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Photo by cottonbro studio= In the 80s, the video killed the radio star. In the 2020s? Streaming killed the radio star, and then asked us to turn our entire identity into a playlist. Every December, like clockwork, Spotify Wrapped drops into our feeds like a digital horoscope mixed with a therapy session. What started as a simple year-end recap has become something much bigger. It’s not just about music anymore. It’s about who we are. Let’s break down how Spotify Wrapped became the internet’s unofficial personality test, and why we’re all a little obsessed with it. 1. Streaming Lets Us Tell the World Who We Are Back in the day, radio DJs and record execs decided which songs ruled the airwaves. Listeners were passive. We liked what we were told to like. Now? We curate our own musical identities. From niche hyperpop to underground rap to ambient whale sounds (yes, really), our Spotify Wrapped reveals what makes us tick. It’s a mirror reflecting not just taste, but mood, lifestyle, and even emotional phases. Your top genre isn’t just a stat. It’s a vibe check. 2. Wrapped Is the New Zodiac Sign In an age where astrology memes and MBTI personality types dominate social feeds, Spotify Wrapped slid right into the identity economy. Top Artist = Sun Sign (your core self) Top Song = Moon Sign (your emotions) Minutes Listened = Rising Sign (how you present to the world) It’s become an annual ritual. Wrapped day is music, Christmas, and personality judgment day rolled into one. 3. The Flex Factor Is Real Let’s be honest. Wrapped isn’t just for personal reflection. It’s for the feed. Posting your Wrapped results is a humblebrag. You’re not just sharing that you listened to 50,000 minutes of indie rock. You’re saying: "I’m cool. I’m cultured. I don’t listen to what everyone else does. Or, if you do have Taylor Swift or Drake as your top artist? That’s a flex too. Popularity as self-expression. 4. Streaming Turned Data into Storytelling Spotify didn’t just track your listens. They turned them into a narrative. Playful graphics. Personalized categories like “Time Traveler” or “Early Adopter.” Wrapped transformed cold data into emotionally resonant stories. It made algorithms feel human. It gave us something to celebrate—and occasionally roast ourselves for (yes, we know, “All Too Well” 10-minute version again ). 5. It’s Not Just Spotify Anymore Apple Music Replay. YouTube Music Recap. Even TikTok is experimenting with music-based personality recaps. Everyone wants in on the Wrapped effect because streaming services realized something crucial: In a world overloaded with content, people don’t just want to consume. They want to see themselves reflected back. Final Buzz Streaming didn’t just kill the radio star. It resurrected the listener as the main character. Spotify Wrapped became our personality test because music is one of the last things we intimately choose for ourselves in an era of endless scrolling and algorithmic feeds. Your playlist is your identity. And once a year, the internet gathers to compare who we’ve become, one track at a time.

There was a time when The Black Parade  was dismissed as overdramatic emo fodder for mascara-streaked teens with side bangs and iPod Nanos . But nearly two decades later, the question begs to be asked: was it actually a masterpiece hiding behind black eyeliner and Hot Topic belt buckles? Even bolder...is it this generation’s Dark Side of the Moon ? The comparison might sound sacrilegious to some. But if you strip away the cultural snobbery, the aesthetic gatekeeping, and the knee-jerk tendency to reduce My Chemical Romance to a teenage phase, the parallels between the two albums start to feel less ridiculous and more like a serious conversation. Both Are Rock Operas That Defined a Generation Dark Side of the Moon is an existential journey through madness, time, death, and capitalism. The Black Parade is a theatrical deathbed spiral of regret, trauma, and legacy. Different fonts. Same energy. Each album is a concept-driven epic that goes beyond singles and lives as a full-body experience. From the track transitions to the visual identity, both projects force you to listen start to finish. They aren't just albums, they're statements. Death Is the Central Theme (And Somehow Still Comforting) Pink Floyd confronted the futility of life. MCR marched straight into the afterlife dressed like an undead Sgt. Peppers. Both albums are obsessed with mortality, but not in a way that’s hopeless. They explore death to talk about life, identity, chaos, and what it all means. And let’s be real—Gerard Way turning death into a theatrical parade of angst was iconic, not cringe. The Production Was Ahead of Its Time Let’s not pretend The Black Parade didn’t go off. With Rob Cavallo at the helm (the man behind Green Day’s American Idiot), MCR fused punk, metal, classic rock, glam, and cabaret into a sound that was completely their own. Like Dark Side, it pushed rock forward with fearless experimentation. Horns? Choirs? Piano