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Toronto’s own K. Forest is back in 2025 with a powerful new single that captures the tension of modern love in motion. Titled “ Fast ” and featuring long-time collaborators Bolu Ajibade and Saudin, the track is a smooth yet simmering R&B cut that dives deep into the challenge of keeping pace with life—while still finding the time and space to connect. Since his debut in 2015 with Forest Fire , K. Forest has quietly established himself as a heavyweight in the R&B scene, building a catalog that spans six studio albums, four EPs, and multiple singles, with over 75 million streams to his name. His influence was cemented early when Travis Scott remixed his song “Guidance” for Birds in The Trap Sing McKnight , and since then, he’s built a reputation not just as a vocalist but as a producer and curator. K. Forest has worked behind the boards for artists like Baka Not Nice, Juicy J, and Giggs, co-curated Netflix’s Top Boy playlist, and even landed placements in series like Grand Army and Ballers on HBO. Now, with “Fast,” K. Forest steps into 2025 with a message about momentum and meaningful connection. Over sleek, dynamic production that blends rich R&B textures with urgent rhythms, the track captures what it feels like to love in the middle of the storm—when everything’s moving at full speed, but you’re still trying to be present for the person who matters most. Reflecting on the song, K. Forest doesn’t hold back: “I want people to know I’m the greatest artist and songwriter to ever live.” It’s a bold statement—but with a track record like his and a sound that only continues to evolve, he’s making a strong case. If “Fast” is any indication, K. Forest isn’t slowing down anytime soon—and he doesn’t need to. He’s steering at full throttle, carving his lane in modern R&B with unshakable confidence and unmatched style. “Fast” really captures the tension between living at high speed and trying to stay grounded in relationships—was there a personal experience that inspired this track? Absolutely. “Fast” came from a place of real reflection. I was living in this constant state of motion—chasing goals, moving through cities, balancing expectations—and I realized how easy it is to lose grip on the things that matter most. Relationships, whether romantic or with family and friends, get affected when you’re always moving. That tension you hear in the song comes straight from that struggle. You’ve been in the game since 2015 and worked with huge names behind the scenes—how do you think your journey so far shaped the way you approached this single? The journey humbled me, sharpened my perspective, and gave me patience. Working behind the scenes taught me the value of intentionality—every lyric and every melody has to mean something. By the time I got to “Fast,” I wasn’t just creating from talent; I was creating from experience, from scars, from lessons. I’ve seen both the spotlight and the shadows—it shaped how honest I am in the music now. There’s a clear chemistry between you, Bolu Ajibade, and Saudin—what’s the creative process like when you work together, and how did that dynamic influence the sound of “Fast”? It’s effortless with them. Bolu and Saudin bring their own unique energies and perspectives, and when we link up, there’s no ego—just flow. We trust each other, push each other, and respect the craft. For “Fast,” it was all about locking into the feeling and letting it guide the structure. That chemistry gave the track its pulse, its soul, its pace. You said you want people to know you’re the greatest artist and songwriter to ever live—that’s a powerful claim. What do you think sets your pen and your artistry apart from the rest? What sets me apart is the depth and intention behind every word. I don’t just write to impress—I write to connect, to challenge, to inspire. My pen is fueled by life, not just music. I study the greats, but I don’t mimic—I innovate. I bring a fusion of cultures, emotions, and spirituality into what I do. I’m not chasing trends—I’m building timelessness. When life moves this fast, how do you personally find moments to slow down and reconnect with yourself or your people outside the studio? I stay grounded in faith first. That’s my center. I carve out time for silence, prayer, scripture, and just being present. Outside of that, I link with my people, my family, and my roots—whether that’s sharing a meal, going for a ride, or just vibing out without an agenda. It reminds me of who I am outside the art.

Photo: Wendy Wei The indie music scene is thriving, and 2025 promises to be a stellar year for music festivals around the globe. Whether you’re a die-hard indie fan or simply love the vibe of a good festival, these events are must-visits.  From quaint beachside gatherings to massive urban celebrations, here are the 20 best indie music festivals to pencil into your calendar this year: 1. Primavera Sound (Barcelona, Spain) Photo: Music Festivals Worldwide One of the world’s most renowned festivals, Primavera Sound blends indie, rock, and electronic acts on the stunning Mediterranean coast. Featuring a diverse lineup with artists like Charli XCX, Sabrina Carpenter, Clairo, Brutalismus 3000, and Central Cee slated to perform, Primavera runs from the 4th to the 8th of June, with tickets standing at $363. Tickets for Primavera Sound 2. End of the Road Festival (Dorset, UK) Photo: Cornwall Live Set in a picturesque woodland estate, this UK gem combines magical scenery with a lineup packed with indie legends and newcomers. With artists like Caribou , Father John Misty , Self Esteem and Sharon Van Etten (& The Attachment Theory) anchoring the lineup, indie lovers will definitely be in good hands with this festival. Running from the 28th to the 31st of August, tickets are currently $331. Tickets for End of the Road 3. Splendour Festival (Nottingham, UK) Photo: Splendor Festival Set in the beautiful and elegant surroundings of Wollaton Hall and its accompanying Deer Park, Splendour Festival offers festivalgoers a grassroots, carefully curated blend of indie veterans and newcomers alike. Although the 2025 lineup hasn’t been announced yet, tickets look to be a steal at $128. With past headliners including icons like Becky Hill , The Kooks and Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds , Splendour Festival looks to return with a bang on the 19th and 20th of July. Tickets for Splendour Festival 4. Green Man Festival (Brecon Beacons, Wales) Photo: Visit Monmouthshire A celebration of indie music and arts in the lush Welsh countryside, this festival is known for its laid-back, eco-conscious vibe. With past artists including Sampha , Mount Kimbie and Big Thief , Green Man Festival thrives with its unique vibe and sense of community. Running from the 14th to the 17th of August, tickets look to be about $518. Tickets for Green Man Festival 5. Iceland Airwaves (Reykjavík, Iceland) Photo: GOD IS IN THE TV Running from November 6th to November 8th, Iceland’s Iceland Airwaves Festival provides raw and intimate performances by indie artists in venues scattered across the charming streets of Reykjavík. This festival consistently provides charming, unique experiences that simply can’t be replicated with more prominent, more commercial festivals. Super early bird tickets are still available for $106. Tickets for Iceland Airwaves 6. Best Kept Secret (Hilvarenbeek, Netherlands) Photo: 3FM Tucked away in a serene lakeside setting, this festival’s diverse lineup makes it a hidden treasure for indie lovers. Featuring artists with styles as diverse as Jazzy House to heavy metal mass, Best Kept Secret truly has a little something for everyone. As part of the immersive experience, Best Kept Secret also doubles as a camping festival. Find the ticket link below; regular tickets with campsite reservations will run you about $355, while tickets without the campsite reservation will run you $336. Tickets for Best Kept Secret 7. Laneway Festival (Perth, Australia) Photo: The Music Network Laneway travels through several cities, but its Perth edition looks to stand out with a stacked lineup and vibrant crowd. Artists like Charli XCX , Clairo , Bicep and Barry Can’t Swim look to provide a refreshing blend of indie-pop and electronic, with artists like Eyedress , Olivia Dean and Beabadoobee further heating things up. This particular edition runs on the 16th of February, with tickets looking to be about $229. Tickets for Laneway Festiva l 8. Treefort Music Fest (Boise, USA) Photo: Eric Tra Treefort Music Fest sees Boise transform into a buzzing indie haven, showcasing over 500 bands, films, and even a few comedians. This year’s edition includes heavyweights like Sofi Tukker , Remi Wolf and Yot Club , to name a few. Treefort runs from the 26th to the 30th of March, and looks to be a rousing good time as usual. Tickets are currently sitting at $366.  