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Grunge rock outfit Blissen introduces their debut album, 'Seeds In Tar,' a seven-track release exploring the complexities of growing up, navigating trauma, and finding individuality in a world that often works against it. Drawing inspiration from '90s alternative rock icons Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, the band channels the genre's emotional intensity into a project rooted in personal experiences and difficult realities. Originally formed as a two-person project, Blissen evolved into a four-piece featuring bassist Tim Gierlinger, drummer Mike Schnorr, rhythm guitarist Matt Kuberski, and lead guitarist and vocalist Josh Ruszkowski. Throughout 'Seeds In Tar,' Blissen confronts the pressures of modern society through emotionally charged storytelling. The title track examines the complicated relationship between personal ambition and outside expectations, particularly when parents and peers who claim to offer support ultimately stand in the way of someone's dreams. Meanwhile, "Mad Tree" explores the devastating consequences of isolation and rejection, telling the story of an individual whose overwhelming loneliness leads to suicide. The album also features "Estranged," "Tinfoil and Tequila," "Younger Sister," "Virgin Native Mind," and "Velvet," completing a debut that embraces grunge's tradition of confronting uncomfortable truths. "We hope people can gain a love for our sound, and we hope that we can help people get through similar issues to the subject matter in the songs," the band shares. 'Seeds In Tar' is available now on streaming platforms, with vinyl editions available through Blissen's label, Pure Severe Records. 'Seeds In Tar' explores the challenges of growing up in today's society. What personal experiences or observations inspired you to build your debut album around these themes? Just seeing the news is something that made us want to make the album. You see so much shit on TV that just makes you feel hopeless and want to die. Another thing that inspired us to write is just how some parents are just undeserving of kids. It seems like there are so many parents who just love their kids out of what the kid can provide for them, rather than who their kid actually is. The title track examines how the people who claim to support us can sometimes become our biggest obstacles. Was there a particular experience that inspired "Seeds In Tar"? It’s really a collection of shared experiences we all have had. To pinpoint any specific experience would be pretty hard. It’s entirely based on more personal experiences, so we like to leave it up to the listener to interpret an experience they’ve had themselves. "Mad Tree" tackles isolation, rejection, and suicide through a particularly heavy narrative. What was the creative process behind writing such an emotionally difficult song? We wrote the instrumental to Mad Tree before any lyrics. Writing the instrumental first helped us figure out what vibe we needed to go for when writing this. Suicide was a big issue we wanted to cover because of personal experiences, and because it’s a big issue we don’t think is talked about enough. Alice in Chains and Soundgarden are major influences on Blissen. How do you balance your appreciation for the classic '90s grunge sound with creating something that feels distinctly your own? I think what helps develop our sound is that we all have different kinds of music we like. I think that’s a good thing because it helps us put multiple influences together to make our own thing. We never were aiming to be a grunge band in the beginning; we kinda all just liked the same kind of music and put it together to make stuff like Mad Tree and Estranged. Then as we started growing as a band and as people, we all had our own separate ideas, and that’s how we made songs like Tinfoil And Tequila or Virgin native mind. Blissen began as a two-person project before evolving into a four-piece. How has that growth shaped the band's creative chemistry, and where do you hope to take your sound next? It’s allowed us to dig deeper into our musical crevasses and pull out more unique riffs/parts. As for the sound, we want to make ourselves more recognizable. Rather than sounding like some specific artist, i.e., Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, etc., we want to build our own sound outside of our influences and make our own thing. We hope that we can mature our sound and continue to make music that’s us.

Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Chris Benis returns with his powerful new single “On a Limb." Driven by raw emotion, political frustration, and an unmistakable rebellious streak, the release reveals a grittier side of Chris Benis and marks the start of an exciting new creative chapter. Written in July 2025 during a stay in Greece, “On a Limb” emerged from Chris Benis' growing frustration with the ongoing conflict in the Middle East. Rather than delivering an overtly political statement, Chris Benis channels that anger into a brooding alternative rock track that leaves room for listeners to interpret its message through their own experiences. Musically, “On a Limb” embraces tension and attitude. Electric guitar, bass, drums, and keys form the foundation of its gritty instrumental arrangement, while Chris Benis' vocal delivery brings the emotional weight into focus. The decision to communicate frustration through suggestion rather than confrontation is particularly compelling, letting the song's darker atmosphere carry much of its meaning. The production reflects Chris Benis' versatility, with the artist contributing guitar, keys, and vocals. The mix of rock instrumentation and emotionally charged songwriting creates a sound that feels intentionally restless, matching the circumstances that inspired it. Chris Benis' musical roots run deep. Raised in a musical household, Chris Benis learned guitar at six from a father who performed in Seattle's 1990s music scene. After appearing on Season 18 of American Idol, Chris Benis continued developing an independent artistic identity with the albums Kaleidoscopes and For All Intents and Purposes. With “On a Limb,” Chris Benis demonstrates how frustration can become creative fuel, delivering a release that challenges listeners to find their own meaning beneath its surface. “On A Limb” was written during a particularly intense period in July 2025. Was there a specific moment or event that pushed you to turn your frustration into music? I wouldn't say there was one specific moment — "On a Limb" really found me with the melody first, and I knew right away as I was writing it that there was grit and angst bubbling up to the surface. July 2025 was a crazy time in Greece and the Middle East, so I just started writing about what I was talking about and witnessing every day out there. It's the first outright protest song I've ever written, and in my opinion, you can't force those things. "On a Limb" wrote itself, and I hope it becomes the anthem it's meant to be. You intentionally kept the lyrics open to interpretation rather than making an explicitly political statement. How did you balance communicating your personal beliefs with letting listeners connect with