ballads? Stadium-sized emo anthems? All in one album. And yet, it was cohesive. Unapologetically dramatic, but tightly executed. It Reflected Its Cultural Moment—And Predicted What Was Coming In the mid-2000s, youth were burning out. War was televised, nihilism was cool again, and the internet was giving everyone a platform and an identity crisis. Sound familiar? MCR embodied the collective existential dread of a generation before we had the vocabulary to call it a “mental health crisis.” Meanwhile, Dark Side arrived in the post-60s hangover, when the dream of peace gave way to paranoia, detachment, and psychedelics as medicine. Both albums are snapshots of cultural disillusionment. Both asked: “If we’re all going to die anyway, what do we do now?” So, Is It This  Generation’s Dark Side ? That depends on how you define a generational classic. If you mean an album that changed music forever? Dark Side wins. If you mean an album that changed a generation of listeners forever? The Black Parade makes a damn strong case. It didn’t just soundtrack teenage angst, it legitimized it. It gave kids a place to put their rage, sadness, identity confusion, and need for something bigger. It was spectacle and sincerity in perfect, gothic harmony. And now? Those kids are grown. They’re musicians, critics, therapists, teachers, filmmakers, and they still know every word to “Famous Last Words.” Maybe The Black Parade isn’t the Dark Side of the Moon in sound. But in scope? In impact? In emotional resonance? It’s a rock opera that still matters deeply. And whether you're crying in corpse paint or vibing in a Pink Floyd tee from Urban Outfitters, one thing is true: Both albums dared to make feeling too much into an art form. And maybe that’s exactly what timeless music does.

In a world addicted to closure, Sonja Midtune dares to stay cracked open. ' Running from the Lesson '  isn’t your typical journey-through-pain album—it’s an emotional exposé for anyone who's ever felt stuck in the middle of a personal storm with no tidy ending in sight. The Los Angeles-based artist laces her dream pop and indie rock influences with the kind of raw introspection that most songwriters only pretend to reach. This isn’t music for people who want to feel “better.” It’s music for people who want to feel, period. Across eight soul-punching tracks, Sonja Midtune documents the mess of grief, growth, love, identity crises, the works. She’s not offering lessons; she’s walking you through the chaos before the clarity. The album was born from a year that kicked her teeth in emotionally, after losing a family member, getting married, and reconfiguring who the hell she even is anymore. The result? A record that feels more like a late-night voice memo than a polished pop album, and that’s exactly its power. The opener “Salt To Breathe” hits like the first breath after crying so hard your ribs hurt. “Changing Me” feels like staring at your own reflection and not recognizing the person staring back. And then there’s “Falling Up” and “Keep It In The Dark," songs that lean into contradiction, where forward motion doesn’t mean healing and silence feels safer than honesty. Midtune thrives in this duality. Her music floats in a dreamy haze, but her lyrics slap you in the chest when you least expect it. The production stays soft, almost deceivingly so, but there’s weight in every word. You could zone out with these tracks on a lazy Sunday or spiral into a quiet epiphany at 2 a.m. And either vibe works. “Still In The Sky” lingers like a ghost you don’t really want to forget. “It’s All the Same” captures the sick comfort of destructive patterns. And “Send A Clue” might be the most emotionally exposed moment on the album, a cracked-open plea for something that makes sense. She closes with “Slow Hypnotize,” a track that doesn’t resolve so much as it releases. It’s not an ending. It’s an exhale. What’s wild is how effortlessly she pulls this off. No vocal gymnastics, no dramatic production drops, just restraint, poise, and honesty. Midtune doesn’t overreach. She lets it sit. The grief, transformation, and uncomfortable truths are all here, just whispered instead of screamed. Running from the Lesson isn’t about finding peace. It’s about giving yourself permission to not have it yet. It’s for the people who are still in the thick of it, still asking the hard questions, still running, not from the truth, but from the tidy little stories we’re told about how healing should look. This album doesn’t beg for your attention. It earns it. This album reflects a mix of major life shifts of loss, marriage, and identity. Was there a specific moment that sparked the writing process, or did the songs come gradually over time as you processed everything? The songs came gradually over a period of 8 months, but they were each written usually within a day to capture emotions in the moment for each song. My last EP “GOLDEN GIRL” stems from an identity crisis; this album firmly stands in who I am and reflects all the things changing around me. The first song I wrote with