invites listeners to embrace vulnerability and weirdness unapologetically. What do you hope "Star Baby" empowers people to feel or do after listening? I hope Star Baby allows people to see the best version of themselves. It allows people to accept who they are without shame or embarrassment, even if they don't know exactly who they are yet.

Photos by Christian Sabo Just weeks after captivating millions of viewers on American Idol   Season 23, Top 14 standout Amanda Barise is wasting no time staking her claim in the music industry. Dubbed "perfection" by Carrie Underwood after a powerhouse vocal performance, the New Jersey native dropped her debut EP, Cute & Deadly . It is a bold, defiant statement from an artist ready to make serious noise on her terms. The three-track EP is a sonic snapshot of Amanda's evolution: emotionally honest, confidently unapologetic, and soaked in alternative R&B and neo-soul. Entirely written by Amanda and co-produced alongside Grammy-winning engineer Max Faigen, Cute and Deadly  introduces a new sound that sits somewhere between SZA's emotional grit, Janelle Monáe's flair, and Jazmine Sullivan's raw vocal power. Yet it remains distinctly Amanda through and through. The title track, which dropped on May 14, is a bold anthem of self-realization, capturing the duality Amanda has become known for: soft yet firm, graceful yet unfiltered. It is followed by the sensual, smooth "Girl Like Me," a confident self-call to action that turns inward without losing fire. Rounding out the set is "26," a vulnerable ballad that reflects on life, timing, and the importance of seizing the moment, even when it doesn't go to plan. " Cute and Deadly  is a reminder that I've always been that girl," Amanda explains. "I've had to fight through depression, self-doubt, and years of people in the industry telling me I needed to change to fit in. But through Idol  and this music, I rediscovered myself. I'm not waiting for permission anymore. I'm not afraid to take up space." Barise's journey has been anything but linear. A graduate of The New School, where she earned a BFA in Jazz and Contemporary Music and a BA in Culture and Media, Amanda was never just a singer. She's a student of her craft, with roots grounded in both performance and academic understanding. Her Idol  run provided a national stage for her powerhouse vocals, featuring emotional renditions of Aretha Franklin and Alicia Keys, as well as theatrical showstoppers like "Defying Gravity." Still, as compelling as her covers are, it is her original work that reveals who Amanda truly is. She's not just cute. She's not just deadly. She's both. And that duality is her power. With lyrics like "They thought I wouldn't make it / But now I am the one," Amanda is reclaiming the narrative, responding to critics, doubters, and anyone who underestimated her with clarity and class. She also isn't afraid to discuss tough topics. Being an artist in a social media-saturated world, facing the pressure to succeed as a woman in the industry, and navigating the vulnerability of healing publicly after private battles are all themes she addresses without flinching. "I used to think I had to earn being myself," Amanda says. "Now I know I just had to be brave enough to share her." If "Cute and Deadly " is her opening chapter after Idol , then we are witnessing the rise of an artist who is not only aware of her worth but is fully prepared to show the world exactly what she is made of. Barise is no longer asking to be seen. She is commanding it. And from the sound of this EP, she is not going anywhere. What inspired the title Cute & Deadly, and when did you first hear someone call you that? Cute and Deadly was inspired by exactly how I was feeling at the moment I wrote it. As a woman in the music industry, I've often felt pressure to soften my image to be perceived as a little "cuter" to be heard or to avoid being seen as difficult when I have a strong opinion. The title is my response to that: yes, I might look sweet, but I'm serious about what I do, and I know how to command space. It's also a nod to all the people who didn't believe in me, who maybe said I wouldn't make it, and now I see them watching my every move. It's a little wink, a little warning. You've been incredibly open about your battle with depression. How has that shaped your artistry? My struggles with depression and anxiety have always been deeply tied to my music. Writing and performing are how I process those feelings; it's how I honestly survive them. Music has been my outlet, my healer, and my connection to people going through their battles. If I didn't have that emotional depth, I don't think I'd be able to write the songs I do. How different is Amanda Barise today compared to the one who auditioned for Idol? Amanda today is more grounded and more sure of who I am as an artist. Before Idol, I worried that my sound was too different or too specific for people to connect with. However, I now realize that being different is exactly what makes it powerful. I don't need to mold myself into something more palatable. My sound will find the people it's meant to reach. What was it like working with Max Faigen on this project? Working with Max (who's also my partner) is such a gift. He gives me the space to be an artist fully. When I hit a creative wall or need a fresh perspective, he steps in so naturally and helps elevate the work. He has contributed so much to this EP, both musically and emotionally. I truly couldn't have finished this project without him. What message do you hope fans take away from this EP? I hope listeners walk away feeling seen in all their stages of growth and development. You are never too much, too quiet, too emotional, too anything… you are exactly who you're meant to be. This EP is about owning every version of yourself, even the ones you're still healing from. The people who are meant for you will find you, no matter what you've been through. It's okay to evolve and rewrite your narrative; that's what I'm doing, too.