the song on their own terms? I honestly don't like it when artists act like they're entitled to be political tastemakers simply because they have influence or popularity... but we are humans too, at the end of the day, with opinions just like anyone else. So I wanted to write something that didn't shy away from how I really feel about the turmoil in the Middle East right now, without presupposing everyone should agree with me. In that way, I could speak my mind and write a damn good song without exalting myself above anyone else. Being pointed and opaque at the same time, lyrically, was definitely a bit of a balancing act, but I think "On a Limb" ultimately says what it needs to. The instrumentation on “On A Limb” leans into a darker, grittier atmosphere. How did your production approach differ from your previous releases, and what inspired this particular sonic direction? I grew up listening to a lot of Nirvana, since I'm from Seattle, and I'd always admired and felt drawn to the way they could get an electric guitar to really bite through the production. But really, until "On a Limb," I'd never written anything so innately angry. Once I explained my vision to my Producer, Don Farwell, and we spent some time pouring over some old Nirvana records, we got to work bringing that sonic quality to life. I don't like taking half measures as an artist, so once we committed to something more in the punk rock sound, the conversation was mostly about making the record sound as big as possible. Your father introduced you to guitar at six years old and encouraged you to study artists like The Beatles. How has that early musical education influenced the way you approach songwriting and production today? "No one has ever done it like the Beatles did, when it comes to brilliant songwriting and song construction. If you strip any of those old records of all of their production quality or instrumental innovation, you'd still be left with a really, really good song. That's what I aim for with my music — just approaching songwriting from its most basic form, so that if you had to play it on an acoustic guitar without any amplification, it'd still be an enjoyable listen." "Maybe I'll release an acoustic version of "On a Limb" someday... that would definitely change the energy of the track, but there's still a killer melody and introspective lyrics there at its most primal and basic. That's what the Beatles and all those great bands of the past understood so well, and that's why people are still choosing to listen to them today. “On A Limb” signals the beginning of a new chapter in your career. Does this release represent a larger shift in your artistic direction, and what can listeners expect from the music you're preparing for 2026? It definitely is meant to mark a real shift in my music career. I love paying homage to the best songwriting of past generations, but in the end, I want to be able to walk away from this era with as much to say about the present as I've said about the past and future. "On a Limb" is the lead single off my upcoming concept album, "The Guilt Trip," and the rest of those songs really do tell a story that could only be told in the 2020s — about loss, uncertainty, anger, current events, coming of age, and moving forward in life without a clear road map. It's going to be a hell of a ride, though.

Ohio-based indie pop trio Rose Pedal is pushing creative boundaries with their single “Sleeping Sound,” an atmospheric release that brings together ethereal synthesizers, layered vocal harmonies, and hip-hop-inspired rhythms. Blending futuristic electronic production with an unconventional approach to songwriting, the track introduces listeners to a genre-defying sound that feels both immersive and refreshingly unpredictable. Comprised of longtime friends Josh Burnette, Scott Houchens, and Ryan Drake, Rose Pedal has developed a creative identity that extends well beyond traditional music releases. The trio's artistic vision incorporates an original science-fiction comic-book universe developed alongside illustrator Nate Xopher, connecting their musical experimentation with a larger multimedia experience. “Sleeping Sound” captures that imaginative approach through a production that balances dreamy textures with rhythmic intensity. Airy synthesizers and delicate vocal harmonies establish an almost weightless atmosphere, while grounded percussion and expressive rap verses introduce an unexpected contrast that keeps the arrangement moving forward. Rather than committing to one particular genre, Rose Pedal moves comfortably between indie pop, electronica, and hip-hop, allowing each influence to contribute something distinctive. The track's closing harmonies are particularly memorable, building layers of melody that reinforce the trio's attention to vocal arrangement and sonic detail. With “Sleeping Sound,” Rose Pedal continues establishing themselves as an independent act interested in exploring the possibilities of contemporary music without limiting their creative direction. Their willingness to combine contrasting influences, imaginative storytelling, and ambitious production makes this latest release an intriguing introduction to their evolving artistic universe. “Sleeping Sound” is available now on all major streaming platforms.

Reachel Singh turns the idea of strength inward on “Warrior,” a meditative spiritual release shaped by transformation, ancestry, and the difficult work of confronting oneself. Written during a pivotal period after Singh arrived in Portugal, the track trades conventional ideas of battle for something quieter and arguably more demanding: self-awareness. Moving at a deliberately slower pace than her previous release, “Om Bhur Bhuvah Swaha,” “Warrior” benefits from restraint. Singh does not rush toward a climax or overcrowd the production. Instead, repetition becomes part of the song’s language, allowing affirmations like “I am One / I am Whole” to gradually take on greater weight. The arrangement has a ceremonial quality, fitting for a song shared in circles throughout Portugal before reaching a wider audience. What makes “Warrior” compelling is Singh’s refusal to equate courage with dominance. Instead, her writing considers boundaries, surrender, and knowing when to say yes or no. The approach gives the track a contemporary relevance without forcing it into commentary. Larger concerns about division and conflict remain, but Singh consistently redirects attention to the individual and the internal patterns that can contribute to separation. That philosophy is also rooted in family. Singh draws inspiration from a lineage she describes as resilient, particularly her mother’s journey through poverty and immense challenges as she built a new life and raised her children. The accompanying video extends that reflection through Portugal's natural landscape. Water and fire become recurring visual symbols of purification, clarity, release, and transformation, complementing the track rather than explaining it. By its conclusion, “Warrior” shifts from “I” to “we,” transforming personal affirmation into collective invitation. Singh’s strength here is not volume or spectacle. It is intention, and she gives that intention enough space to resonate.

