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You didn’t sign up to be a content creator. You wanted to write songs. Perform. Connect. Bleed into lyrics and maybe make someone feel less alone. But somewhere between your first upload and your 14th TikTok this week, it started to feel like no one cares about the music, just the metrics. Because here’s the hard truth: The industry doesn’t want you to be an artist. They want you to be a brand. Artistry is Messy. Branding is Clean. Art is complex. Emotional. Nonlinear.Brands? They’re digestible. Palatable. Predictable. That’s why so many labels, A&Rs, playlist curators, and even fans subconsciously favor artists who “fit” into something. Something they can package. Something they can monetize. Something they can sell. You’re not being scouted for your sound anymore. You’re being evaluated on: Your aesthetic consistency Your engagement rate How well can you describe yourself in one sentence Whether your face will look good on a crop top Your Spotify bio matters more than your bridge. And if you’re not “on brand,” you’re not marketable. There used to be space for mystique. For evolution. For artists to find themselves over time. Now? You'd better have your brand story locked by your second post. Are you the sad indie who loves astrology and sings in lowercase? Are you the chaotic one who makes garage pop and cries on Live? If not, the algorithm doesn’t know where to put you. And if the algorithm can’t place you? The industry moves on. Make no mistake: if you're successful, the next step isn’t just a bigger tour, it's a merch line, a brand collab, a skincare drop, maybe a CBD product. You're not just selling music anymore. You’re selling a lifestyle. And while there’s power in ownership, let’s not pretend that every artist wants to be an entrepreneur, strategist, designer, AND social media manager just to be taken seriously. Some of us just want to make damn good music. Not Everyone is Meant to Be a Brand There’s this dangerous idea floating around that if you’re not “building your brand,” you’re not serious. But that’s a lie the industry tells you to push volume over vision. Your art is valid even if: Your grid isn’t curated You don’t go viral Your brand is “evolving” (aka you’re human) You refuse to monetize your trauma for views You don’t have to commodify yourself to prove your worth. The music industry doesn’t reward artists, and it rewards consistency, marketability, and momentum. That’s not your fault. But it is your choice how much you play the game. So if you’re feeling the pressure to become a brand before you’ve even finished your EP, take a breath. The best music in history didn’t come from content machines. It came from weirdos. Rebels. Visionaries.People who couldn’t be boxed in. So be an artist first.

Photo by Jonathan Coope What happens when your music career lives or dies by editors you've never even met? Once upon a time, getting signed to a label was the golden ticket. It meant physical distribution, tour support, radio promo, and a team of people whose job was to get your music heard. Now, you upload your track to DistroKid, hit "submit for consideration," and pray that someone at Spotify hears your pain through the 15-second preview. Congratulations. You're no longer chasing a record deal; you're now chasing playlist placement. But here's the uncomfortable truth: streaming playlists have become the new record labels. They're the tastemakers, the gatekeepers, and the dream makers. And like the old system, they come with rules no one teaches you and gatekeepers you can't see. How Did We Get Here? Streaming changed everything. It democratized distribution but created a new kind of scarcity, attention. Before, you needed label connections to get shelf space at Tower Records. Now, you need metadata, pre-saves, and a miracle to land a slot on New Music Friday. In the early days of Spotify and Apple Music, it felt like a creative free-for-all. Artists could upload directly. Listeners could find new music on their terms. However, platforms soon realized they needed curation to keep listeners engaged, and playlists became the new battleground. Playlists started as personal. Then algorithmic. Then editorial. And now, they hold so much power that a single placement can make or break your release week. The Invisible Power of Editorial Human curators run editorial playlists, people who decide what makes it onto Today's Top Hits, Fresh Finds, or New in Indie. The problem? You don't know who they are, how to contact them, or what they're looking for. Landing on one of these playlists is like getting signed for a week. You'll see your streams spike. You'll gain followers. Labels might even hit you up. But here's the catch: if you're not on the list next week, you disappear again. You didn't build a fanbase. You borrowed one. You didn't get discovered. You got rotated. It's not sustainable. But it's addictive. Algorithms Are Not a Strategy Photo by Esmihel Muhammed Beyond editorial curation, you're also up against the algorithm. Discover Weekly, Release Radar, and On Repeat are all driven by listener behavior, but nobody knows how they work. You're constantly told to "drive engagement," "optimize your Canvas," or "use pitch emails," but it's all guesswork. What worked for one artist won't work for you. What hit last