Kevin Silvester 's O2 is the kind of debut EP that arrives with zero hesitation and a whole lot of heart. It's loud, vulnerable, unfiltered, and hilarious in the way that only real pain can be when processed through the lens of self-awareness. Mixing Y2K pop-rock nostalgia with modern queer storytelling, Silvester invites listeners into a chaotic yet cathartic coming-of-age soundtrack. From the opening track, "I THINK I NEED THERAPY!" the tone is set. It's funny, it's messy, and it's painfully honest. Silvester grapples with emotional burnout, self-sabotage, and financial barriers to mental health, then turns it all into a punchy pop-punk anthem. The absurdity of spiraling is made digestible by wit, and it sets the emotional foundation for what follows. "Stranger" and "DELULU" continue the journey with raw self-reflection and delusional obsession. At the same time, "Orbit" explores the familiar queer heartbreak of being led on by someone still struggling with their identity. Silvester's lyrical honesty cuts deep, but it is cushioned by sticky hooks and confident melodies that keep the listener dancing even through the sadness. The lead single, "Bad Omen," is a standout moment. It takes the red flags we all pretend not to see and frames them as fate, superstition, and signs we choose to ignore. The track blends sharp lyricism with melodic grit, offering one of the most relatable breakup reframes in recent memory. From the realization of "Fool's Gold" to the pretend pleasantries of "Hurt People," the EP follows an arc of self-awareness without losing its chaotic charm. Closer "Sleepwalker" delivers a haunting finish, pairing longing with a surreal, emotional haze. What makes O2 feel so refreshing is how it embraces contradictions. It is bitter and sweet, dramatic and grounded, funny and sincere. Silvester doesn't try to clean up the mess, and he invites you to dance in it. With this release, he proves he is not just a songwriter but a storyteller for the anxious, the overthinkers, and the emotionally honest. You named the EP O2  as a nod to both oxygen and the year 2002. Could you elaborate on how those two ideas relate to each other in your mind? These eight songs came from a place of pure catharsis. Writing them felt like a survival instinct, as essential as breathing. In through the nose, out through the ballpoint. That’s where the ‘O₂’ comes in. It represents oxygen, the life force that kept me going creatively. However, it’s also a nod to 2002, the year I was born, and the era of pop-rock that helped shape my identity. Artists from that time, like Avril Lavigne and The Veronicas, were my lifeline growing up, and that sound lives at the core of this EP. “BAD OMEN” stands out as a lead single. What makes that song feel like the centerpiece of the EP for you? It’s my favorite track on the EP because it’s just so boppy. I genuinely can’t be in a bad mood when it’s playing, even though the lyrics are devastating. That contrast is what makes it feel like the centerpiece for me. It captures the heart of the whole project: turning emotional chaos into something you can dance to. It’s dramatic, it’s catchy, it’s unhinged in the best way, and that’s the energy I wanted this EP to live in. Your lyrics walk the line between comedy and emotional chaos. How do you find that balance when writing? Comedy and emotional chaos are the same thing to me. They both come from the same raw, uncomfortable place. I’ve always used humor as a way to survive the heavy stuff. When I’m writing, I don’t separate the two. I let the heartbreak and the punchlines sit side by side. If a lyric makes me laugh and flinch at the same time, I know I’ve hit something honest. That balance feels true to how I process the world. As a queer artist, how important was it for you to represent specific LGBTQ+ experiences in songs like “ORBIT” and “DELULU”? It was everything. Growing up, I didn’t see many specific queer experiences reflected in the music I loved - especially the messy, unfiltered parts like internalized homophobia, delusion, or longing for people who will never be mine. Songs like ‘ORBIT’ and ‘DELULU’ are me reclaiming that space. They’re not just ‘love songs that happen to be gay.’ They’re deliberately queer in their chaos, humor, and heartbreak. And I think a lot of LGBTQ+ people, especially young ones, deserve to hear those stories told with that kind of specificity and honesty.  What do you hope someone screaming these lyrics alone in their car takes away from this EP? I want them to feel fierce and unbothered like screaming those lyrics alone in the car is their rebellion against all the crap they’ve been dealt. This EP is for anyone tired of hiding their messy feelings or pretending everything’s fine. It’s a middle finger to the idea that you have to ‘keep it together.’ If they blast these songs and feel like they’re flipping off the world while doing it, then I’ve done my job.