Australian singer-songwriter Kaiyah Mercedes is turning the complicated aftermath of heartbreak into a powerful new chapter with their five-track EP, 'What Comes Next.' Blending emotionally honest storytelling with an evolving musical direction, the Mornington Peninsula artist explores the experiences that follow a relationship's end, from rediscovering self-confidence and confronting resentment to finding the courage to fall in love again. Having released their debut album, Hindsight, at just 16, followed by Trying To Hate You before turning 18, Kaiyah Mercedes has already established an impressive independent career, accumulating over 1.6 million collective Spotify streams while developing a growing audience drawn to their deeply personal songwriting. What Comes Next captures a different perspective on heartbreak, focusing less on the initial loss and more on the emotional baggage that remains long after someone has moved on. Opening with the energetic “I'm Gonna Be Famous (How Cute!),” the project moves through “3 Month Blackout,” “Miss Me,” and “Seventeen,” featuring Emily Moyse, before closing with “555.” Each track contributes to a larger narrative about personal growth, complicated emotions, and the unpredictable nature of healing. Throughout the EP, Kaiyah Mercedes embraces contrasting musical arrangements and shifting emotional perspectives, reflecting how recovery rarely follows a straightforward path. The project also represents another step forward for an artist whose creative identity continues to develop through vulnerability, experimentation, and an increasingly confident approach to storytelling. With What Comes Next, Kaiyah Mercedes offers listeners an honest examination of what happens after heartbreak, reminding us that moving forward doesn't necessarily mean leaving every feeling behind. Listen to What Comes Next by Kaiyah Mercedes, available now on streaming platforms.

PROP HOUSE ARE FEELING GOOD Hailing from the one-time emo mecca of New Jersey, post-hardcore quintet PROP HOUSE learned the ropes through DIY VFW hall shows, mail-order catalogs, and the columns tucked in the back of Alternative Press. That upbringing still shapes how they work. Vocalist Ian screen prints and handles all the band’s design, guitarist Rudy is an audio engineer, and Biff shoots video, so nearly everything with the Prop House name on it is made in-house. The band moves fast. They released three EPs in a single year, then chose a 10" split with Brackish over a full-length. The split is out now on Sinking Ship Records, and it’s the most confident thing they’ve done so far, pushing further into screamo and hardcore since drummer Tom joined from a mathcore project. They also have a clear reason for making it. In a time of AI slop, screen-driven isolation, and sterile, quantized imitations of rock and roll, Prop House want to remind people what shredded vocal cords, broken strings, shared sweat, and handmade things are worth. 10" SPLIT EP VIA SINKING SHIPS RECORDS We talked with Ian, Eric, Rudy, and Biff about how the lineup came together, why a full-length would be premature, and why calling their hands-on ethos “nostalgia” misses the point. You’ve all been part of the Jersey scene for a long time. How did the five of you end up in a room together, and when did it start to feel like an actual band? Eric: Ian initially assembled the band. He had some shit to say and a desire to front a band. But Rudy is the only other person besides him from the earliest incarnation of the band. Both original guitarists quit. I can’t really speak for them, but it seemed like neither was sure how to execute the vision that Ian had for the band. Rudy moved from bass to guitar, and then he brought Biff and me in. The three of us have years of intertwined history playing in bands. At that point things started moving. Biff: As we’ve aged, you start to take note of anyone who is really about that DIY lifestyle. Ian is a screen printer and graphic designer, Rudy is an audio engineer, I’m a videographer. We are able to be fully self-sufficient, which makes the creative process way more rewarding and expedited as a collective. Once we started talking about artwork, design choices, merch ideas, and overall visuals, that’s when this started to feel like a real band. Eric: For me, it feels like Prop House is still in the process of becoming itself. I didn’t know Ian at all when I joined the band, but we’ve since bonded over a shared love of bands like Ink & Dagger, Orchid, Hot Cross, and Born Against, as well as a desire to be agitators. Our original drummer wrote and performed on the first three EPs, but he left the band before the second one had even been released. I brought our current drummer Tom on board from a mathcore project we had been working on with a mutual friend, and it really cemented a shift in the direction of the screamo and hardcore that Ian and I have connected over. The songs on the split with Brackish were written before Tom joined, but he really elevated them with his playing. I think the next material we write will see us continuing to metamorphize. Between you, you’re in about a dozen other bands. What does Prop House represent for you that those other projects don’t, and how did you land on this sound, the At the Drive-In, Thursday, Cursive lineage, as the way to do it? Eric: Well, Biff and Rudy have about a dozen different projects between them, but this is the only band that Ian, Tom, or I are actively part of at the moment. This is my sole creative focus. I am continually impressed with how prolific and productive my bandmates are, but I don’t think their other bands have much to do with the music I bring to the table or the way Ian writes. When I was asked to join the band, I said I was only interested in writing music that had a certain amount of teeth and muscle to it. I had been playing in more indie-leaning projects for years before this, and I was just so bored, and angry about the state of the world, and itching to write very physical music that centered live performance as a salve for feeling like the tide of society is increasingly pulling us to a place of alienation from the