Tickets for Treefort Music Fest 9. Off Festival (Katowice, Poland) Photo: YOUROPE Expect experimental indie acts and groundbreaking sounds in this quirky and vibrant Polish city. Running from August 1st to 3rd, breakout artists like Snow Strippers and Machine Girl will share the stage with more established names like James Blake , and even more underground mainstays like Ecco2k . Tickets look to be $158 for the 3-day pass. Tickets for Off Festival 10. Noise Pop Festival (San Francisco, USA) Photo: Sarah Felker All across the vibrant, bustling city of San Francisco, a week-long indie celebration looks to continue from February 20th to March 2nd. With performances taking place in intimate venues all across the Bay Area, this fest is perfect for discovering emerging artists, but also includes more established names like Soccer Mommy , Danny Brown and DIIV . Passes for the entire week look to be $265. Tickets for Noise Pop Festival 11. Hopscotch Music Festival (Raleigh, USA) Photo: Visit Raleigh With over 150 bands across various genres, this North Carolina festival is a playground for indie enthusiasts. Although the 2025 headliners haven’t been announced yet, 2024 saw a diverse lineup with artists like JPEGMAFIA , BADBADNOTGOOD and St. Vincent electrify concertgoers. Tickets aren’t on sale yet, but keep an eye out, they go fast every time. 12. Vida Festival (Barcelona, Spain) Photo: Vida Festival Blending art, nature, and music, Vida Festival offers a more relaxed alternative to the bustling Primavera Sound. Artists like Future Islands , Royel Otis , Benjamin Clementine look to provide a calming yet invigorating experience for festival goers. Running from July 3rd to 5th, it promises to be an unforgettable summer experience, with tickets looking to be $138. Tickets for Vida Festival   13. The Great Escape (Brighton, UK) Photo: Safe and Sound Magazine Dubbed the UK’s answer to SXSW, this festival showcases the best rising stars in the indie scene. This vibrant fest sees the best indie acts from all over the globe converge in the bustling city of Brighton, with artists from the Faroe Islands to Switzerland in attendance. Festival dates run from the 14th to the 17th of May, with tickets looking to be around $132. Tickets for The Great Escape 14. Calgary Folk Music Festival (Calgary, Canada) Photo: National Art Centre Folk meets indie in this underrated gem of a Canadian gem, known for its friendly atmosphere and incredible lakeside views. This intimate festival forgoes big-name headliners for a true, grassroots indie-folk experience, with the latest “block heater” running from the 14th to the 15th of February. Tickets look to be a steal too at $78. Valentine’s Day music date anyone? Tickets for Calgary Folk Festival 15. Big Ears Festival (Knoxville, USA) Photo: Knox News This avant-garde festival brings together experimental indie and classical acts for an unforgettable experience. Similarly to Calgary’s Folk Music Festival, Big Ears Fest forgoes larger, industry names for vibrant, underground musicians who’ve been mastering their craft for ages. The festival runs from March 27th to 30th, with the full 4-day pass standing at around $400 for access to over 200 concerts and performances. Tickets for Big Ears Festival 16. Doune the Rabbit Hole (Stirlingshire, Scotland) Photo: STV News A charming, family-friendly festival with an indie lineup in the Scottish countryside, Scotland’s Doune the Rabbit Hole Fest returns in 2025 as “Back Doune the Rabbit Hole.” Running from the 1st to the 3rd of August, although the headliners have yet to be announced, Doune the Rabbit Hole’s stellar reputation across the years indicates that this year will be just as good as past ones. Tickets currently look to be around $150. Tickets for The Rabbit Hole Fest 17. Bearded Theory Festival (Derbyshire, UK) Photo: Derby Telegraph Bearded Theory Festival is a family-friendly, award-winning music festival held annually in the scenic countryside of Derbyshire, UK. Known for its diverse lineup spanning rock, indie, folk, and electronic music, the festival offers something for everyone, including kids' activities, workshops, and comedy acts. Running from May 21st to 25th, this year’s iteration combines newer, up-and-coming acts with titans like Iggy Pop , Manic Street Preachers and Paul Heaton . Tickets are around $307. Tickets for Bearded Theory 18. Fuji Rock (Yuzawa, Japan) Photo: Asahi Fuji Rock Festival , held at the picturesque Naeba Ski Resort in Japan, is one of Asia's premier music festivals, blending stunning natural surroundings with a world-class lineup. Featuring an eclectic mix of rock, indie, electronic, and global artists, the festival creates a vibrant cultural experience across multiple stages. Although the headliners aren’t announced yet, this one-of-a-kind festival is definitely not one to be missed, and will run from July 25th to 27th. Tickets go on sale in March. 19. Osheaga Music Festival (Montreal, Canada) Photo: Yahoo News Canada Held annually at Parc Jean-Drapeau in Montreal, Osheaga Music and Arts Festival is arguably Canada’s premier celebration of music and creativity. Featuring an impressive lineup of global superstars, rising talents, and diverse genres, Osheaga draws music lovers from around the world. Running from August 1st to 3rd, 2025’s lineup may not have been announced, but with last year’s edition attracting giant names like Noah Kahan , Hozier , Chappel Roan and SZA , we can’t wait to see what this year’s edition will bring. 20. Newport Folk Music Festival (Rhode Island, USA) Photo: CarniFest.com Newport Music Festival , set in the historic coastal town of Newport, Rhode Island, is a celebrated showcase of classical and contemporary chamber music. The festival blends rich history with artistic excellence, featuring world-class musicians performing in stunning venues like grand mansions and scenic outdoor spaces. This year’s edition runs from the 1st to the 3rd of August, and although the lineup hasn’t been announced yet, festivalgoers can expect a friendly, warm atmosphere combined with exquisite music. Tickets are only available through the DICE mobile app . No matter where you go, these festivals promise unforgettable experiences, jaw-dropping performances, and memories that will last a lifetime. Get your tickets, pack your festival essentials, and let the indie vibes guide your 2025 adventures.

Jelly Roll , the country rap and Southern rock artist known for his gritty lyrics and soulful sound, has made quite a splash in the music industry. If you’re wondering whether he’s an independent artist or signed to a major label, the answer is a bit of both, and here’s why. Jelly Roll, whose real name is Jason DeFord, has had a remarkable journey through the music industry. He started out in the underground scene, hustling hard and building a dedicated fanbase. For much of his career, he operated independently, releasing music through his own label, Bad Apple Records . This approach allowed him the freedom to craft his unique sound without the constraints often associated with major labels. However, in recent years, Jelly Roll has also worked with larger entities. In 2022, he signed with the major label BMG , which has provided additional resources and support to amplify his music and reach even more fans. This move marked a shift from purely independent operations to a hybrid model, combining the benefits of major label backing with the artist’s strong independent spirit. So, while Jelly Roll may no longer be exclusively independent, his roots and approach to music still reflect a significant DIY ethos. He’s managed to blend the best of both worlds, maintaining his authenticity while enjoying the expanded opportunities that come with a major label partnership.