month might flop today. The algorithm doesn't care about your story. It cares about data. If your skips are too high or your listen-through rate drops, your song will disappear into digital obscurity. Trying to game this system is like trying to predict the weather in a city you've never been to. And somehow, your rent still depends on it. Playlists Gave You a Shot, Not a Career Let's be honest. Playlists are incredible exposure. There's nothing quite like seeing your track alongside your heroes or waking up to 100,000 streams overnight. But too many artists confuse that exposure with longevity. Playlists don't build community. They don't give fans context. They don't tell your story. People skip, vibe, and move on. And unless you're consistently playlisted, your numbers crash faster than your serotonin after reading the comments on your last reel. The real ones? The ones who stay with you, come to your shows, and know your lyrics? They're built elsewhere, through storytelling, live shows, connection, and chaos. The playlist might bring them in, but only you can keep them. So What Should Artists Do? Photo by Ficky: You can still play the playlist game. Just don't bet everything on it. Build a direct-to-fan relationship. Collect emails. Send newsletters. Go live. Post the weird stories that make your music yours. Give people a reason to care about the human behind the song, not just the song in the playlist. Collaborate with other artists. Host listening parties. DM every fan who says they love your song and thank them like it matters, because it does. A playlist might boost your numbers. But a fan? A real one? They'll carry your music with them for years to come. Final Stream Streaming didn't kill the music industry. It just reshaped it. And playlists didn't replace record labels. They became them. With fewer contracts. Fewer people. And way more mystery. So yeah — pitch your song. Optimize your assets. Get on those lists.  But don't confuse being playlisted with being chosen. Don't wait for someone in a Spotify office to validate your art. Because when the playlist skips you next time, your people won't. And that's who you're doing this for anyway.

Allbrook Station isn’t easing into the scene; they’re detonating it. With their debut single,  “Chimerical,”  the five-piece hard rock outfit proves that first impressions can hit like a gut punch. The track is a thrilling, genre-blurring declaration of intent, one that mixes blistering riffs with cinematic tension, vulnerable lyrics with hard-won rage, and pure performance power with razor-sharp precision. Built on the bones of poetic heartbreak,  “Chimerical”  tells the story of love that never stood a chance, the kind of fantasy that feels perfect until it starts to rot. The word itself means “wildly fanciful, unreal,” and that captures the essence of the track: a toxic, too-good-to-be-true relationship unmasked, then obliterated. Frontman Burke Louis carries the emotional weight with grit and soul, his voice straining through lines like  “You put me through hell just to watch me burn”  until it becomes a battle cry for anyone who’s loved the wrong person too long. Produced by GRAMMY-nominated composer Randy Slaugh, the sound is massive and cinematic, blending elements of rock, metal, pop, and even hip-hop thanks to Junior “Frank Zoo” Gomez’s electric influence. Slaugh’s touch elevates every detail, making the track feel as if it’s made for arenas or an apocalypse. The music video only deepens the experience. With dynamic shots, rich symbolism, and fully committed performances,  “Chimerical”  is part performance art, part emotional reckoning. The band doesn’t just play the song; they live it. From the haunting opening question to the final, unflinching gaze into the camera, the visual captures a band in full control of its aesthetic and message. If  “Chimerical”  is any indication, Allbrook Station isn’t here for a moment. They’re building a legacy. Chimerical” makes a massive first impression. Why was this the song you chose to introduce the world to Allbrook Station? Nate: All of our songs have something special that spoke to me personally, but  Chimerical  had something particularly profound. It’s powerful and emotional, and we all felt it was the best way to introduce who we are as a band.   Jessie: First impressions are everything, and Chimerical says it all for us. Chimerical is vulnerable yet aggressive, serious yet fun, and I think that’s us to a tee.    There’s a strong emotional core to the track, how did the concept of toxic fantasy and impossible love shape the writing and production? Jessie: This band has impossible relationship stories in spades. When we sat down to write what would become “Chimerical,” we immediately understood it to be a declaration of sorts. At some point, you have to refuse to hurt anymore. That emotional defiance is baked into the drums and vocals. There’s even a short acoustic break in the song that somehow refuses to sound sad or soft!   Nate: Most of us have experienced toxic relationships. They’re draining and dark. I remember having a long conversation about past relationships and how damaging they were at the time. Everyone deserves the courage and self-love to stand up and say, “No more.” It was after a night filled with those kinds of conversations that this song really started to take shape. It carries pieces of all of us.   