material world and physical interaction. Rudy: I don’t think we ever set out to specifically sound like ATDI, Thursday, Cursive, etc., but those are all bands that we all grew up loving, so once we got together we started to gravitate toward those aesthetics naturally. For Biff and me, Prop House allows us to explore a darker, heavier, more dissonant side that our other projects largely don’t. Eric: If anything, we might mention those bands as a reference because we understand that those are more widely known names, but we’re as inspired by the current wave of screamo and hardcore bands like Nuvolascura, Soul Glo, Hundreds of AU, and even more melodic stuff like Militarie Gun and MSPAINT, as we are by the bands of our youth. This is an excellent time for weird, fucked-up punk music. You don’t have to look backward for inspiration. You put out three EPs in one year, then went to a split instead of a full-length. What’s behind moving that fast and that short? Eric: Immediately jumping to a full-length feels wildly premature for a band as new as ours, one that’s still finding its identity. On the first three EPs, I think you can hear a band that isn’t sure what it wants to be. The songs on the split that we just released with Brackish are more confident about the direction we’re moving in, but I think in hindsight we’ll still see it as a transitional work. We still haven’t captured the intensity of our live performances, and our live performances keep getting more intense. We’re chasing something. We don’t really see the point in writing a full-length album until we’re prepared to release a coherent, definitive statement. For now, it feels wiser to keep moving, keep growing, and approach releases like frequent broadcasts on our evolution. Also, a lot of the bands that influenced us in our formative years were similarly heavy on 7-inches, EPs, and splits, and I think that approach just feels natural to us. Your bio leans hard on the anti-AI, made-with-your-own-hands idea. What would you say to someone who calls that nostalgia dressed up as a manifesto? Ian: If I was twenty years old, it might bite. That feeling is reserved only for those that wax nostalgic and are looking at what we do as something only rooted in the “memory of.” There’s no playbook. If there was, it would be written in invisible ink. Everything that was steering the ship here came with its own caveats. Some for worry, some for want. I’m not fondly remembering the tougher paths that I walked. I think of them. I use them. No dwelling. There’s a future waiting, and we’re trying to leverage a pry bar to peek inside. Eric: I would probably eye that person with a fair amount of suspicion. That’s someone who doesn’t share my values, or someone who is allowing themselves to be led on a leash into a future of someone else’s design. I’m inspired by art from every era, but I don’t have much use for nostalgia. This is about intentionality in how we contribute to the future we’re collectively building. It’s forward-facing. As a tool, the novelty of AI is that it exercises agency over the process of creation. It thinks for you and makes decisions for you. If you value self-expression and the mutual construction of shared meaning, and if you love the way an individual’s limitations and influences and environment shape their artistic voice, there is nothing appealing about outsourcing the creative process to a machine. Participation in the act of creation is one of the most sublime aspects of being human. It isn’t a labor that’s worth automating. If you value profit over art, then the appeal of the content-producing machine that shits out endless product is obvious. But I think that value system is and always has been a cancer on meaningful culture. We want to participate in culture that exists apart from and in defiance of that. Ian, you sing and you also handle all the band’s design work. When you’re making something people hold in their hands, like a 10", which comes first for you, the visual world or the words? Ian: The two songs on the split were actually written a while back. We didn’t have the idea to do a record until it came time to figure out a home for the new stuff. The words were informing the world we were building and the weather in it. We sprinkled ourselves into that art and let it reflect what the inside is experiencing. That’s not to say that a visual world doesn’t exist inside my brain at all times. There are ways I want our art to be displayed, and there are definitely ways that I don’t believe mesh with what Prop House is about. Expect none and accept no substitutions. Follow Prop House

Los Angeles-based vocalist, songwriter, and classical pianist Kristina Aglinz is stepping into an exciting new chapter with the release of “Heaven Is Shining Bright,” the first original single of her career. Blending contemporary jazz, soul, pop, and classical influences, the release introduces a deeply personal artistic direction ahead of her debut album, expected in early 2027. For Kristina Aglinz, music has always been more than performance. Growing up in Samara, surrounded by classical training and her father's love for American jazz, Kristina Aglinz developed an appreciation for musical expression that would eventually take her from concert halls to international stages. “Heaven Is Shining Bright” brings that experience into a more intimate setting, exploring faith, resilience, and the importance of finding beauty during life's most challenging moments. Originally composed years ago and later developed alongside lyricist Anatoly Berlin, the song reflects an artist who understands that meaningful music doesn't necessarily need to chase contemporary trends. Instead, its message embraces something timeless: the belief that love and hope can exist even when circumstances suggest otherwise. What makes this debut particularly compelling is the journey behind it. After years of interpreting compositions across multiple genres, Kristina Aglinz is finally sharing music that speaks directly to her own experiences and beliefs. “I want to create music that brings hope, light, peace, and beauty,” Kristina Aglinz explains, offering a glimpse into