Sean Oakley (my Producer) was “IT’S ALL THE SAME”. I was just getting back into writing after my wedding and honeymoon, where we lost our family member less than a week before the ceremony. It was a lot of processing… and at times I’ve wanted to turn away from confronting how much that and the passing of time have changed me, which sparked the album title from the lyrics of that first song. After the initial wave of devastation and all of the intense emotions, I disconnected from joy, which is what sparked the song, the feeling that everything felt the same all the time. By the time “Send a Clue” was written, I was finally narrowing down my feelings and asking questions. The emotional themes are heavy, but the sonic landscape feels dreamy and light. How intentional was that contrast, and what do you think it adds to the listener’s experience? Very intentional! I love sad songs, but I’ve been really into songs that make me feel good, that I can go on a walk to or drive with my windows down. I wanted these songs to be perfect for that setting and leave you with a sense of feeling good, then the more you listen, the more you hear the words. I didn’t stew on any of the songs; they were all written very quickly to capture the current mood, which is why I strongly feel that the album is such a soundtrack to life. You describe the album as a moment-by-moment journey through grief and self-discovery. Were there any songs that were especially hard—or unexpectedly easy—to write during that time? “Changing Me” was particularly easy to write. It started as a love song and turned into a grief song. The melody just pulled so much out of me, I wrote many verses in a single night. When I went to record the demo to send to my producer, I actually sang it with my eyes shut and unknowingly sang two verses out of order. When I listened back, the new order made the song come together like puzzle pieces. As far as hard, “Salt To Breathe” was tough to get started. It was the second song Sean and I wrote together for the album, and it was difficult at first to nail down what I wanted to say, but it’s one of the songs I’m most proud of on the record. Lyrically, we tried to capture the feeling of giving in to panic and anxiety, but sonically wanted it to feel cinematic, soothing, dreamy, and cool. With tracks like “Keep It In The Dark” and “Send A Clue,” there's a sense of both revelation and restraint. How do you navigate what to share and what to protect in your songwriting? It’s a tricky balance. Neither song is trying to hide the message, but both songs easily help you connect the dots the more you listen. When writing, I try to show you instead of tell you what I mean. “Push it down til you forgot Breathe without a second thought Feels so good now, sold and bought And everyone’s an astronaut…” You said this album is “just the beginning.” What does the next chapter look like for you—musically, emotionally, or personally? I have so much music to share. I have at least three singles almost ready for the end of the year, plus I’d love to self-produce an album. I learned so much from making this one that it makes me immediately want to spin out another!

Let’s get one thing straight: the Y2K era wasn’t just a vibe, it was a full-blown identity crisis in low-rise jeans. A time when the internet made that dial-up wheeze, everyone lived in fear of the millennium bug crashing civilization, and our biggest worry was whether your glitter eyeshadow matched your Motorola Razr. Simpler times? Maybe. But boring? Never. Y2K pop culture was chaotic, kitschy, and unapologetically extra, and the music? The music owned it. Every song came with a look, a dance, a tabloid headline, and at least one friend group-ruining debate (Britney or Christina? NSYNC or Backstreet? We fought over that). These weren’t just tracks on your burned CD or LimeWire playlist. They were the anthems of an era built on TRL dominance and choreographed emotional breakdowns. From robot dance moves and awkward frosted tips to intergalactic music videos and pre-social-media stardom, these ten songs didn’t just top the charts, they defined a generation that was wired on Pepsi commercials, teen angst, and an irrational love for cargo pants. So buckle up, grab your inflatable chair, and prepare for a full-throttle flashback to the bangers that made the Y2K era the messy, magnetic masterpiece it was. These are the tracks that had us screaming in our bedrooms, syncing AIM away messages to our moods, and learning dances off of MuchMusic like our lives depended on it. 1. Britney Spears - "Oops!... I Did It Again" The reigning princess of pop, Britney Spears , owned the Y2K era like a red latex jumpsuit. This 2000 anthem wasn’t just a song; it was a cultural event. Between the iconic music video (that intergalactic Titanic moment, anyone?) and the instantly recognizable “oops,” Britney solidified her status as a millennium mainstay. Admit it, you’ve tried that choreography at least once. 2. N*SYNC - "Bye Bye Bye" Boy bands were the moment , and no boy band did