In an era obsessed with identity, branding, and viral visibility, The Uprights offer something radically different: anonymity. No selfies, no genre-hopping guest features, no neatly packaged bios. Just immersive, experimental electronic music crafted by a multi-disciplinary artist collective that would rather have their sound recognized than their faces. Their latest release, Curse of the Yellow Butterfly , is not an album in the traditional sense. It’s a cinematic, genre-defying sonic experience—one that blends elements of ambient electronica, classical motifs, jazz phrasing, and visual art into a single immersive vision. It’s not just meant to be heard; it’s meant to be inhabited . An Abstract World You Can Feel Curse of the Yellow Butterfly doesn’t deal in hooks or choruses. There are no pop song structures to hold onto. What you get instead is a meticulously layered tapestry of sound: whispered glitches, swelling string arrangements, abstract percussive elements, and moments of quiet dread or unexpected beauty. It feels like walking through a haunted museum or drifting through someone else’s dream—shapeless but deeply emotional. At times, the compositions evoke early Autechre or Brian Eno’s ambient works, but there’s also something warmer and more organic running underneath the digital veil. The jazz flourishes add human breath. The classical textures offer gravitas. There’s poetry here—even if no words are spoken. Art Over Algorithm The Uprights are not interested in chasing playlists or racking up streams. Their mission is different—and it shows. Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is an audio-visual statement, created in tandem with short films and artwork to form a complete, multidisciplinary experience. It’s a rejection of the disposable content model we’ve all grown numb to. Instead of marketing themselves, they erase themselves. By remaining anonymous, the members—comprising a writer, photographer, cartoonist, poet, and videographer—force listeners to confront only the work. The mystery becomes a mirror: you project onto it. You engage on your terms. You don’t consume this record—you enter it. Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is not an easy listen, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s a confrontation. It’s an offering. It’s a deliberately uncommercial, deeply creative, and emotionally resonant piece of experimental art that will resonate most with those willing to slow down and listen with intention. For fans of Aphex Twin, Arca, Jóhann Jóhannsson, or the avant-garde end of Björk’s catalog, this album will feel like familiar territory. But The Uprights aren’t copying anyone. They’re building their own sonic mythology—and inviting you into it, quietly and unapologetically. In a world saturated with noise, Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is a whispered rebellion. You describe this album as an “experience” rather than a collection of songs. What does that distinction mean to you, and how does it shape the way you approach composing and producing music? We are trying to cast a wider net than just producing songs. We want to create something broader, something that spills over into real life. The inclusion of atmospheric sounds, audio clips from movies and historical figures and spoken-word poetry give us a larger palette to draw from. Additionally, the inclusion of visual art in our videos helps to enhance the experience. By using AI art and film, we can add depth and perspective to the songs that go beyond just the auditory sensation. All of these elements give us a great deal of freedom in how we write and produce our music. There are literally no limits other than our own imaginations. The anonymity behind The Uprights adds to the mystique—but it also shifts the focus entirely to the art. How has removing your personal identities changed the creative process or the way your work is received? We feel that too many bands rely on their image rather than their music. Consequently, the music suffers. Our priority will always be to create something that has substance musically. Taking ourselves out of the spotlight also saves a lot of time and energy. We don’t have to worry about the stage show, the fashion trends, or the intrusions into our private lives. We would much rather be artists than stars. Not that we take anything away from actual pop stars. It’s just not a road that we wish to travel. There are clear elements of classical, jazz, and cinematic scoring embedded in this album. What influences or inspirations shaped Curse of the Yellow Butterfly, and how do you balance such diverse sonic textures? The first thing we did as a group was to decide that there would be no strict walls around what we could or couldn’t throw into the mix. We have a very wide range of influences, from Miles Davis to Tangerine Dream, Chopin to Chuck Berry. They are all important to us and if we can find a clever way to work them into our compositions, we will do so. The hard part is making those varied styles work together and flow from one another without sounding forced or out of place. Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is meant to be a ‘melting pot.’ It is up to the audience to decide if we have succeeded at that or not. You’ve mentioned this album reflects “the complex and often oppressive times we live in.” Can you expand on how you interpret or express modern anxiety, alienation, or societal pressure through non-lyrical instrumental compositions? This band came together during the Covid lockdowns. We were basically born into a world of anxiety and isolation. I’m sure that had a lot to do with our sound. We simply tried to reflect what we were feeling; to put it into some tangible form. And, of course, even after the emergency had passed, we still find ourselves in a culture of insecurity, injustice, and oppression. Sometimes, a highly emotional instrument can say more than mere words ever could. We hope so, anyway. As a multidisciplinary collective, your work spans sound, visuals, poetry, and film. How do those disciplines speak to each other in your process—and how important is it that the audience experiences them together rather than separately? As artists in several diverse fields, we are each trying to bring a little of our own disciplines into what we create as The Uprights. Personally, I think this is our greatest advantage, our secret weapon. These multiple layers to our project have the potential to make for a more interesting, more immersive experience. And truthfully, a judicious use of controlled substances never hurts either. Party on, Garth!