The music video is visually striking and full of symbolism. What was the vision behind it, and how closely does it reflect the song’s message? Jessie: There’s for sure a strong sense of duality in the music video that has everything to do with the song’s message. I’m not too sure we would all interpret it the same way, and that’s what makes it so good. There’s a line in the song that says, “You got the best of me, but you won’t get the rest of me.” To me, those are the two sides at odds. It’s the optimistic “best of me” versus that unrelenting “rest of me.” In this case, there’s a place and time for wishful thinking, and we’re so past it!   You each bring such different elements to the band’s sound. How do those influences come together in a song like “Chimerical” without clashing?     Jessie: We really do have different musical backgrounds, but our interests overlap in all the right ways. There are a lot of checks and balances when we’re writing or producing a song, and that allows us to navigate metal, rock, hip-hop, and pop authentically. So when Chimerical effortlessly goes from hip-hop and 808s to rock anthems to a percussive fever dream and back, it’s because we’ve taken the time to get it right!   Nate: That, to me, is the goal of songwriting, pushing a song to its full potential while showcasing the talents of each band member in a way that feels cohesive and true. We each had to fine-tune our parts until they were exactly where they needed to be. As the drummer, I’m especially proud of the drum performance on this track.   There’s a heavy theme of self-liberation running through both the song and the visuals. What does that concept mean to you personally and creatively?   Jessie: To me, that is the underlying hook of Chimerical, the loss and reclaiming of your “self.” Knowing and, to some degree, loving yourself is one of the most important things in life. The crazy thing is when you share it with others and see just how unique and special it can be. Creatively, it's one of those things that plenty of songs can be written about, but none can be written without it.   Nate: The lyric  “You got the best of me, but you won’t get the rest of me”  hits deep for me. It’s an anthem of liberation—breaking free from the people or situations that drag you down. We all need to be reminded that we’re not stuck. Nothing has to be permanent if it doesn’t bring joy or growth. Instagram

With "Too Late," The BreakBomb Project dives deep into the intersection of sound, science, and soul. The brainchild of electronic producer Brandon Greenstein, this new single continues the sonic and conceptual journey he began with  Neurobridge,  but this time, the stakes feel even higher. "Too Late" is not just a song. It's a warning, a thrill ride, and a glimpse into a future where identity can be coded, manipulated, and lost. The track opens with crisp, high-voltage energy and steadily builds into a fusion of club-ready beats and thoughtful atmospheres. Vocals from Ryan Violet add a vital human warmth, making the entire experience feel like a confrontation between man and machine. It's hypnotic, intense, and layered with meaning. In the music video, Greenstein and Violet physically link into a retro-futuristic headset and are launched into a virtual snowscape. It's sleek, cinematic, and eerie, tying the track's themes of brainwave manipulation to a sci-fi narrative that feels a little too close for comfort. But this isn't just an isolated release. It's part of a larger visual story, a full eight-minute segment that follows the pair on a hunt for a missing scientist who once created a mind-altering prototype. The journey takes them into a decaying factory and, eventually, into the noosphere, a digital dimension where reality bends, and the cost of exploration is unknown. With this release, The BreakBomb Project isn't just dropping beats. It's inviting listeners to consider the consequences of tampering with consciousness. "Too Late" may live in the EDM world, but its ideas stretch far beyond the dancefloor. “Too Late” builds on the themes from your previous EP,  Neurobridge . What inspired you to continue exploring the concept of mental manipulation and digital consciousness in this new release? I've been working out the conceptual backbone of this project since I first started releasing music in 2018. When I was developing my first album and  Neurobridge , I had a general outline of the story I wanted to tell. I knew the next release would be the first real deep dive into its lore. Now, with this new album, the details are finally fleshed out—and I’m excited to slowly unravel this world over the span of the project. The music video feels more like a short sci-fi film. Can you walk us through the creative process behind the visual concept? How closely does it tie in with your larger artistic vision? The concept for the  Too Late  video actually came together while I was writing the song. I knew the overall theme and sound of the song needed to match the more eerie concepts of the world I'm building, especially for what is considered the "start" of it all. Once the track was finished, I wrote the script in a few days and finalized the storyboard within a week. A month later, the full video was shot and edited. The most difficult part of that process was