the philosophy guiding this new chapter. With her forthcoming album promising a broader exploration of her musical identity, “Heaven Is Shining Bright” establishes a thoughtful starting point for an artist whose creative evolution is only beginning. After such an accomplished career performing across jazz, classical, and orchestral music, what made this the right moment to introduce your original songwriting to the world? My career has always moved between classical piano, jazz vocals, arranging, and performing with orchestras and big bands. Composing my own music has been part of that journey for many years, so this is not a sudden change of direction. What feels different now is that I am ready to share these compositions in my own voice, shaped by everything I have learned throughout my life. “Heaven Is Shining Bright” felt like a natural place to begin because its message of faith, love, and hope is deeply personal to me. “Heaven Is Shining Bright” was originally composed years ago. How has your personal relationship with the song changed between its creation and its official release? I wrote this music years ago, and its central message has never changed. What has changed is the depth of experience I bring to it. My years of experience as a performer and producer, including creating and leading large-scale musical productions from the ground up, featuring full orchestras and large choirs, have given me the ability to bring my musical vision to life — from the initial concept to the final recording — while staying true to my original artistic vision. That experience allowed me to bring “Heaven Is Shining Bright” to the finished recording as I had originally envisioned it. Today, the song feels even more personal because I understand its message of faith and hope more deeply. Growing up surrounded by classical music and American jazz recordings, which elements of those early influences do you recognize most strongly in your original compositions today? Music was always present in our home. My mother was a piano teacher, and my father was a jazz trombonist who performed with a big band for many years. He brought home recordings of American jazz, soul, and funk, and I was especially inspired by Al Jarreau’s phrasing, vocal freedom, and musical imagination. Classical training gave me a love of structure, harmony, and orchestral color, while jazz encouraged spontaneity and emotional expression. Those influences are still inseparable in the way I compose, arrange, sing, and play the piano. Your music carries a strong spiritual foundation. How do you translate deeply personal beliefs into songs that can connect with listeners from different backgrounds and experiences? My faith is part of how I understand life, so it naturally informs the music I write. For me, God is Love. “Heaven Is Shining Bright” speaks about hope and the possibility of finding light even during difficult times. I do not expect every listener to share my beliefs, but I hope the sincerity of the music allows people from different backgrounds to connect with its message of love, compassion, and hope. With your debut album arriving in early 2027, what can listeners expect from the project, and how will it expand on the musical direction introduced through “Heaven Is Shining Bright”? The album, currently planned for early 2027, brings together compositions written at different times in my life. It reflects my background in classical piano, jazz, soul, and orchestral music, while exploring a contemporary sound. Listeners can expect expressive melodies, detailed arrangements, and songs that come from personal experience. I want each song to have its own character while still feeling part of one musical journey.

Queens-born soul artist Nikki Buatti returns with the release of “What Is Life,” a deeply personal new single arriving October 16 alongside a cinematic music video. Blending the timeless character of classic soul with contemporary neo-soul influences, the release explores betrayal, emotional exhaustion, and the resilience it takes to rebuild when everything feels uncertain. Raised on the sounds of Motown, doo-wop, and jazz, Nikki Buatti has developed an artistic identity rooted in emotional storytelling and vintage musical influences. On “What Is Life,” that foundation becomes the backdrop for one of the artist's most vulnerable releases yet. Written following a devastating betrayal, the single captures the overwhelming feeling of reaching a breaking point while refusing to surrender to it. Rather than romanticizing heartbreak, Nikki Buatti confronts its aftermath with honesty, transforming personal disappointment into a broader reflection on survival and self-discovery. The production brings together an impressive collection of musical talent. Co-produced by Nikki Buatti and Brendan Keenan, the track features saxophonist Richie Cannata, renowned for his work with Billy Joel, trumpeter Mac Gollehon, whose credits include David Bowie and Duran Duran, and celebrated hip-hop and jazz musician DJ Logic. Together, the instrumentation creates a rich musical landscape that complements Nikki Buatti's soulful vocal approach, connecting old-school musical craftsmanship with a distinctly personal narrative. The accompanying black-and-white music video, directed by Modern Day Auteur, introduces Nikki Buatti's mysterious alter ego, Miss Lonelyheart. Drawing inspiration from classic film noir, the visual follows a misunderstood femme fatale navigating a world seemingly determined to bring her down. Beyond its striking presentation, “What Is Life” represents an important introduction to Nikki Buatti's forthcoming debut album, Miss Lonelyheart, expected in 2027. With emotional depth, an accomplished musical ensemble, and a compelling visual identity, Nikki Buatti delivers a release that reminds listeners that even life's most difficult chapters can become the beginning of something meaningful. “What Is Life” explores betrayal, resilience, and the moments that force us to question everything. Looking back on the experience that inspired this song, what did it teach you about yourself that you might not have discovered otherwise?