It’s rare to find an album that doesn’t just explore darkness but lives in it—understands it, survives it, and somehow, against all odds, transforms it into art. Harlequin Jones new full-length record TRUST YOURSELF isn’t just music—it’s a body on the table. It’s a soul unraveling and restitching itself before your eyes, one gut-wrenching, piano-pounding track at a time. Emerging from a long and painful hiatus, Amanda and Jesse Anatole—the duo behind Harlequin Jones—return with a vengeance. Formed in Los Angeles in 2005, they’ve always been hard to define: not quite rock, not quite cabaret, but undeniably theatrical and haunting. Their sound fuses baroque pop, eerie piano rock, and dark cabaret with Amanda’s versatile, searing vocals at the helm. On TRUST YOURSELF , all of that becomes something deeper—an urgent reckoning with chronic illness, gaslighting, trauma, and lost years clawed back through the power of songwriting. Songs for the Chronically Misunderstood The album opens like a warning and an invitation. From the jump, Harlequin Jones wastes no time making their mission clear: this is for the ones who were dismissed, misdiagnosed, ignored, and underestimated. “Busted Flush” delivers this message with teeth, referencing the humiliating and maddening experience of being laughed at by medical professionals—only to later discover those instincts were right all along. The piano crashes like a tidal wave while Amanda’s voice teeters between restrained rage and operatic wail. There’s something distinctly theatrical about their work—but it never feels performative. These aren’t roles being played. This is real life, scored by vibraphones, Mellotrons, and echoing, multilayered vocals that sound like ghosts harmonizing in a hallway. Tracks like “Inconsistent Existence” capture the surreal experience of living in stasis—watching the world spin while your body betrays you in silence. Rage, Humor, and the Sound of Surviving But it’s not all sorrow. “EVERYTHING IS ANNOYING” explodes into punk energy with a smirk. It’s a cathartic, head-bobbing takedown of everything and everyone—a necessary break in the emotional weight, reminding us that anger can be just as healing as grief. Here, Harlequin Jones proves they can be just as cutting as they are poetic. And yet, for all the genre-blending and sonic experimentation, what makes TRUST YOURSELF truly hit is its commitment to truth. There’s no pandering, no polish, no attempt to sugarcoat the brutality of living in a body that’s betrayed by systems meant to heal it. Amanda’s lyrics are sharp, specific, and raw—an exposed nerve rather than a carefully curated persona. TRUST YOURSELF isn’t just an album title—it’s a hard-won mantra. It's about refusing to be gaslit by doctors, society, or anyone else who tells you your experience isn’t real. It's about learning to trust your own gut when the world tells you to stay quiet. And most of all, it’s about surviving—and making art out of that survival . For fans of Amanda Palmer, Rasputina, or early Kate Bush, there’s something eerily familiar here. But Harlequin Jones isn’t imitating anyone—they’re carving their own lane with blood, sweat, and vibrating piano strings. If you’re someone who’s ever been dismissed, misunderstood, or made to feel small— TRUST YOURSELF will find you. It’s a lighthouse for the chronically ill, the emotionally exhausted, the beautifully bitter. It’s miserable music for miserable people—and that might be exactly what this world needs more of. TRUST YOURSELF carries a powerful message, especially given your experiences with medical gaslighting and chronic illness. What was the turning point for you when you realized you had to stop listening to others and start trusting your own instincts? It was about 20 years until any professionals would take me seriously. I gave up at one point and stopped asking for help because there was none. Thankfully, eventually, I started looking for answers again and found a doctor who proved all my suspicions right. I would have made so much more music and art if there wasn’t such neglect and mistreatment when I was asking the right questions the whole time! I remember having a couple of really bad live shows because I couldn’t really support myself upright or use my core fully to support strong singing. The TRUST YOURSELF mantra isn’t just about fighting medical gaslighting, but standing up for yourself and trusting your gut in tough situations. It’s always right! Pay attention to your instincts.  There’s a beautiful duality in your music—both theatrical and raw, poetic and painfully real. How do you strike that balance between performance and vulnerability in your songwriting and production? The performances were vulnerable because I had the space to record alone or with my husband/bandmate engineering. I wanted the album to feel extremely authentic and I’m grateful to have the time and space to create it. I produced the album so the authenticity is a singular vision with no outside influences . I made the album exactly how I wanted it to sound, so if it sounds authentic it’s because it’s my real life experience.  “Busted Flush” and “Inconsistent Existence” are incredibly specific in their emotional detail. Were there any songs on this album that were especially difficult—or therapeutic—to write? Inconsistent Existence was incredibly difficult. Busted Flush is therapeutic. I think Inconsistency is hard because it’s very specific to the chronic illness and the life it takes away. It’s sadness, its rage, it’s bitter. It’s hard to play, it’s hard to sing, and it was hard to record. But I love the way it came out. You can hear the work put into it. Now that I think of it, there is a line that Is therapeutic to sing near the end. “Where’d my life go? I’m too young to be this old.” Busted Flush has less rage and is more just hurt and frustrated about how my future turned out, despite what I tried to plan for or emotionally wasn’t strong enough to fight against.  I listen to music constantly. Obsessed. There’s music for every mood and occasion. I know when there’s no music I want to hear or can relate to, I’m in trouble. The line in the chorus, “There’s no music to fit the grief of a busted flush,” feels really good to sing because I finally was able to convey one of my strongest thoughts that I couldn’t figure out how to articulate for a long time. I like all the lyrics to that song.  After years of starts and stops, you’ve finally released a full-length album. What does TRUST YOURSELF represent to you as an artist beyond the music itself? We made so many different demos and had to put things on hold so many times, the real takeaway is the accomplishment of FINISHING a huge project that seems impossible. I was never really proud of a project as much as than when we completed this one.  Cute story: We had a whiteboard where we’d keep song notes. I was watching the cartoon Sailor Moon one night, as grown adults do, and Sailor Moon said, “You can do hard things!!” I drew a little picture of her on the whiteboard saying that and looked at it all the time. So we can basically thank cheery Sailor Moon and her friends for helping to finish this dark album You’ve said you make miserable music for miserable people—what has the response been like from others going through similar health challenges or emotional struggles? Have you found a connection through that shared experience? Yes! People with similar challenges have told me they could relate and have been very supportive! I think one of the motivators that led me to finally complete the album was knowing there were online communities and support groups that I knew I could appreciate. The topics are bigger than me. It’s not the most accessible type of music, but the messages are.