creating the beginning cinematic used to set up the events of the music video. I needed to convey a very fictional concept effectively while giving myself room to explain more in the future. The five-minute intro to the video was really important—it lays the groundwork for the rules and backstory of the narrative I’m introducing, which will keep expanding throughout the album. Ryan Violet’s vocals add a strong emotional contrast to the high-tech production. What drew you to working with him on this track? Ryan is one of my favorite people to collaborate with—both musically and personally. We worked on a track together about five years ago, and I always knew we’d reconnect creatively. Earlier this year, I played him a few songs from the upcoming project, and when he heard this one, everything fell into place pretty quick. Having him on the first release of the album felt like a no-brainer. He brought the exact emotional weight this introduction needed and I'm grateful for him being a part of the chaos. The storyline hints at deeper lore involving a missing scientist and brain-altering experiments. Is this part of a larger narrative universe you're building? Yes. I've always been drawn to deeper storytelling from artists. It is rewarding as a fan for artists to create something that is not on the surface level - details that only can be discovered for those who care to look for it. And those details build on the experience of the music, the live shows, and the overall message that's being said. This music video is filled with a ton of information about this world, and there's a lot more scattered around elsewhere. For those who are curious enough to look, there’s definitely more to uncover. What message or feeling do you hope listeners walk away with after experiencing both the song and the video for “Too Late”? I want people to feel intrigued, and maybe even a little confused. This track isn’t meant to provide answers; it’s the beginning of a puzzle. The idea, especially for where this song fits in the upcoming album, is to have a stronger understanding of the message by the end of the tracklist. But for now, this track is just a breadcrumb—something that will resonate much more once the full picture is revealed.

For  Saint James Jr. , rap isn't just a sound; it's a reflection of memory, place, and personal transformation. His latest single, "Gloria Homes," takes listeners deep into his early days growing up in the Gloria Homes near Crenshaw and Baldwin Hills, where the streets pulsed with influence and family grounded him in purpose. It was there, under the guidance of his Uncle James, that Saint James Jr. found direction and, eventually, found rap. This isn't your average come-up story. "Gloria Homes" is layered with narrative detail and built on a nostalgic soul sample that feels more like a time capsule than a beat. It's the kind of storytelling hip-hop needs more of right now: honest, vivid, and rooted in something real. "Gloria Homes" draws from a chapter of Saint James Jr.'s life marked by uncertainty and growth. Living in L.A., he spent hours in fashion while chasing his music dreams after hours, often heading to the legendary Record Plant studio to soak in its creative energy. One of the defining moments of his artistic journey came when he attended a private Victory Lap listening session with Nipsey Hussle. This experience not only validated his path but deepened his connection to the culture and community. "Writing this song allowed me to take it back and think of the journey and the importance of living in the Gloria Homes,"  he shares.  "The soul sample track allows you to reminisce." True to his word, the track is all about reflection. It's cinematic in its pacing, with lyrics that flow like journal entries and production that honors the spirit of classic hip-hop without sounding dated. The result is a deeply personal yet universally resonant piece of music that invites you to pause, rewind, and reflect on your roots. As much as the song is about Saint James Jr.'s evolution, it's also a love letter to the places and people that shaped him, and a powerful reminder of how storytelling through music can preserve legacies far beyond the verse. What’s one specific moment from living in the "Gloria Homes" that you think about most when writing music? I think about my morning routine and being with my Uncle James. My morning runs on Crenshaw, heading to Leimert Park at Harun Cafe to build with other upcoming creatives. I really grew as a person and artist while living in the Gloria Homes. How did witnessing Nipsey’s private listening session for Victory Lap influence your mindset as an artist? It showed me another side of music. My mentor, Lenny S, introduced me to Nipsey. I remember that moment at Record Plant, being packed in the studio, and the control he had over the session. He explained in detail what each track meant. I always go back to this moment, especially since his passing. Nipsey has inspired many artists, including me. He showed me it was possible to deliver your message through music, and when he was gone, our community suffered substantially.  