it bigger than N*SYNC . "Bye Bye Bye" was everywhere in 2000, and the puppet-string dance moves became the unofficial workout of the year. The song’s break-up anthem energy and Justin Timberlake’s ramen noodle hair made it peak Y2K. Still not over it? Same. 3. Destiny’s Child - "Say My Name" Before Beyoncé became Queen B, she was part of the ultimate girl group. "Say My Name" wasn’t just a bop; it was a declaration of self-respect wrapped in the dreamiest harmonies. With its edgy video aesthetic and unforgettable hook, this track cemented Destiny’s Child as the architect of early-2000s R&B pop. 4. Christina Aguilera - "Genie in a Bottle" Christina Aguilera was the anti-Britney for those who wanted their pop stars with a side of grit. "Genie in a Bottle" was sultry, catchy, and impossible to ignore. Every Y2K teen’s diary probably had lyrics from this song scribbled somewhere. This track also kicked off the great Britney vs. Christina debate. (Can’t we love both?) 5. Smash Mouth - "All-Star" Y2K wasn’t all about pop divas and boy bands. Smash Mouth’s "All-Star" became an anthem for the quirky and carefree, thanks to its association with Shrek  and its meme-worthy vibe. To this day, the opening line, "Somebody once told me..." is enough to send millennials into a nostalgic spiral. 6. Jennifer Lopez - "Waiting for Tonight" J.Lo’s glowy green-lit music video was the ultimate Y2K party fantasy. This 1999 hit became the unofficial countdown anthem for the new millennium. J.Lo was (and still is) a force to be reckoned with, and this track was her declaration that she had arrived. Spoiler alert: she’s never left. 7. Blink-182 - "All The Small Things" Pop-punk had its moment in the Y2K spotlight, and Blink-182’ s "All The Small Things" was the poster child. With its sing-along chorus and hilarious parody video, this track became the anthem for skater kids and anyone who ever shopped at Hot Topic. 8. The Backstreet Boys - "I Want It That Way" Arguably, it's the ultimate boy band ballad of all time. Even if you were Team N*SYNC, you couldn’t deny the magic of this song from The Backstreet Boys . Released in 1999, it carried its iconic chorus into the new millennium, proving that heartbreak and harmonies are timeless. 9. Madonna - "Music" The Queen of Reinvention stepped into the Y2K era with a cowboy hat and a funky new sound. "Music" was a dance floor staple and proved that Madonna could own any decade. The track’s cheeky vibe and futuristic video made it quintessentially millennium. 10. Pink - "Get The Party Started" Before Pink became the daredevil pop-rock queen we know today, she burst onto the scene with this fiery breakup anthem. "Get This Party Started" introduced us to Pink’s raspy vocals and rebellious spirit, making her a refreshing standout in the sea of bubblegum pop. The Y2K era was a whirlwind of sounds, styles, and sparkling chaos. These ten songs weren’t just hits; they were cultural phenomena that defined an era where we weren’t just surviving the supposed “year 2000 bug” but thriving with a soundtrack that still slaps today.

If you thought Taco Bell peaked with the Baja Blast, think again. The fast-food giant just took an ambitious leap into the vinyl game with the launch of the Feed The Beat Record Club, a first-of-its-kind collector’s drop that brings music discovery straight to your doorstep (and your turntable). As part of its long-standing artist support program, Feed The Beat, Taco Bell is putting culture in your hands, literally. On Tuesday, May 20, at 2 PM PST, 300 lucky Taco Bell Rewards members will have the chance to claim a limited edition record box featuring one of three genre-pushing artists: Anxious, Frankie and the Witch Fingers, or Magdalena Bay. What’s Inside the Box? No, it’s not tacos, but it might be even better. Each Record Club box includes: A vinyl record from one of the featured Feed The Beat artists A custom Feed The Beat slipmat Artist insert with exclusive info A set of Feed The Beat stickers for your gear, laptop, or back of your busted guitar case It’s a small-batch drop, and with only 300 available (first-come, first-served via the Taco Bell app), this isn’t just a piece of merch, it’s a collector’s flex with sonic soul. The Artists Repping This Drop Taco Bell didn’t phone it in. This lineup is stacked with three artists redefining sound in their own chaotic, brilliant ways: ANXIOUS  ( Bambi ) The Connecticut emo-hardcore quintet came in swinging with their sophomore record Bambi , a raw and emotionally charged alt-rock anthem for anyone who’s still learning how to feel without falling apart. If you grew up on the angst of the Tri-State scene but crave something more evolved, Anxious delivers with gut-punch vulnerability and explosive songwriting. Bambi isn’t just an album, it’s a coming-of-age scream wrapped in distortion. FRANKIE AND THE WITCH FINGERS  ( Trash Classic ) Set to drop June 6, Trash Classic is pure chaos in the best way possible. Think: synth-punk, proto-punk, and a whole lot of jagged edges. Frankie and the Witch Fingers are