In the vibrant world of pop music, where love and romance often dominate the lyrical landscape, Braden Rozman steps into the spotlight with a refreshingly personal and deeply emotional narrative. His latest single, Cherry Blossom , is not about a lover but a friend—one who was once like family but, in the end, walked away. The Ottawa-based independent artist, influenced by the shimmering synth-pop sounds of the 1980s, blends heartfelt storytelling with catchy melodies to craft a song that resonates far beyond the surface. From the very first notes, Cherry Blossom immerses the listener in a dreamy, nostalgic soundscape. The track is layered with ethereal synths, pulsing beats, and Rozman’s earnest, emotive vocals, which carry the weight of his lyrics with undeniable sincerity. While the production is upbeat and infectious, there is an undeniable melancholy woven throughout, a delicate balance that mirrors the complex emotions tied to losing someone who was once a cornerstone of your life. Rozman’s songwriting shines in its ability to capture the raw, unfiltered pain of platonic heartbreak. He describes Cherry Blossom as a farewell to a once-unbreakable bond, a realization that some people—no matter how deeply connected they once were—are not meant to stay. He poignantly shares that he often writes about romantic relationships, making this departure into friendship heartbreak a significant and deliberate creative choice. The lyrics encapsulate the experience of drifting apart, of unanswered messages, and of the slow, painful realization that the person you once turned to is no longer there. One of the song’s most powerful elements is its universality. While Rozman’s story is deeply personal, Cherry Blossom taps into a rarely discussed but universally felt pain: the end of a friendship. Romantic breakups are often granted more weight in music and culture, but as Rozman emphasizes, losing a friend—especially in your mid-20s—can be just as devastating, if not more so. The song stands as a reminder that friendships require the same care, effort, and mutual respect as any other meaningful relationship. “ I hope people take away just how important friendships are and how important it is to surround yourself with the right people,” Rozman explains . “Despite the painful loss of a friend, the experience that inspired this song also showed me who my true friends are, and what friendship actually is, which sounds wild to be saying as a 26-year-old, but I truly think it’s an underrated lesson. True friends will love you as you are, they don’t make you beg and wait for their time, and they treat you with respect; surround yourself with true friends. ” Cherry Blossom is a striking testament to Rozman’s ability to turn personal pain into art. It’s a song that lingers long after the final notes fade, leaving listeners reflecting on their own friendships, past and present. With this release, Braden Rozman solidifies himself as a storyteller unafraid to embrace vulnerability, bringing authenticity and depth to pop music in a way that is both refreshing and necessary. Friendship heartbreak isn’t often explored in music the way romantic breakups are. What was the hardest part about translating this experience into a song, and how did you ensure the emotion came through in your lyrics? The hardest part for me was allowing myself to write this song. I was honestly worried about the song coming off as mean or caddy because I was very mad and sad at the other person. In the first few drafts, I definitely approached the song with a much lighter tone, and I didn’t like anything I was writing. It wasn’t until I allowed myself to be angry that I came up with the hook, and that’s when I realized I needed to be honest with myself, and the rest of the song was born from that. You’ve mentioned that this song is a farewell to a once-close friend. If they were to hear Cherry Blossom , what do you think they would take away from it—or what do you hope they would understand? I just hope that they would walk away with a bit of a better understanding of friendship and how important it is to stick with our friends and loved ones through thick and thin. I wish they could understand just how much I loved them, wanted to do right by them, looked up to them, and ultimately, how much they disappointed me. I hope they take this song as a lesson to apply to future friendships. Since writing this song, has your perspective on friendship and personal relationships evolved? Are there any key lessons from this experience that have shaped how you navigate friendships today? One hundred percent! Through writing and creating this song, I learned so much about what I value most in friendship and what being a true friend really means: someone who helps you when you’re down, cheers for your successes, gives you their time, and never makes you feel bad for who you are. I’m so grateful that I have so many people in my life I can call true friends. Your sound draws inspiration from 1980s synth-pop while keeping the songwriting deeply personal. How do you strike a balance between creating a catchy, upbeat track and conveying raw, emotional depth? I always write my songs acoustically first, whether it be on guitar or piano, a lot of my songs, including cherry blossom, start out quite sad and with a low tempo which is where production plays a key role in transforming the song into something much more upbeat and pop. Whenever I write a song I always have a sense of what I want it to sound like and I use that as a guide to write to. Looking ahead, do you see yourself continuing to explore personal themes like this in your music, or do you want to experiment with new narratives and different styles in your future releases? Definitely a mix of both! I think I will always be a very personal songwriter and write from experience but I also love writing about and for other people and perspectives. The next few songs I have on the horizon are definitely in the same vein as cherry blossom and the songs that preceded it in that they’re all very personal and written from experience yet still undeniably pop, catchy, and relatable.

Some songs whisper truths you didn’t know you needed to hear. “ Balloon ”  by LafaQ is one of those songs—an atmospheric, emotionally-charged track that floats between vulnerability and rupture, lightness and weight, dream-pop haze and rock-rooted catharsis. Originally from Taipei, LafaQ is carving out her own sonic universe—one where ethereal synths, haunting vocals, and melancholic melodies collide with raw honesty. She blends alternative rock, dream-pop, and R&B like it's second nature, weaving in subtle nods to her roots with pentatonic touches that shimmer beneath the surface. Influenced by the eclectic brilliance of artists like Kimbra, M83, Ella Fitzgerald, and Beyoncé, LafaQ’s sound is just as layered as her lyrics. And “Balloon”  might be her most emotionally resonant work yet. At its core, “Balloon”  is about the fragility of connection—the subtle, often unspoken feeling that you’re being seen, but only through a filter. LafaQ explains it as “a balloon placed between two people,” a delicate metaphor that evokes both distance and danger. Every vulnerable truth you share with someone fills that balloon a little more—until it’s at risk of bursting. Trust, after all, is a fragile thing. LafaQ hopes “Balloon”  encourages listeners to embrace the rare gift of being seen—truly seen—by someone who accepts you completely, flaws and all. “I hope people can see and embrace the friend who accepts you wholly, even though they might have their own judgments, but embrace you for who you are,” she says. “And I hope the trust between people who matter to you can be valued and taken care of, ‘cause such a connection is rare to have. And be the one whom you can trust yourself.” - LafaQ It’s not just a song—it’s an emotional mirror. One that reflects the beauty and ache of trying to connect in a world full of filters.

Derrick Stembridge ’s Fading Into What Remains emerges as both a sonic balm and a philosophical probe into what still lingers beneath the noise. Released on January 24, 2025, via his own imprint, Labile Records, Fading Into What Remains is an ambient/electronic masterwork that drifts between organic stillness and digital entropy. Known for his emotionally resonant soundscapes as Drifting in Silence and Long The Night, Stembridge steps into his own name here, building a 12-track meditation on identity erosion, quiet transformation, and the slow reconstruction of the self in a digital-heavy world. The album opens with “Automated Dreams,” a gentle fog of ambient textures and softened glitch that immediately places the listener in an uncanny, subconscious space—familiar yet foreign. From there, the journey deepens. “Algorithm of the Soul” pulses with introspective drive, balancing melodic complexity with a meditative core, while “Memories Left Behind” floats like a vapor trail from a half-remembered dream—equal parts nostalgia and surrender. Stembridge isn't just layering textures here—he's tracing psychological arcs. The emotional centerpiece, “Endless Cycle of Puzzled Patterns,” features longtime collaborator Mike Petruna (aka DJ Acidgrin), capturing the disorienting repetition of unresolved thoughts and emotions through hypnotic loops and subtle tension. He even reimagines the past through a futurist lens with a cinematic ambient reinterpretation of Mike + The Mechanics’ classic “Silent Running,” rendered here as a ghostly, immersive experience under the Drifting in Silence alias. It’s one of the album’s boldest moves—taking something historically emotive and filtering it through the detachment and decay of modern digital memory. But it’s the title track, “Fading Into What Remains,” and the closer “Full Circle” that quietly deliver the most impact. Without grandeur or climax, these final pieces offer resolution through reflection—a musical echo of rebuilding, of piecing oneself back together in a world where data is permanent, but emotion is slippery. “With Fading Into What Remains, I wanted to explore what’s left of us as we move through the noise of memory, emotion, and machine logic,” Stembridge shares. “If someone listens and finds a quiet moment of reflection or hears something they’ve never felt before, then I’ve done my job.” And he certainly has. The