Fashion and music don’t always overlap. How has your background in fashion shaped your creative vision? It helps broaden my creative vision by being more vulnerable to the process of being uncomfortable. In fashion, trying a new look can feel uneasy, but in that, you are trying something new and stepping outside yourself. That feeling translates to the creative process because it’s not easy writing new music or changing your delivery. At this moment, I am used to this feeling and just open to trying something, whether it translates or not, as long as I am creating. This song feels like a memory come to life. What role does nostalgia play in your writing process? Nostalgia plays a significant role in my writing process. Now that I have my cadence and pen together, I can look back at moments that were important to me and put them on track. I feel with soul sample-type beats; I can really tell a story. For my first EP, I used this method, and in that pocket, I am most comfortable.  What do you want younger artists coming out of L.A. to take away from your journey? Take risk. That’s it. If you want to change your situation, you have to take a chance because you really have nothing to lose.  Instagram

Canadian entertainer Evan Croft makes a powerful first impression with his debut EP ' About Me ,' a vibrant blend of R&B, dance, and electronic influences that invites listeners into his world with refreshing candor and creativity. Far from a generic introduction, this project acts as a musical autobiography that’s as emotionally rich as it is sonically dynamic. Croft’s versatility shines from the outset. The EP effortlessly blurs genre lines, marrying smooth R&B grooves with punchy electronic beats and pop hooks that stick. But what truly elevates About Me is Croft’s fearless storytelling. Rather than hiding behind polished production, he lays his experiences bare, tackling everything from love and heartbreak to mental health and personal growth. “Aquarius” opens the project with a playful yet thoughtful reflection on Evan’s astrological identity, using the ups and downs of the Aquarius archetype as a metaphor for his own journey. From there, “Smile” captures his lifelong desire to uplift others, a mission he’s clearly carrying into his music career. The standout track, “Love Me No More,” peels back the recent breakup's layers while acknowledging Croft’s self-admitted habit of “overloving.” It’s a theme many will find relatable, as is the heartfelt “Sucker For Love,” a confession of how easily he’s swept off his feet by fleeting romantic moments. On “Demons,” Croft dives deeper, candidly expressing his struggles and the universal need for support. The poignant lyricism is balanced by a sleek, atmospheric production style that never lets the weight of the subject matter overwhelm the listening experience. The EP closes on a reflective note with “Just A Man,” where Croft embraces his imperfections and limitations, a mature finale that gracefully rounds out his narrative. With About Me, Evan Croft showcases his genre-spanning talents and establishes himself as an artist unafraid to be vulnerable. In an era where authenticity reigns supreme, Croft’s debut is timely and timeless. “I hope people get a better understanding of who I am, what I wanna be, and what I wanna do in life,” Croft shares. Mission accomplished. Your debut EP 'About Me' feels like a very personal introduction to who you are. What was the most challenging part of opening up so much in your music? Deciding to release it was the most challenging part for me. This was a side of me that I’m afraid to tell people because of my fear of rejection, but after finishing it I thought people would love to know that not everything is perfect in my life and to share that not everything has to be. Tracks like “Love Me No More” and “Demons” touch on vulnerability and emotional struggles—how do you balance being honest in your lyrics while still creating music that feels empowering? I start with what story I want to tell in the song. Then I normally begin with the chorus or hook since that has the main message I want to get out to the world. After that comes the message in each verse. Finally, I work on the rhymes and flow. You blend R&B, dance, electronic, and pop effortlessly. How did you develop your signature sound, and which artists or experiences influenced this EP the most? R&B & Pop music has always been my favorite genre to listen to and sing along with. Developing my own sound was tough cause it sounds at first like I’m trying to be like my favorite artist(s), but I eventually learn to put my own style into every track. This EP was made through my life experiences. From personal battles to heartbreak to staying true to myself, every song has a deep meaning to me. “Just A Man” closes the project on a reflective note about accepting your imperfections. How has embracing your limits shaped your journey as an artist so far? It definitely helped me find my style of music. Before, I tried to sound like artists I look up to, like Chris Brown and Kevin Ross. When finishing up this project, I found out there’s only one of those kinds of artists. I also realised there’s only one person that sounds like Evan Croft. Now that 'About Me' is out in the world, what’s the biggest message or feeling you hope listeners walk away with after hearing the project? I hope people get a better idea of who I am and who I wanna be. I also hope they understand that life isn’t always gonna go your way, and you should enjoy every positive moment that happens.