 It taught me that I'm a lot harder to break than I thought I was. I know how strong i am and what i have over come but what i was put through during this time almost did break me. I almost did give up. When it happened, I didn't see it coming — the people I trusted, who were supposed to be in my corner, left me in the lurch. It took away my health and broke my body down mentally and physically. For a minute I really did question everything — my judgment, my career, whether I had anything left to give. That's where the question “what is life?” comes from, not as some poetic question, but as something I was actually asking myself, exhausted, at the bottom of it. The truth that nobody sees is that I am still struggling and trying to heal, so it taught me to keep going and to choose me every day and put me first. "What Is Life" is a song about that struggle — about what it took to build myself back up. I don’t write music for anyone other than myself; that's always been true for me. What you hear comes directly from my soul, from a real experience. Today, I'm ready to let my voice shine again. That's the most important lesson this song taught me — resilience isn't something you prove once to yourself. You have to choose it every day. Your sound is deeply influenced by Motown, jazz, and classic soul. In an industry increasingly driven by trends and algorithms, how do you preserve the authenticity and emotional depth that defined those musical eras? Yes, completely — Motown, jazz, classic soul, those golden-era standards, that's where I come from. That's what was playing in my house growing up; that's what I was singing and drumming along to before I even understood what I was doing. Those eras taught me that a song doesn't need anything extra to move somebody. Just a real voice and real instruments and real soul. If it ain’t got soul then i don’t want it! My music is a direct response to where the industry is right now. We can't tell what's real anymore — which voices are actually human, which ones were generated. I want the way I record to bleed into the listening experience, so you can hear that it's real. Funny enough, I still get the question: "Is this AI?" And I get it, I really do — it's a symptom of the times we live in. When something sounds too good, too warm, too exact, too good, people assume it must have been built artificially. But that's not what music was ever supposed to be about. It's about creating ties through humanity and nature — the soul of a real voice layered with the rhythm of instruments being played by real people in a room, a friendship of sound. That connection is the whole point, and why we derive joy from music through time. Technology can help me articulate my sound, but it doesn't get to define it. The minute I let it do that, I'm not making soul music anymore; I'm making something soulless. Even at a young age, I was never one to follow trends or what society told me I was supposed to like. I actually don’t even believe in peer pressure. And I’m still that way. I listen to what speaks to my soul or catches my eye, and I was called weird by a lot of friends and others during school for half my life because of it. Up until I met the cats I still create with now. Collaborating with musicians like Richie Cannata, Mac Gollehon, and DJ Logic brings generations of musical experience into one recording. What was the most unexpected creative moment that came out of working together?

 When people really connect on a song, it's magic, but I don't think it's ever a surprise really. That connection happens because every professional in the room is willing to be vulnerable with each other. That part, I expect every time I step into a session. What did surprise me was how these legends — Mac, Richie, Logic, Burton, Barber, Aguilar, Wolfgrammpeople who've been part of hit records for decades — treated me as their peer. Mac played trumpet on Bowie's "Let's Dance." Richie's been Billy Joel's saxophone player for as long as I've been alive. These are musicians who could walk into any room in the industry and be treated like royalty, and instead they walked into mine and treated me like an equal from the first note. No ego, no hierarchy, just respect, artist to artist. I think about that a lot. I'm so lucky, not just to have met the greats, but to have actually played alongside them — to have them listen to what I was hearing in my head and build it with me instead of around me. That's not something you plan for or expect going in. And I am honored not to just work with these legends but to be able to call them my friends, my music family. (Not on this record, but truly honored to shout out the rest of my legendary music cats on my other records: Jay Rodriguez, Jenny Douglas, Nicki Richards, Jake Chapman) Your upcoming album, Miss Lonelyheart, shares its name with the mysterious character introduced in your music video. How much of Miss Lonelyheart is a fictional persona, and how much represents the parts of yourself that the public rarely gets to see? Something my director, Modern Day Auteur — my trusty accomplice in all of this — and I figured out from the very first video we ever made together is that playing a character can actually help us reconnect with ourselves. Sometimes the person who's living with the pressure, the failure, the health scares, all of it, is too clouded to reach the actual essence of your art. You need a little distance from yourself to see yourself clearly. That's what the character gives me. Miss Lonelyheart is the femme fatale that came to mind — cast out by her own city, seething headlines in every paper. She is painted as this dangerous, mysterious figure, when really she's just a misunderstood crooner trying to make it. And honestly, I'm owning that part of me. The part that gets blamed, that gets done dirty, that gets talked about before anyone bothers to ask what actually happened. I didn't come up with that label for myself; it's one that's been given to me. But I'm proud of it now. It fits. So to answer the question directly — Miss Lonelyheart isn't some separate fictional person I'm hiding behind. The songs in my upcoming album all come from this part of myself. I can’t wait to share it with everyone. You've described “What Is Life” as a ballad for those who feel down and out. What do you hope someone who is currently experiencing their own rock-bottom moment discovers about themselves through your music?

 I can't make anyone bounce back. I don't have that power, and I'd never pretend to. That fire is something everyone has to light in themselves — nobody can do it for you, much less a song. What I can do is tell my story and hope it turns the head of somebody who's in a rough patch. I'm not trying to hand anyone the answer. And maybe for just a moment, we get to tip our caps to each other. Two people who know what it's like to be down and out, nodding at each other from across the distance. Perhaps a little nudge in the right direction. I need that sometimes. I know there are others out there. That's all I'm hoping for. Not to fix anybody. Just to be a little proof that the elements are survivable.