album doesn’t demand your attention—it invites it patiently. It’s the type of work that lingers long after listening, revealing new meanings with each return. You don’t just hear Fading Into What Remains —you inhabit it. Fading Into What Remains  explores the quiet erosion and reconstruction of identity in the digital age. What was the personal or emotional catalyst that sparked this concept for you? This album came from a personal tension—not a rejection of technology or AI, but a curiosity about how these tools reshape our inner lives. We've reached a point where the line between human intention and machine assistance is nearly invisible. From how we communicate to how we create, these systems are not just supporting us; they're becoming a part of us. And I find that both fascinating and deeply human. I've always believed in embracing technology in my process. Whether it's modular synthesis, generative patterns, or AI-assisted tools, I see them as collaborators rather than intrusions. But even in that embrace, I asked: When so much of our experience is mediated by machines, what remains distinctly  us ? What's the residue of the soul once the digital layers are peeled back? Fading Into What Remains  explores that space not in fear but in reflection. I used electronic textures, programmed loops, and synthetic movement to represent the digital presence in our lives. Still, I wove in organic instruments like the Native American flute to ground the work in something elemental. That contrast became the language of the album. The flute, in particular, carries breath, ancestry, and memory, and it's almost the opposite of code. But placing it within these technological environments didn't feel like conflict; it felt like harmony. I wanted the record to explore how these seemingly opposing forces can coexist to create something more profound, layered, and honest. The title is less about mourning what's lost and more about identifying what continues to matter even as we evolve into new hybrids of biology, machines, feelings, and functions. It's about finding the pulse that's still beating underneath the automation. Your work often blurs the line between music and visual art. How do you approach sound design with a visual mindset, and how did that influence the textures on this album? For me, sound and image have always been connected. Before I hit record, I usually have a visual world in my head—fragments of light, architecture, and decay. I write songs and sculpt environments. Every track begins with a mood board of mental imagery: artificial skylines, blurred security footage, and underwater cities. For  Fading Into What Remains , the dominant visuals were muted and abstract, often rooted in impermanence—glitches in perception, remnants of memory, signals fading into static. Sound design becomes about translating those visuals into motion and texture. I'd work with wide, stretched synths to simulate distance and time. I used filters that slowly open or dissolve to give the sensation of emergence or erosion. Reverbs weren't just affected; they became spaces: abandoned rooms, wind tunnels, and empty fields lit by screens. Every click or breath was treated like a beam of light or a shadow on the wall. The Native American flute was like introducing a sudden, fragile figure into that landscape: a human. So when people say this album feels "visual," I think it's because I never approached it like music in the traditional sense. I approached it like a moving installation—like walking through a sound that changes shape as you move closer. "Silent Running" stands out as a reinterpretation of a classic track through an ambient lens. What drew you to revisit that specific song, and how did you approach reimagining it for this project? There's a haunting quality to "Silent Running" that I've carried with me for years. It's a song that feels suspended in time—both urgent and restrained, full of emotion but delivered with such subtlety. When I started working on  Fading Into What Remains , that melody resurfaced in my mind—not as a song to cover but as a feeling I wanted to explore again, differently. Rather than recreate it, I decided to erase everything recognizable, with no lyrics or hooks, until I was left with its emotional skeleton. I let the melody unravel, slowing it to near unrecognizability. I wanted it to feel like a transmission drifting for decades and barely reaching us. The instrumentation is minimal, almost weightless. It's more about tone than narrative. There's a stillness in the track that fits with the album's more prominent theme of messages lost or distorted in time, of memory interacting with a machine. In a way, my version of "Silent Running" is less a reinterpretation and more a form of ambient archaeology. It's what remains of the song when everything else has been stripped away, just a shimmer, a pulse, and a shadow. And that fits perfectly within an album about what's left behind. You've built Labile Records into a home for experimental and ambient artists. How does having complete creative control through your label shape how you produce albums like this? I founded Labile Records as a platform to support artists working in the spaces between ambient and industrial, memory and abstraction, and across the full spectrum of electronic music. It was never about chasing trends or fitting into rigid categories. It was about creating a space where experimentation could thrive and where artists could fully explore their ideas without explanation or constraint.  By maintaining complete control over the creative, visual, and distribution process, I've given each project—including  Fading Into What Remains —the time and attention it deserves. This album couldn't have come together under someone else's timeline or marketing checklist. There was no pressure to cut tracks short, no push to add vocals or polish the imperfections. I allowed the music to evolve slowly, repeat, glitch, and drift—because sometimes, that's where the truth of the sound reveals itself.  Labile is more than just a label—it's a home for those exploring sound as language, emotion, and architecture. We're not interested in building hits. We're creating experiences. Being part of this creative ecosystem—one where vulnerability and experimentation aren't just allowed but encouraged—continues to inspire and shape everything I do. This album has a deep psychological arc, from disorientation to quiet acceptance. When you consider the listener's journey, what emotional state do you hope they reach by the time "Full Circle" closes? The emotional structure of the album mirrors the psychological unraveling I think many of us are experiencing right now. We start fragmented—trying to make sense of everything happening around us, constantly interrupted by information, technology, and distraction. That's why the early tracks on the album are loose and often unsettled. Sounds emerge and disappear. Patterns repeat and then break apart. It's meant to feel like waking up in a place you don't fully recognize. But gradually, that chaos starts to calm. Not because the world gets more manageable but because your awareness sharpens. You begin to hear the breathing behind the machines. There's a moment in the record's mid-section where the human elements like flute, breath, or warmth start to rise more clearly. The listener is being asked to follow the arc and  feel  it. It's not a narrative but a process of loosening your grip and accepting impermanence. By the time "Full Circle" closes the album, I hope the listener has reached a stillness, not a solution, not closure, but a gentle recognition of what's left when the noise fades. It's about acceptance, not resolution. You can carry uncertainty, live in complexity, and still feel something real. That's the emotional landing point of this record. What'sWhat's next for you? I just released a new  Long The Night  album called  A Distant Place and Time . It dives deeper into the dark ambient world—more textural, shadowed, and internal. It focuses less on resolution and more on creating spaces where listeners can disappear for a while. That project has always been my place to explore the quieter, more haunted edges of sound. At the same time, I'm working on a solo album that returns to something more acoustic. There's a vulnerability in returning to real instruments, string, wood, and breath. This new record will pull from earlier stages of my career but filter through everything I've learned since—so it's not nostalgic but reflective—a reclamation of analog emotion. There's also a new  Drifting In Silence  release in the works for later this year—something more cinematic, widescreen, and emotionally expansive. Beyond that, I continue working closely with Labile Records artists, pushing boundaries through voice, field recordings, and generative systems. We're all exploring how sound can evolve without losing its humanity. That's where I want to stay creatively—on the edge where vulnerability meets innovation, and silence says as much as sound.