Genre-bending producer, songwriter, and one-man sonic wrecking crew Robert DeLong is stepping into the shadows with the deluxe edition of his 2024 album Playlist of DOOM . Dropping June 20 via Round Hill Records, After DARK explores the introspective, late-night version of DeLong’s already explosive alt-electronic universe. Led by the hard-hitting new single “SWITCHBLADE” featuring Luna Aura, the deluxe boasts eight new tracks that lean into gothic synths, glitchy textures, and emotionally raw songwriting. With collaborators like Mothica, Pahua, and LYELL in the mix, DeLong turns genre-hopping into an emotional art form—one that’s as reflective as it is relentlessly experimental. To celebrate the release, he’s bringing the new material to life at two free shows at El Cid in LA on June 19 and July 3, promising fans a dark, high-voltage preview of what's next. “SWITCHBLADE” is a massive, genre-twisting track—how did the collaboration with Luna Aura, Mothica, and Maize Olinger come together, and what did it unlock in you creatively? SWITCHBLADE was a long journey of a track with seemingly humble beginnings. Mckenzie (Mothica) and I have known each other for years, and so a few years back we decided to do a writing session together. She spoke very highly of Maize and so brought her in to help “topline” (ie, help write lyrics and melodies). The vibe was strong that day, so as they percolated on lyrical themes and melody, I started to construct a track based on some of the sonic references on my mind at that time - the synth bass and surfy guitar leads of Depeche Mode, the relentless thick drums of Panther Modern meets Nitzer Ebb, a sort of frenetic simplified drum and bass energy, and that “Terminator” sound (the sort of signature chug chug *chug that bridges the transitions between some of the sections.) Initially, I had no thoughts of singing on this tune, and we didn’t know who it was going to be for, but a couple of years later, I gave it a shot and realized it was in an interesting and intense singing range for me, and also definitely needed a featured vocalist. Luna Aura and I had had sort of vague contacts with each other previously (we had intended to work together at some point and had run into each other at a local bar), but her song “Candy Colored Daydream” had flitted across my phone at some point, I really dug it, I reached out, and the rest is history! She really crushed the performance on this song, and her vocals seemed to complete the storyline of the song for me. This deluxe edition dives into darker, more introspective territory—what does “After DARK” represent for you as an artist right now? These deluxe songs had mostly been floating around and were in contention for the initial “Playlist of DOOM” record, but for whatever reason, they may have felt too dark or abstract to be a good fit for the album, though they lived in the same universe. Once the idea of the deluxe record was spawned, it became apparent which songs would work in this release. The “After DARK” theme was seemingly obvious - these songs seemed to all touch either on dark subject matter or had explicit references to the word “dark”, and the idea that the deluxe record was like the sort of seedy after-party to the shimmering daytime of the initial record was born. Tracks like “soft boy” and “Deserve It All” show two very different emotional textures. How do you balance vulnerability with high-energy production? To me, high-energy production is my baseline heartbeat, and contrasting that with vulnerable lyrics is a good way to Trojan horse a message or feeling into the listener’s psyche without them realizing it. I myself don’t often realize what a song’s lyrics are dancing around until a few listens in, but by that point, the message has crept into my mind in a way I can’t refute. This has almost always been my modus operandi when writing songs, and I think it comes from a place of growing up listening to really sad music that was slow and dreary, and later realizing that I do like to dance and freak out, but I still gravitate towards introspective or existential lyrical themes. Pairing these two things together is a delicate balancing act, though I’m not sure I would know how to do anything else at this point. You’ve been known for your experimental live setup using game controllers and MIDI triggers. How are you evolving that experience for this new era? The live show is constantly evolving - in the past few years, I have been heavily featuring a device called a “Laser Harp”, which shoots lasers towards the ceiling, and which I break the lasers with paddles, and each laser creates a sound. It’s hard to describe, but it’s quite the spectacle! Going into the release of “Playlist of DOOM: After DARK”, I am doing a couple of free shows in LA at El Cid on June 19th and July 3rd, in which I will be experimenting with some new live tricks, as well as opening the show up for more improvisation. You’ve collaborated with artists across the genre spectrum—from K.Flay to Pahua. What draws you to a potential collab , and who’s still on your bucket list? I’m drawn to collaborators who have a unique or specific voice in some way, both in the literal sense of how they sing, but also in the sense of perspective and vibe. There’s no plan with these things, really - I am very open and a fan of every genre, and if someone cool piques my interest or is sent my way by someone I work with, I am generally down to give it a try. As far as bucket list - right now I really love La Lom, Sextile, Pachyman, Sully (the jungliest, not the rapper), Logic1000, and even Samantha Crain - these are wildly disparate artists, but I think it would be amazing to collaborate with any of them. Also, the unattainable bucket list includes David Byrne, Ben Gibbard, Earl Sweatshirt, Juan Atkins, Kraftwerk, and, of course, Adele.