known for bending genres until they snap, and this album takes that even further, with scorched vocals, sludge-drenched basslines, and electro-twisted riffs that sound like they crawled out of an alien basement rave. If Mad Max had a house band, it’d be them. MAGDALENA BAY  ( Imaginal Disk ) Somewhere between hyperpop, synth nostalgia, and digital transcendence floats the shimmering sound-world of Magdalena Bay . Their sophomore album Imaginal Disk exists in the cloud, literally and sonically. Catchy, clever, and visually immersive, it’s music that feels like a vaporwave fever dream delivered with actual substance. Mica and Matthew aren’t just making pop, they’re designing digital fantasies. Why This Drop Actually Matters Taco Bell’s Feed The Beat program isn’t new; it’s been quietly feeding touring artists (literally) since 2006 with $500 gift cards and zero strings attached. But in recent years, the fast-food chain has ramped up its involvement in artist amplification, pushing emerging acts into brand campaigns, playlists, and now, tangible vinyl culture. In a landscape where physical music feels more sacred than ever, this drop does something rare: it connects a corporate brand with genuine music discovery in a way that doesn’t feel forced. It’s fun, nostalgic, and just weird enough to work. How to Get It Open the Taco Bell app on Tuesday, May 20 at 2PM PST Be one of the first 300 to claim the drop Pray to the vinyl gods that you get your top artist Wait 4–6 weeks for delivery (worth it) No purchase necessary, but you’ll need to be a Taco Bell Rewards member. Full terms apply inside the app. Final Bite Vinyl and fast food? Honestly, it makes sense. Music and munchies go hand-in-hand. And this drop isn’t just a marketing stunt, it’s a nod to the underground, the emerging, and the artists who are still doing it because they have to. Whether you’re a punk purist, synthpop evangelist, or somewhere in between, the Feed The Beat Record Club is more than a box; it’s a vibe. Now, someone pass the aux cord and the hot sauce.

Jennifer Alvarado isn’t one to shy away from difficult conversations, and her new EP ' Lately ' proves it. Released during Mental Health Awareness Month, the five-track project is a bold, unfiltered look at depression, disordered eating, and spiritual disillusionment, wrapped in a sound that blends ‘90s country with Americana grit. The title track opens the floodgates with raw lyrics about the numbing effects of depression. “The pills aren’t working / And I feel kinda hollow,” Alvarado sings, cutting straight to the point. This isn't heartbreak pop or vague sadness; it's a real-time reckoning with mental illness. Tracks like “Wake Up Alice” and “Dear Ana” push the envelope further, tackling eating disorders with disarming honesty. Alvarado doesn’t sugarcoat or sidestep. She calls these struggles by name and challenges listeners to confront them too. Then there’s “Jesus In A Bar,” arguably the EP’s most provocative moment. But it’s not provocation for shock’s sake. It asks what happens when judgment overshadows compassion, especially in spaces meant to offer healing. Alvarado’s message? Love should be louder than shame. 'Lately' isn’t about tying things up with a bow. It’s about opening the box in the first place. In just five songs, Jennifer Alvarado creates a space for truth, even when it’s uncomfortable, especially when it’s uncomfortable.

When the world feels crumbling, Figgy Baby reminds us that love still finds a way, even if it leaves a few scars. The internationally touring, non-binary rapper from Los Angeles returns with " One Week ," the first taste of their upcoming EP, Falling in Love at the End of the World (dropping July 11th). And let's say it's the kind of track that doesn't just tug at your heartstrings, it yanks at them. Built around a raw, guitar-led beat, "One Week" captures how heartbreak stretches time, turning days into lifetimes. Figgy Baby's lyricism, always razor-sharp yet vulnerable, slices through the noise of the apocalypse with an emotional precision that feels downright surgical. Their flow floats between tender reflection and frustrated confession, painting a vivid picture of a relationship buckling under the weight of a chaotic world. But what makes Figgy Baby so magnetic isn't just their ability to turn pain into poetry — it's how they insist on finding tenderness amidst the wreckage. "One Week" doesn't wallow; it survives. It aches, but it hopes. This theme resonates through the entire upcoming EP, Falling in Love at the End of the World, a project that promises to explore how, even when everything seems lost, our instinct to love stubbornly refuses to die. Already known for genre-blurring releases like Blood from a Stone and Spice Boi, Figgy Baby's latest work is shaping up to be their most emotionally potent yet. Their gift for blending biting wit with open-hearted storytelling has earned them spots on NPR's Tiny Desk and BBC, and "One Week" only solidifies their growing reputation as a singular voice in hip-hop's evolving landscape.