In a genre often defined by bravado, co-signs, and clout, Mike Osei  is quietly reshaping what authenticity in hip-hop can sound—and look—like. With the release of three conceptually rich tracks— Black Diamonds , Ryer Ave , and R.I.P MJangles —Osei, alongside filmmaker Vidhu Kota , offers more than music videos. Together, they’ve created a visual trilogy of identity—unpacking doubt, honoring roots, and celebrating growth in a way that feels not only rare but essential. Osei’s story begins far from the stages of Harlem or the Ivy League halls of Harvard. Born in Ghana and raised in the Bronx, he came up in an environment of resilience—where survival and self-determination weren’t optional, they were daily requirements. He’s not interested in faking a persona to fit into rap’s traditional narratives. Black Diamonds: The Unspoken Weight of Expectation The first installment, Black Diamonds , is deeply personal—a sonic journal entry born out of frustration, pressure, and the lingering feeling of being misunderstood. Carried by reflective bars and minimal, moody production, Osei uses the track to finish conversations that never quite found closure—with his mother, his girl, his team, and even himself. It’s not about proving anyone wrong. It’s about communicating the emotional toll of being almost there —chasing something so big that it demands explanation, even when words fall short. Through it all, his delivery is calm and controlled but resolute. It’s a rare kind of masculinity in hip-hop—rooted not in dominance but in vulnerability and inner conviction. Ryer Ave: A Love Letter to the Block With Ryer Ave , Osei shifts from internal tension to hometown tribute. Raised on a small street off the Grand Concourse, his experience of the Bronx was a complex one—tough, raw, but brimming with cultural pride. The beat flips to a classic boom-bap feel, setting the tone for storytelling bars laced with nostalgia, conflict, and reverence. Filmed on-location by Kota, the Ryer Ave  video feels like stepping into a memory. It’s a visual love letter to a place that shaped him—not through gloss or fantasy, but through grit and authenticity. “There was no room for artificiality or embellishment,” Kota shares. “It had to capture the Bronx for what it really is—complex, resilient, alive.” The result is a grounded, reverent portrait of community and identity, proving that hip-hop’s origins in the Bronx are not just history—they’re still living, breathing, evolving. R.I.P MJangles: Honoring the Past, Embracing the Future The trilogy concludes with R.I.P MJangles , a triumphant glow-up anthem named after Osei’s former artist moniker. It’s a celebration of transformation—moving from hunger to purpose, from obscurity to clarity. But the video isn’t just flashy success shots. It’s intimate, intentional, and layered—built on real photos, real memories, and real people. Kota weaves archival imagery with recreated scenes, bridging Mike’s past with his present. It’s a cinematic reminder that growth doesn’t mean forgetting who you were. It means recognizing your journey and bringing those who mattered along for the ride. This final chapter becomes more than a victory lap—it’s a declaration of self-love and a nod to the ones who stayed close when the dream felt distant. Together, Mike Osei and Vidhu Kota aren’t just collaborating—they’re co-creating a new language for hip-hop storytelling. One that prioritizes heart over hype. One that embraces education, emotion, and cultural nuance without compromising lyrical prowess or visual excellence. These releases aren’t just about establishing Osei as a rapper or Kota as a director. They’re about creating space—for a different kind of voice to be heard. One that didn’t follow the script but still belongs in the spotlight. Let’s start with Black Diamonds . Mike, you’ve described it as an emotional response to the external pressures in your life. What was the turning point that pushed you to translate those private struggles into such a raw, public expression through music? I feel like I’ve always used music as a tool for self-expression, and I believe all the greatest artists do the same. For me, I take inspiration from rappers that I grew up listening to and look up to now as someone hoping to make his way into the game. I wrote Black Diamonds a couple weeks after my 25th birthday, and it came to me during a conversation I was having with one of my good friends and biggest supporters, my homie Joe. We were talking about how wild our dreams are, how the journey has its tough moments, and how beautiful it would be to really make them happen, especially for me, coming from my background. I never had a dollar to my name, came up out of a very rough environment, and even now I have people depending on me to achieve my potential. I was thinking of a way to capture that idea we were talking about–something hardly attainable, incredibly beautiful, but with a hint of darkness to it. Later that night, I came up with it: black diamonds. From there, the narrative as far as external pressures, overcoming doubt, and all those things, flowed naturally, and the song was the result.  Mike, Ryer Ave  feels like a love letter to your roots but also a reflection on the complexity of growing up in the Bronx. Can you speak more about how that environment shaped your worldview and your approach to hip-hop as a craft? For anyone who’s never been there, the Bronx is a place they probably couldn’t understand, even if I tried explaining it. It’s rough, and there’s a lotta crazy stuff that goes on out there, but there’s beauty in the madness. The cultural atmosphere is so New York and so hip hop–I mean, on any given block, you got abuelitas selling icees, delis selling $3 bacon egg and cheeses, old heads playing dice, youngins at the park, reggaeton blasting outta somebody whip…the list goes on. That’s not the New York you really see represented in movies, and it’s definitely not the New York people who are not from here are led to believe–because they’re just fed a certain image that’s designed to cover up all those things. I feel like being around that growing up is what’s given me my maturity at an early age, my lifelong sense of ambition, and my confident attitude. All that factors into the content of my music and my interest in trying to keep the culture alive–of writing with an emphasis on lyricism, just like how hip hop started back in its birthplace, in the BX. Vidhu, you said Ryer Ave resonated with you immediately, and you wanted to capture its “raw, unfiltered energy.” Coming from a different cultural background, how did your own story influence the way you approached directing that video? Ryer Ave just hit me. The raw, unfiltered energy is something you just feel. It's the pulse of a place, the stories etched into the concrete, the lives lived out in the open. Coming from my background,  with a foot in two worlds – the structured, often traditional Indian upbringing and then navigating the chaotic, vibrant energy of New York – it shaped how I approached directing that video. There's this inherent understanding of community and culture. In many Indian communities, there's a strong sense of collective living, where everyone is connected. Ryer Ave, despite its apparent "roughness," has that too. It's a community, a living, breathing entity. I felt that. It wasn't about highlighting the "otherness" or the "struggle" from an outsider's perspective. It was about capturing the humanity, the resilience, the familiarity of that shared space. I think my background gave me a certain sensitivity to the unspoken. There's so much in Indian culture that's communicated through gestures, through silences, through the way people interact with each other. This translated into how I directed the video. I wasn't just looking for the big, dramatic moments. I was looking for the small, intimate details: the rhythm of everyday life. Being an immigrant, you learn to see the beauty in the mundane. You learn to appreciate the grit and the resilience it takes to build a life in a new place. Ryer Ave, in its own way, embodies that. It's a place where people are making it work, where they're finding joy and connection amidst the challenges. That sense of perseverance that's something I deeply resonated with. My background played a part- it wasn't about imposing my own narrative, but about finding the common threads, the universal human experiences that connect us all. It was about capturing the heart of Ryer Ave and letting it speak for itself. The video for R.I.P MJangles  is deeply nostalgic and personal. Mike, what was it like revisiting your earlier self—both emotionally and artistically—through this song and video? Did it give you any new insights about your journey? Nah, the video for  R.I.P MJangles  is still, to this day, one of the proudest accomplishments of my life. For a long time I’ve identified myself as an American immigrant by way of Ghana, West Africa, and a dreamer of better days by way of Bronx, New York. That identity has always stood out in most environments I’ve been a part of, and I think most of the people around me have always struggled to fully understand what it means. Creating a video that could actually visualize the core of who I am was such a special privilege I was able to have, and I’m forever thankful to Vidhu and his team for that. The thing I love about it most is that it’s showing a very different kind of artist in the hip-hop world, but it’s seamless: you get the urban backdrop that represents the roots of hip-hop, but you also get an authentic look at what it means to be an African immigrant chasing the American Dream, you hear a traditional west African prayer in the mother tongue, and all of it comes together with no problems at all. I’ve always known my story is different from the typical hip-hop story and wondered how I could package it to be understood, and that video really did it best so far.  