With her haunting new single "Mona Lisa Smile,"  Nashville-based singer-songwriter Caitlin Quisenberry trades polished perfection for raw vulnerability. What starts as a cinematic ballad quickly reveals itself as a quiet act of rebellion against people-pleasing, emotional suppression, and the pressure to perform even in private. In this candid interview, Caitlin opens up about the moment she realized she was living behind a smile, how that realization shaped her breakup and her music, and why choosing yourself is the bravest thing you can do. "Mona Lisa Smile" feels like a deeply personal and emotional release. What was going through your mind the moment you heard the final mix for the first time? When I received the final mix, I was still in my relationship, but something shifted the moment I heard it. As the lyrics played, especially "Paint on that face and stand in that spotlight with your stoic grace," I felt like I was hearing my own truth for the first time. That's when I realized I had been performing, not just on stage, but in my relationship too, smiling through the cracks, trying to keep the peace, trying to be okay when I wasn't. That moment of clarity led to the breakup. The song said what I hadn't been able to admit yet: it was time to choose myself. You've described realizing you were 'performing' in your relationship. How did that realization shape the way you approach your music now? It made me braver. I don't want to write anything that isn't honest anymore. That moment showed me how easy it is to lose yourself trying to be what someone else wants. Now, I write from the mess, not just the polished parts. That's where the real connection happens. The lyrics in this song are so cinematic. Do you tend to write visually when you're creating, almost like scoring a moment in your life? Totally. I think in scenes. When I wrote this song, I saw a spotlight, a woman frozen in it, smiling while quietly falling apart. Music has always felt like my way of scoring life's hardest moments, like putting them on screen so I can step back and say, Okay, that's what that was. After taking such a raw emotional risk on this track, what does healing or empowerment look like for you now? It looks like choosing myself. It's not about being fearless; it's about being real. Letting go of needing to please everyone and owning what I feel, even when it's messy. That's where the healing starts. What do you hope fans walk away feeling after listening to "Mona Lisa Smile"—especially those who are also putting on brave faces right now? I hope they feel seen. Like they don't have to fake it all the time. There's strength in vulnerability, even when you're barely holding it together. This song is for anyone who's smiled through pain and still showed up anyway. That's real courage. Instagram

Barcelona-born indie artist Marta Knight is entering a whole new era of sound and self with her latest EP, ' Unbothered ,' out now via La Castanya . Produced by Pau Riutort (FKA Twigs, Bad Gyal), the four-track project is a reflective, emotionally raw collection that blends shimmering indie rock with experimental songwriting and bilingual intimacy. Anchored by the standout single “Killing Time,” which effortlessly shifts between English and Spanish, Unbothered is a mirror held up to the self—a portrait of self-acceptance, healing, and growth. It marks a sonic shift for Marta, whose genre-blurring sound now echoes everything from Snail Mail to SZA , while staying rooted in her own timeless approach to pop. As she continues to tour Spain with global plans underway, we caught up with Marta Knight to talk evolution, insecurities, and the art of letting go. “Killing Time” starts as a critique and ends in deep self-reflection . W as there a specific moment or experience that inspired that lyrical shift? The song itself, as I was writing it, made me realize that as I was thinking of somebody else, I was also uncovering things about myself that I wasn't aware of. It was cathartic in a sense, writing about the parts of myself I like less and exposing vulnerable, even slightly embarrassing thoughts, but disguising them as a critique of someone else. It was a shift that happened naturally, and it helped me to get to know myself better. The EP blends English and Spanish so naturally. How do you decide which language to write in, and what emotional role does each one play in your songwriting? I don’t get to decide much; the songs themselves and how I want to communicate in them decide which language to pick. Emotionally, I do notice a huge difference when writing in each language - Spanish is more difficult to write in because it’s more direct and honest for me, but at the same time, it forces me to get out of my comfort zone, and I enjoy that feeling. On the other hand, in English, I can easily express thoughts that I might not be as comfortable sharing otherwise. Phonetically, it flows more naturally when I sing, which makes it easier for me to shape melodies and connect sentences. You’ve opened for artists like Men I Trust and Julien Baker . H ow have those experiences shaped the artist you are today? It’s been a milestone in my career because they are artists I’d dreamed about opening for when I was younger. To expose my music to their audience has been very significant for my career, but, even more so, it has made me incredibly grateful for the places where my music can take me. Unbothered feels like a personal turning point. What does being “unbothered” mean to you now, versus when you started writing the EP? “Unbothered” means accepting oneself even in times when you might not be your best self or the person you would like to be the most. It’s about leaving perfectionism and self-comparison aside and allowing yourself to just be. I had always thought that self-love meant having unconditional nice thoughts about oneself and seeing oneself as flawless, but as I was writing the EP, I realized it is more about being self-aware and still making the choice to team up with yourself. What’s one lesson or realization you hope listeners walk away with after hearing this project? I hope they feel lighter, with a less heavy load on their shoulders, and a bit more comfortable in their own skin. I also encourage them to take things less seriously and to remember that the relationship with oneself is a lifelong journey and that there is plenty of time left.