The Jordanian-Canadian artist (formerly known as KAIS) isn’t just making music ,  he’s building entire emotional ecosystems. “ Going Away ” by Pinwheel Valley is a slow-burning, gut-wrenching, soul-surrendering kind of  indie song . Co-written with Berlin-based guitarist and composer Tal Arditi, it’s not some overproduced radio bait. It’s vulnerable and real. The song moves like a spiritual journey ,  starting in the dark, tangled corners of self-doubt and societal pressure, then gradually moving toward something softer, freer, more open. Arditi’s guitar work ripples with warmth and precision, while Qais’s voice carries a fragile strength that sounds like it’s lived a thousand lifetimes. Together, they build a soundscape that’s cinematic without being over-the-top, intimate without feeling small. “Going Away” is about letting go ,  not just of someone else, but of everything you thought you had to be. It’s about peeling back the noise, the ego, the weight of performance, and finding something quieter and truer underneath.  “Collaboration is super important in music. If you’re ever stuck in writer’s block, try vibing with someone. It might just pull you back into creative momentum.” – Pinwheel Valley There’s no need to box this into a playlist category. It’s a song for when you need to fall apart just a little, or maybe finally start putting yourself back together.  “Going Away” feels incredibly personal and introspective. What inner shift or experience sparked the writing of this song, and how did the collaboration with Tal Arditi shape its emotional arc? Well, I wrote the piano melody first, that’s what sparked the rest of the song inspo. As a co-writer, Tal managed to create pretty solid guitar parts and percussive elements that perfectly accompanied the shift in the piano tempo and time signature halfway through the song. He seemed so enmeshed in the melody I sent that he also fired back a concept for a vocal topline. I usually like working on my own vocals, but I quite liked the melodic direction he suggested, so I managed to create the lyrical sphere from that concept.  I think the inner shift in the creative process that sparked the writing of this song was about feeling like an absolute nobody in the music industry. It's easy to feel that way when you’re blindsided with failure after failure. Very few really acknowledge the art you make, so lyrically, this is kind of where Tal and I met at a crossroads. There was an unspoken understanding - “This feeling of guarding someone who disappears”. It’s not unusual to feel invisible in the music industry. The lyrical arc follows the trajectory of the hero/adventurer who is first weighed down by doubt and fear and has to reach a place of surrender and openness, where there is freedom. The kind of freedom where the soul sheds its burdens and expands beyond the limits imposed by the expectations of society. You blend genres like indie soul, folktronica, and neoclassical so seamlessly. How do you approach genre when creating? Do you follow feeling and instrumentation, or is it something more instinctual? It always depends on where the song starts. While I work with a piano or guitar, I can formulate a full structure, melodically and vocally, within a couple of sittings, and I allow the lyrics to follow thereon. Usually, I have a solid vision for how the song will turn out from the moment of writing, and I can mentally navigate the imaginary terrain of the roles other instruments will play throughout the track. The important thing is that I’ve become more fluent in listening to what the song needs and where it wants to go. I don’t like forcing the writing process. It tells me what it wants... So to answer your question, yes, you could say there’s an instinctual or intuitive force behind it all. With ‘Going Away’, there was a different kind of calling. I was at a bit of a spiritual impasse, and this song was asking for a ‘helping hand’, and that’s where I reached out to Tal, who was more than happy to take it on. Felt like some kind of serendipity. Collaborations don’t come around every day. There’s a strong theme of surrender and release in this track. What does ‘letting go’ look like for you creatively, and how do you know when a song is truly finished? ‘Letting go’ is to not be weighed down by the expectations of society. That means the voice of parents, family, friends, and even your followers. People who habitually expect you to be one thing or another because those things always fit the familiar mold of success for them. I think that’s what letting go means. It’s to bravely follow your inner compass, even if it leads you, literally or metaphorically, across ‘the sea.’  You've performed across cities like Vancouver, Toronto, and Seattle, and now create from a Mediterranean island. How has your environment — both physical and cultural — influenced your sound and process? I believe every place you travel to and build a foundation from has a soundscape that you unconsciously absorb and transmute into your own creativity. As your skillset grows, so does the ability to listen to those soundscapes more carefully and turn them into what you can call your ‘signature art/sound/style.’ However, it doesn’t necessarily have to be that. You could be influenced by a painting, a poem, or your own child’s voice. Inspiration is everywhere, and it’s what speaks to your heart the most that eventually translates into your art. And you don’t have to fit into stereotypes either. You don’t have to sound like Coldplay if you live in London, or Nickelback if you live in Vancouver, or Fairuz if you live in Beirut. I believe in letting go of cliches and creating from the heart.   You mentioned how collaboration can pull you out of writer’s block. What advice would you give to artists struggling to reconnect with their creativity or voice right now? I think we live in pretty difficult times. There are moral atrocities happening to us everywhere we turn. And social media is not helping us quiet our minds. So right now we’re at a major spiritual roadblock. How can we create art from a place of such intense trauma?  I think that while that’s happening, artists need to remember that art has to come from the embers of the heart… When the heart feels like it's collapsing, one has to remember that that sometimes is where the greatest and most profound inspiration comes from. There’s a track by Jon Hopkins, Ram Dass, and East Forest that I recommend when you’re feeling out of alignment with your voice. It’s called ‘Sit Around the Fire. I promise you it has healing powers. When you’re feeling lost or broken, take a couple of minutes out of your day to listen to it. Let it be followed by some of the other Jon Hopkins work as well, like ‘Music for Psychedelic Therapy.’

Photo by MART PRODUCTION Before TikTok trends and Spotify algorithms, there was a digital Wild West called MySpace, and Millennials were the gunslingers who rewrote the rules of the music industry. In the early 2000s, MySpace wasn’t just a social network. It was the launchpad that birthed a generation of DIY musicians who would bulldoze the old guard and reshape how music is made, shared, and consumed. The pop stars, rappers, and alt-icons dominating the 2020s? Many of them were forged in the fiery, HTML-coded trenches of MySpace, and they turned the entire internet into their stage. 1. MySpace: The Original Algorithm (Before Algorithms Were Cool) Forget curated playlists and viral challenges. MySpace Top 8 and profile song choices  were  the algorithm. Bands and solo acts didn’t wait for A&Rs to discover them; they built fan bases from the ground up. Artists like Arctic Monkeys, Lily Allen, Owl City, and even Soulja Boy cracked the code early. Upload tracks. Customize pages. Engage with fans directly. Pure digital guerrilla warfare. It wasn’t a gimmick. It was the blueprint. 2. Millennials Killed the Gatekeepers Before MySpace, success meant groveling for record deals and praying for radio play. Millennials? They said, “Nah, we’ll build our own damn audience.” By the late 2000s, MySpace artists were charting independently, getting booked for major festivals, and scoring label deals after they already had the numbers to back them up. This independence-minded approach seeded the rise of SoundCloud rap, Bandcamp indie, and eventually, TikTok pop. Without Millennials flipping the script, today’s decentralized, creator-first music economy wouldn’t exist. 3. Aesthetic Was Everything—and It Still Is MySpace didn’t just teach Millennials to promote their music. It taught them branding before branding was a buzzword. Custom layouts? Check. Mood-heavy profile pics? Check. A fully curated “vibe”? Absolutely. That visual-forward mentality carried into the Tumblr era, then Instagram, and now dominates the artist branding strategies of 2025. What Gen Z calls "aesthetic"? Millennials invented it. 4. Direct-to-Fan Became the Norm The MySpace generation’s real victory wasn’t just self-promotion. It was fostering fan loyalty without middlemen. From selling merch via PayPal to organizing street teams through bulletins, MySpace artists created the first version of patron-supported music careers. Fast forward: now we have Patreon, Substack, and artists running full-fledged brands with no label strings attached. 5. They Built the Digital Stage Everyone Now Uses Millennial musicians didn’t just use MySpace. They built the internet’s music culture. User-generated content? Born. Viral sharing? Born. Hyper-online fan communities? Born. Everything from K-pop fandom power to TikTok duets has roots in MySpace’s DIY social music culture. And the best part? Millennials didn’t just influence the system. They are the system. Many now run the labels, agencies, and platforms that new artists navigate today. From MySpace to mainstream, Millennial musicians didn’t just hop on a trend. They created the digital highway that every artist now travels. They killed the gatekeepers. They built the templates. They survived every algorithm change and platform collapse, and they’re still running the game in 2025.