New Jersey-based singer-songwriter Dana DiGangi channels personal adversity into an empowering pop-rock anthem with “Good News,” a release that explores the frustration of repeated setbacks while holding onto hope for better days. Blending soulful vocals with rock-driven energy, Dana DiGangi delivers an emotionally charged reminder that difficult circumstances don't have to determine what comes next. Raised in foster care, Dana DiGangi draws from an unconventional upbringing and experiences of feeling like an outsider to create music rooted in honesty, resilience, and self-belief. The inspiration for “Good News” emerged during a particularly overwhelming moment while sitting in her car, where mounting frustrations led her to question when life would finally offer something positive. Rather than surrendering to disappointment, she transformed those emotions into a song about demanding more from life and refusing to lose faith in the future. The recording process proved equally remarkable. During Lakehouse Recording Studio's “Track Your Song” event in Asbury Park, Dana DiGangi arrived with lyrics, melodies, chords, a piano demo, and a creative mood board. Working alongside unfamiliar musicians, she completed the arrangement, instrumental recordings, vocals, mixing, and mastering in just four hours. “I hope that listeners walk away knowing that they are not the only ones who feel like they're doing everything they possibly can and still coming up short,” Dana DiGangi shares. With “Good News,” Dana DiGangi transforms frustration into encouragement, delivering a relatable message about perseverance and believing that tomorrow can offer something better. You wrote “Good News” in your car during a moment when you felt overwhelmed by repeated setbacks. Can you take us back to that experience, and what shifted emotionally when you decided to turn your frustration into a declaration of hope? A lot of times in life, at least in mine, you take a next step that you feel is right. You hope it’s going to lead you down a path of more ease and personal success, but it winds up bringing you to more obstacles to overcome and lessons to learn. Especially in this day and age where everything feels like a “gotcha”. And sometimes, that happens over and over again over the course of many years. At least it did for me! I’m talking about draining jobs, losing jobs, working multiple jobs, unexpected and pricey car repairs, family conflicts, credit card debt, medical issues, doubt, and battling other people’s projections and expectations. I was feeling frustrated and exhausted with my reality, always clenched and scanning around every corner just waiting for that plot twist/turn-of-fate moment where things start to look my way. When I finally let go of that pressurized anticipation, that's when “Good News” arrived. The moment that I decided this song was absolutely going to exist in the world, not just live in an acapella voice note on my phone, is when I transformed that frustration into hope for myself. My great friend, Amanda Conti, helped me throw some piano chords down, and we made the demo that I brought to Lakehouse Studios. I got to give myself good news with the help of an amazing friend and some talented musicians. I’m really proud of that. You've spoken about growing up in foster care and feeling like an outsider. How have those early experiences shaped your relationship with music, and what parts of your journey do you feel are most reflected in your songwriting today? Growing up as a foster kid meant knowing things about the world that my peers didn’t know, but still wanting to fit in and be included by them. It was going to AA meetings with my mom and living in a rehab with her as an elementary schooler. It was moving around all the time and always being the new kid at school. One minute I’d be placed with mom and dad wherever they were, then the next I’d be back living with my foster mom, Auntie Gail, wherever she was - then vice versa! The one constant in my life that I could always count on was music. From Barney and The Wiggles to Disney Channel and MTV - my mom even wrote a song for me when I was a baby, and she was away in rehab. She would sing it to me over the phone. It’s one of my favorite memories that she left me with. When you live an unconventional life like this, it will always spill out of you. I think “Good News” is a testament to that. Statistically speaking, I should be struggling with addiction, too. But I felt a higher calling in my life to do and be more, to learn their lessons and take control… to ask for good news today instead of struggling. You recorded “Good News” in just four hours at Lakehouse Recording Studio alongside musicians you'd never met before. What was the most challenging or surprising part of that experience, and how did working under such intense time constraints influence the final recording? I had, coincidentally, just finished reading Daisy Jones & The Six when the opportunity to record my song came. In that note, and I mean this with no offense, one of the most surprising challenges of the experience was being the only woman in a room full of men. Now, they were all professional and skilled men, of course, but they were strangers. There’s always a sense of being “outnumbered” and a fear of being “mansplained” that instantly arises because that’s what happens, at least in my experience, to women in music. I was so relieved when no one mansplained a thing, and everyone actually listened to what I wanted the band to do. I said, “You’re coming in too hard on the beginning; it needs to be a build-up,” and guess what? They listened. I got to call the shots. It was my song, and my say the whole way through. It felt so empowering. Even though I felt the pressure of that time crunch in every second that passed, I also felt supported in my vision. To a female artist, that goes a long way. Your music moves between powerful pop-rock vocals and soulful R&B influences. Which artists or musical experiences helped shape your vocal identity, and how do you decide which side of your sound best serves a particular song? My vocal identity doesn’t exist without fellow powerhouse, Chevonne Ricci, of former indie rock band “Chevonne and the Fuzz”. She is my teacher, my mentor, my soul sister, and has had a tremendous impact on my personal and creative life. She is the one who taught me how to be stylistically flexible through vocal technique and introduced me to all kinds of forgotten hits of the 80s, 90s, and 2000s. She’s like a music historian and vocal performance wizard all in one! You would never know all that she’s done in her career because she is so incredibly humble. I mean, she used to tour as a vocalist with Lady Gaga and Estelle - she’s the real fricken deal. It’s such an honor to learn the wisdom and knowledge that she has to offer and to have such a strong bond together as artistic women. Without Chevonne, there is no Dana DiGangi. When it comes to genre choice and my songwriting, I tend not to use decisive strategies. I write intuitively; I sing what comes to me. I could be making food in the kitchen while thinking about a situation, and a melodic line pops right into my head. That’s exactly how “Good News” sprung about while driving my car. Or, I’ll listen to a really resonant beat and start freestyling over it. For me, musical creativity and genre flexibility exist outside of how I make logical decisions in my everyday life. “Good News” encourages listeners to believe that their circumstances can change, even after years of disappointment. Looking back on your own journey, what's the most important lesson you've learned about resilience, and what would you tell someone who's struggling to keep believing in their dreams? I’d say that it doesn’t matter what anyone is telling you about who you are, who you can be, or what’s possible for you. What is that fire burning in your heart saying? What is that little whisper nagging at you about? Or suggesting that you go do? Listen to it! Listen to it loudly and proudly. On my journey of chasing my dreams, I had a moment where I thought I must have been wrong, that I must have been misunderstanding the Universe’s breadcrumbs because nothing was working out - at all. I was fully ready to give up on what I love most, creating music, until someone I love encouraged me to keep going. Have quality people around you that see in you what you forgot to see in yourself, people who will pick you back up when you get knocked down too many times and are too exhausted to stand. I realize now that this was all just part of the “plan” for my life because shortly after, I wrote and released my debut single, “Gone!”. But that’s a whole other story! Have gratitude for the setbacks; they were put there for a reason.