When it comes to music that leaves a lingering ache in your chest, few do it quite like Armin Morshed . The Iranian-born, Los Angeles-based composer, producer, and guitarist continues to prove why he’s one of the most captivating voices in the fusion scene with his latest single, “ I Think About Us Sometimes .” Released as part of the Virtual Planet album, a cross-cultural jazz project featuring icons like Dave Weckl and John Patitucci, the song blends pop, rock, and jazz into a timeless soundscape soaked in memory and melancholy. “I Think About Us Sometimes” is more than a song; it’s a moment. From the first soft strum to the soul-bearing guitar solo that closes the track, Morshed captures the fragile in-between: the space between holding on and letting go, between comfort and truth. Written and produced by Morshed himself, the single lives in emotional limbo, echoing the vulnerability of unresolved love. “It’s not just a love song for me. It’s a confession. A storm. A question that doesn’t need to be answered, only understood.” And that’s exactly what this track accomplishes. Set against warm, vintage textures and understated instrumentation, Morshed’s voice floats through the verses like a late-night thought you can’t quite shake. There’s restraint in the way he builds the track, no overproduction, no flashy crescendo, just pure, lived-in emotion. The title itself, “I Think About Us Sometimes,” feels like a whisper across time, the kind that resurfaces when you least expect it. The final guitar solo speaks volumes without saying a word, expressing what Morshed describes as “the only answer I could offer to a situation like this.” It’s haunting, heartfelt, and open-ended, exactly the kind of emotional catharsis that jazz, at its best, can offer. A former prodigy of the Tehran Conservatory and a Berklee College of Music Presidential Scholar, Morshed’s musical pedigree is impossible to ignore. But what sets him apart isn’t just his technical prowess; it’s his emotional intelligence. Whether writing for Persian pop stars or performing with Grammy-winning jazz legends, Armin approaches music as a conversation, one that values feeling over perfection. This single marks another bold step in Morshed’s journey as an artist who resists genre boundaries. Raised on Persian music, educated in Western jazz, and now experimenting with English and Farsi songwriting, he’s building a bridge between cultures and emotional landscapes. And while “I Think About Us Sometimes” may center on romantic reflection, its message reaches further. Inspired by existential psychologist Irvin D. Yalom, Morshed urges listeners to embrace their loneliness, to see it not as a flaw but as a universal human experience. If Virtual Planet gave Morshed a platform to experiment, “I Think About Us Sometimes” gives him a spotlight, and he uses it to shine a light on the deepest parts of us. Expect his upcoming independent album to build on this sonic and emotional maturity, as he prepares to merge the many worlds he inhabits: jazz, pop, Iranian roots, and raw human vulnerability. Until then, this track is more than enough to sit with, especially on the nights you’re not sure what’s next. “I Think About Us Sometimes” feels deeply personal and emotionally raw. Was there a specific moment or experience that sparked the creation of this song? Yes. It started with the first time I fell in love. It was intense, messy, and honestly, very immature, and I didn’t know how to process any of it. I didn’t know how to act, how to communicate, or how to let go. But that confusion gave birth to something honest. The song isn’t just about the love itself; it’s about the emotional space around it, the tension between hope and heartbreak, where you're holding onto something that might already be slipping away. That feeling, the quiet limbo between staying and leaving, stuck with me. In real love, I think there's always that moment where you’re forced to make a hard choice. That pressure to either fight for it or walk away… It’s heavy. And that exact emotional weight is what the song lives in. Your work blends jazz, pop, Persian music, and more. How do you approach merging these genres while staying true to your artistic identity? For me, it’s never been about sticking to a genre; it’s more about being honest in the process. I grew up listening to everything: jazz, pop, Persian classical music, blues, experimental... So when I write, all of those influences just show up naturally. Genres are labels, but music isn’t built that way. It's shaped by what you feel and what you've lived. I’m mostly rooted in jazz and blues as a player, but I also create Persian music because that’s a part of who I am, culturally and emotionally. I never want to lose that connection to my people or where I come from. My sound is just a reflection of all of it, the collision of the East and the West, the personal and the universal. You mentioned the influence of Yalom’s Existential Psychotherapy on this release. How has philosophy or psychology shaped your songwriting over time? Tremendously. Philosophy and psychology are probably the biggest forces behind my songwriting. I’ve studied both formally and informally, through classes, therapy sessions, books, and every bit of it has helped shape not only how I write, but how I understand myself and others. To me, songwriting is storytelling. And when you’re exploring existential ideas like meaning, death, isolation, or freedom, the stories you tell become deeper. They move beyond surface emotions into something more universal. The more you understand yourself, the more honestly you can write, and the more others can see themselves in your work, too. As someone who’s written and produced over 100 songs for other artists, how does writing for yourself differ, emotionally and creatively? Writing for myself gives me complete freedom. I don’t have to explain anything or meet anyone else's expectations. I can chase an idea that only makes sense to me, and that’s a rare kind of joy. But writing for others is just as meaningful, in a different way. There’s a beauty in collaboration, in letting go of your ego and meeting someone halfway to create something neither of you would’ve made alone. You learn a lot when you step outside of your own head and create in someone else’s universe. Both sides feed each other; my solo work benefits from the experiences I’ve had with other artists, and vice versa. You’ve performed with legends and studied at some of the world’s top institutions. Looking ahead, what do you hope your upcoming album says about who you are, not just as a musician, but as a person? Honestly, I don’t want the album to be some grand statement. I see it more as a small collection of stories, little windows into moments I’ve lived, felt, or imagined. I’m not trying to impress anyone or check any boxes. I just want to make something that feels sincere, something that people can sit with and find a piece of themselves in. If the songs can make someone feel seen or help them pause for a moment in their own lives, then that’s enough. I think we all crave stories, ones that help us feel a little less alone, or just remind us of beauty, pain, endings, and beginnings. That’s what I’m chasing generally.