International supermodel, soul siren, and Bay Area icon Neferttiti Stewart is back—and this time, she’s hitting the dance floor. With the release of her electrifying new single “UTOPIA (Remix),” Neferttiti steps into uncharted territory, blending high-energy dance rhythms with the bold elegance that has defined her as a global force in both music and fashion. The remix—her first-ever reimagined track—is more than just a club banger. It’s a genre-bending experience that merges runway drama with soulful emotion, wrapped in a futuristic sound that demands movement. “ UTOPIA (Remix) is the sound of summer, style, and the future,” says Neferttiti. “You don’t just hear it—you feel it. By the end of the song, you’re fully transported. Press play and ascend.” Originally featured on Big Venti ’s album By The Way —which debuted at #1 on the iTunes Dance Charts—“UTOPIA” already had the foundation of a hit. But Neferttiti’s remix takes it to celestial levels, transforming the track into a high-fashion, high-frequency anthem built for dance floors, fashion shows, and euphoric solo sessions alike. The sound is immersive and cinematic—think club meets couture—with a pulsing beat that lifts listeners into a dreamy headspace. Whether you’re strutting into your next era or just need an escape from the day-to-day, “UTOPIA (Remix)” delivers a perfect dose of sonic elevation. From dominating Times Square billboards and global runways to crafting soul-laced tracks that land on hit TV shows like Vampire Academy , Neferttiti is redefining what it means to be an artist in today’s world. She’s not just building a music career—she’s building a movement rooted in power, style, and purpose. With “UTOPIA (Remix),” she invites listeners to join her in that vision. A place where sound meets soul, rhythm meets radiance—and every moment feels like flight. “UTOPIA (Remix)” is your first official remix—what inspired you to revisit and reinvent this particular track, and how did you want listeners to feel when they press play? I chose to remix ‘UTOPIA’ because Venti’s magic brought a blissful, transcendent energy to the track. His sound merges the timeless with the modern, creating a vibe that feels like stepping into a dream. When listeners press play, I want them to feel like they’re floating in their own personal paradise, lost in the freedom of the music and the endless possibilities of self-expression. You’ve said this song feels like “the sound of summer, style, and the future.” What does your personal Utopia look like—and how does this track reflect that vision? My personal Utopia is a vibrant, boundless world of opportunity. A world where everyone’s free and encouraged to be their highest, most authentic self; no filters, no pressure. It’s a place where music, art, and innovation lead the way, and creativity isn’t just celebrated, it’s a way of life. Picture a space where people dance, sing, and connect without worrying about survival because the community’s built on sustainability, love, and mutual care. It’s electric, soulful, and deeply human. This track channels that energy. It’s the sound of liberation, of joy, of the future we’re all dreaming into existence. You’ve built an incredible career at the intersection of music, fashion, and empowerment. How does this remix embody those worlds colliding? This remix is more than just a track. It’s an embodiment of self-expression, empowerment, and the fusion of music and fashion. It’s crafted to inspire listeners to explore their own Utopia. Encouraging them to embrace their individuality and creativity. Whether you’re on the runway or navigating life’s journey, this mix serves as a soundtrack for all moments of self-discovery and confidence. It’s about igniting that spark within and celebrating the unique essence of the people around you. As someone who's performed on global stages and been featured on shows like  Vampire Academy , how do you balance being both a storyteller and a visual icon in everything you create? I balance being both a storyteller and a visual icon by blending soul with fun. I used to wait for everything to be perfect, but I’ve learned to let go of perfectionism and take bold leaps. Now, I create freely, living in my purpose, and using my voice to elevate others. As Tina Turner once said, ‘I don’t want to be just a star, I want to be a legend.’ That’s the energy I put into every note, every beat, and every vision—because we’re all here to create something timeless. What would you say to young creatives—especially women of color—who are trying to break through in music or fashion without losing their voice or vision? Protect your inner sparkle and magical uniqueness. Your voice and vision is your superpower. Don’t dilute it to fit in. The world doesn’t need another copy it needs your truth. Stay rooted in who you are, even when the industry tries to shape you. Find your people, trust your gut, and never trade authenticity for approval. You’re not just here to make noise, you’re here to make history. As Maya Angelou said, “If you’re always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.” So let your difference shine, that’s where your brilliance lives.”