A no-BS checklist to figure out if your “team” is a team or just a front-row seat to your hustle. Let’s start with the hard truth most artists learn the long way: just because someone wants to manage you doesn’t mean they should. The word “manager” sounds official. Strategic. Powerful. But in the independent music world, it can also be vague, performative, and straight-up misleading. Too many talented artists are dragging dead weight, someone who’s not building, not connecting, not negotiating, not leading. They’re watching you grind, post, perform, and pitch while they tell people they’re your manager like it’s a personality trait. So here’s the question: Is your manager managing, or are they just along for the ride? First, What Should a Manager Be Doing? A real manager wears many hats. And no, “being supportive” isn’t enough. They don’t need to do everything, but they should be doing something meaningful regularly. The basics: Setting short and long-term career goals with you Pitching to venues, blogs, playlists, sync teams, labels, and media Handling logistics for shows, tours, and campaigns Overseeing business stuff like budgets, splits, contracts, and timelines Connecting you with producers, collaborators, and visual creatives Being proactive when things stall, not just reactive when you panic And most importantly, a manager should move your career forward. Not babysit it. Do not mirror your excitement. Not waiting for you to send ideas. Red Flag Checklist: Are They Just Hanging On? Go through this list. Be honest. If more than a few apply, you might have a fan, not a manager. You’re the one pitching everything and CCing them to make it “look official.” They haven’t brought you one new opportunity this quarter They post more about your wins than help create them They don’t know what PRO you’re registered with You’ve had to explain to them what a distributor is Every idea starts with “you should” and ends with you doing it They go ghost when there’s actual work to do, but they’re front and center for the photos They “love your sound” but have no clue what your career lane is They don’t track your data, your open rates, or your stream sources They’ve said, “Let’s just manifest it,” more times than they’ve emailed someone on your behalf Let’s Be Real: Why This Happens Most artists don’t have access to experienced managers. You grow up together. You meet at a show. They believe in you. That’s beautiful. But belief doesn’t build careers. Execution does. Sometimes, they say, “I got you,” because they genuinely want to help but lack the necessary skills or time. Sometimes, they appreciate the prestige of managing an artist. And sometimes, they don’t want you to win without them. But your career is not a charity. And you don’t owe anyone your potential. What to Look For Instead The best managers aren’t chasing clout. They’re chasing leverage. They ask questions. They learn your metrics. They make calls. They put in sweat equity even when no one’s watching. They don’t need to know everything, just enough to get you to the next step, and be humble enough to bring in others when they don’t. Green flags: They actively research and reach out to blogs, brands, playlists, or venues They send structured feedback on releases, assets, and plans They schedule check-ins, not just vibe checks They listen—like really listen—to what you want They say, “I’ll handle that,” and do They know how to say, “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” How to Check Them Without Burning the Bridge This part’s hard. Especially when it’s your friend or someone who has helped you in the past. But it’s your career. Here’s how to approach it: Set a meeting. Not a text. Not a rant. A real sit-down Share your goals. Lay out where you want to be in 6 to 12 months Ask: “How do you see yourself helping me get there?” Ask for a simple 30-60-90-day plan. What they’ll own. What you’ll own Be open but clear. If they can’t meet the moment, thank them and move on. Final Thoughts Managers are supposed to manage. If you’re doing all the managing, it might be time to fire your “manager.” This isn’t about ego. It’s about protecting your trajectory. You only get so many chances to build momentum. If your team isn’t building with you, they’re in the way. So take stock. Be honest. And remember: It’s better to have no manager than one who manages nothing.