Vidhu, as a filmmaker who focuses on themes like identity and belonging, how do you see your work with Mike bridging cultural and creative narratives? What’s the synergy between your visual storytelling and his lyrical introspection? For me, identity and belonging aren't just abstract concepts; they're lived experiences constantly evolving and being redefined. Mike's music, with its personal and introspective lyrics, explores these themes in a raw and honest way. The synergy between my visual storytelling and his lyrical introspection comes from a shared understanding of vulnerability. In one way or another, we both approach our work with a desire to capture the authentic human experience, the messy, beautiful, and sometimes painful realities of life. My visuals aim to amplify voices to create a space where stories can be seen and heard. We're both committed to challenging what people think and expanding the narrative of what it means to belong. While our backgrounds may be different, we both speak the language of human emotion. Mike's lyrics tap into universal feelings. My visuals strive to translate those emotions into a visual language that resonates with viewers from all walks of life. Mike's lyrics provide the emotional core, and my visuals provide the emotional landscape. We're able to create a space where viewers can explore their own identities and find a sense of belonging. It's about building bridges between cultures and creative narratives, one frame and one lyric at a time. Mike, you mentioned taking a different route through education and self-belief rather than following the traditional street narrative often heard in hip-hop. How do you navigate authenticity in a genre that often expects artists to fit a particular mold? The best music is music that tells an original story but in a way that feels familiar. All the people who commanded the most respect in hip-hop toed the line between artistry and commercialism, innovation and convention. The way I represent my authentic self is by packaging the original story that I have–someone who grew up around the street but chose to pursue education and eventually made it to Harvard–by speaking to the emotion of the journey instead of the literal events. Emotion is universal, and it’s what makes us human, so if I’m not trying to connect with listeners through shock value, which is the usual trope of hip hop, then instead, I’m going to connect with them through the shared human experience: themes of ambition, insecurity, love, loss, bliss, fear, anger, all that. Those are the things that can help my listeners feel what I feel, even if they never went through the things I went through or heard a rapper tell the story I’m telling.  With Black Diamonds , Ryer Ave , and R.I.P MJangles , there’s a clear arc of vulnerability, identity, and triumph. When you look at this trio of releases, what do you think they reveal about you as an artist today compared to when you first started with Product of Environment ? Haha, y’all did y’all research, huh? Man, Product of Environment , aye–tough freshman EP, if I do say so myself. I mean, when I was just getting into music, all I cared about was saying something that could command respect. I wanted people to hear my lyrics and think, “Oh, that boy can  rap. ” Now, with music like Black Diamonds , Ryer , and R.I.P. , I’ve developed my pen enough that I don’t feel like I have to focus so much on impressing people with my skill, and I can focus more on connecting with people through my expression. These songs represent an artist with a much higher level of control in terms of capturing emotion, communicating it with imagery and depth, and packaging it in a way that’s more relatable. Vulnerability, identity, and triumph are things that are present on Product  just as much as it is on these records and as it will be on future records, but I think at this point now, they reveal an artist that’s really honed in on the importance of self-expression, separate from talent or skill alone. What’s next for both of you? Mike, what can you share about your upcoming project Blackstar , and Vidhu, how do you see your collaborative journey evolving beyond these recent visuals? Are there new stories you’re eager to tell together? Vidhu: It's been a whirlwind. "Fool's Gold," my thesis film, finally made its way onto YouTube after a year on the festival circuit. It was such a personal project, exploring those themes of disillusionment and the search for something real, and I'm really glad it's out there now, accessible to everyone. And then, my next film, "Sacrifice Of Soul," is just about to wrap post-production. It's a very different beast, much darker, delving into the complexities of sacrifice for art. I'm really excited to see how it resonates with people. Even though narrative films are integral to me, music videos have become such a vital part of my creative expression. Working with artists to build a whole world that's unique to each project is just so creatively satisfying to me. I'm so excited to see where Mike takes his next project, and I'm hoping to aid him in creating this world. I see our collaboration evolving into something even deeper. I think we're just scratching the surface of what we can create together. I'm eager to explore narratives that push boundaries that challenge us both creatively. There are so many stories I want to tell, stories that delve into the nuances of identity, the complexities of human connection, and the raw, unfiltered experiences of life. I want to explore the spaces between cultures, the moments where worlds collide, and the quiet revolutions that happen in everyday life. I'm really looking forward to it. Mike:  Blackstar is in the works, and I’m grinding to complete it as fast as I can. It’ll have some of the best verses I’ve ever written and some of the smoothest hooks, but most importantly, it’ll be a new sound in terms of production. Lately, I’ve been trying to do things that haven’t really been done before–I’m studying other genres, I’ve been stretching my voice, I’ve been doing my own production for the first time, and all of that is helping me to crack the code on something that’s more than just some hard beats or some boom bap storytelling. I can’t give away too many specifics, but that’s the vision for it. This man Vidhu is the truth, and y’all can expect the visual storytelling on that project to have his genius all over it, for real.

Photo by cotttonbro In the ever-evolving music industry, YouTube royalties have become a hot topic in 2025. As the world’s largest video-sharing platform, YouTube isn’t just a place to watch cat videos or music videos —it’s a massive revenue source for artists and creators. But the big question still remains: How much does YouTube actually pay artists in 2025? Let’s break it down. The Current YouTube Pay Rate for Artists in 2025 As of this year, YouTube pays artists an average of $0.003 to $0.005 per stream. That means for every 1,000 views, an artist might earn between $3 to $5, depending on several factors like viewer location, ad engagement, content type, and whether the video is part of YouTube Premium. Let’s do the quick math: 1 million views = roughly $3,000 - $5,000 10 million views = $30,000 - $50,000 But that’s before the revenue gets split with rights holders, labels, or distributors. If you're an independent artist using platforms like DistroKid or TuneCore, your cut might be higher. If you're signed, you might see far less. YouTube Music vs. Regular YouTube: What's the Difference? Here’s a key distinction in 2025: YouTube Music streams pay more than standard YouTube video views. That’s because they function similarly to other streaming platforms like Spotify or Apple Music . YouTube Music average payout:  $0.008 per stream Spotify average payout:  $0.003 - $0.005 per stream Apple Music payout:  $0.01 per stream Yes, YouTube Music is one of the more competitive platforms for artists right now. If you're not uploading to YouTube Music via your distributor, you’re potentially leaving cash on the table. What Influences YouTube Artist Revenue? There’s no fixed rate, but these factors heavily impact your YouTube income: Ad Revenue:  Higher CPM (Cost Per Mille) from advertisers = more $$$ for you. YouTube Premium Streams:  Artists earn more from Premium subscribers who pay monthly to watch ad-free. Geographic Location:  Views from the U.S., Canada, and Europe tend to generate more revenue than views from other regions. Watch Time:  Longer videos with higher engagement pull in more ad dollars. Type of Content:  Music videos with replay value = higher earnings potential. Monetization Beyond Streams YouTube in 2025 isn’t just about ad revenue. Artists are now diversifying their income using: YouTube Shorts bonuses Fan funding (Super Thanks, Super Chats, etc.) Merch integrations Channel memberships Live performances and behind-the-scenes content With these tools, creators can turn a music channel into a full-on business. Pro Tip: Optimize Your YouTube Strategy Photo by Kyle Loftus Want to get more out of YouTube in 2025? Here’s what you should  be doing: Use SEO-friendly titles, tags, and descriptions (think “Official Music Video 2025” + trending keywords). Encourage fans to like, comment, and subscribe—it signals engagement to the algorithm. Upload consistently. The YouTube algorithm rewards consistency and watch time. Repurpose content into YouTube Shorts for virality and bonus incentives. Where We Stand: Is YouTube Worth It for Artists in 2025? Absolutely—if you play it smart. While YouTube might not pay the highest per-stream rate, it offers unmatched visibility, community engagement, and monetization tools. In 2025, artists aren’t just going viral on YouTube—they’re building careers, fanbases, and income streams. The key is to understand how YouTube pays and to use the platform to its full potential.