Love can be complicated, especially when the person standing in your way is yourself. Las Vegas indie-folk artist De Moré explores that uncomfortable reality on "Madeline," an emotionally introspective EP that examines codependency, avoidance, and the exhausting cycle of wanting connection while simultaneously pushing it away. Drawing inspiration from the atmospheric intimacy of Bon Iver, Phoebe Bridgers, and Adrianne Lenker, De Moré approaches songwriting with a thoughtful sensitivity to the contradictions of young adulthood. His music sits between emotional vulnerability and self-preservation, where recognizing unhealthy patterns doesn't necessarily make them easier to escape. On "Madeline," those contradictions become the foundation of a larger narrative. The EP follows the emotional consequences of allowing someone close before being genuinely prepared for that vulnerability. What begins as a desire for connection gradually exposes deeper insecurities, revealing how fear and unresolved personal struggles can damage relationships, even when intentions are sincere. Rather than assigning blame, De Moré examines the uncomfortable responsibility that comes with recognizing your own destructive tendencies. The project's cyclical structure adds another dimension to its storytelling. Although "Madeline" concludes with emotional avoidance, returning to its opening track, “Plain White,” creates a sense of possibility. The same patterns might repeat, but the opportunity to approach them differently remains. That subtle optimism makes the EP's message particularly compelling. “Sometimes you mess up, and that’s okay. We live, and we grow,” De Moré explains, stressing that personal accountability matters even when forgiveness isn't guaranteed. Sonically, the project embraces mellow, atmospheric indie-folk textures, keeping its personal lyrical themes central while featuring glimpses of a fuller, more expansive production style. With another project already underway and a new single expected before year's end, De Moré plans to explore a heavier, layered wall-of-sound approach. "Madeline" ultimately finds its strength in recognizing that healing rarely happens in a straight line. Sometimes growth begins with admitting you're the one who needs to change. Madeline explores codependency and emotional avoidance as two sides of the same coin. What experiences led you to recognize that connection, and how did writing the EP change your perception of your own patterns in relationships? There were a lot of patterns that I began to notice. Not just in the people I was with, but also in myself, which showed me how codependence and avoidance both stem from the desire to be loved while fearing rejection. One grasps at straws, while the other avoids the situation entirely. We all process trauma differently, and I don’t believe that either side is inherently wrong, but that doesn’t mean that we are just allowed to chalk up all of our flaws to trauma without making an active effort to change. I think that’s one of the main lessons I learned through writing this EP. Sometimes you get hurt, but sometimes the pain inflicted is not one-sided. It’s important that we learn how to validate our own pain while simultaneously validating someone else’s pain as well. The EP ends on an avoidant note, yet returning to “Plain White” creates a sense of promise through its cyclical structure. Was that relationship between the opening and closing tracks intentional from the beginning, and what do you hope listeners discover when they revisit the project? Plain White was actually the last song I made for the project. For a long time, I was unsure as to how I wanted to end the story that I was trying to tell. ‘Madeline’ was always meant to be the closing track, but it felt very pessimistic to end the story there, so the creation of Plain White felt like the final piece of the puzzle. I have a bit of a gripe with projects that show no emotional progression. I believe contrasting perspectives are necessary to create truly compelling pieces of work. Of course, this is a bit of a generalization. Sometimes you truly don’t know anything other than what you’re feeling in the moment and it is still very much possible to make great art that encapsulates that, but I hope that when people come back to revisit ‘Madeline’ they realize that there is always a chance to get back up and try again. Being hurt by love doesn’t mean that you should give up on it. One of the most powerful ideas behind Madeline is that taking accountability doesn't automatically entitle someone to forgiveness. How did you write about your own mistakes without trying to justify them, and was there a moment during the creative process when that distinction became especially clear? I believe that writing Brush Your Hair changed the landscape of the entire EP. What was initially a collection of songs about my anxious attachment quickly turned into a project about my avoidant tendencies as well. There was a relationship I was in at the time where I really had to face that part of myself in order to be better for the person that I was with. I began to see myself in all of these songs that I had written about other people, and it was a scary, but necessary realization that I had to come to. Looking through both sides of the glass allowed me to look at other people with far more grace than I had been able to previously, but understanding why somebody is the way that they are does not mean that the pain they caused you is suddenly justified. That does not change when it is me that is inflicting that pain upon somebody else. Your songwriting draws from the atmospheric intimacy of artists like Bon Iver, Phoebe Bridgers, and Adrianne Lenker. What have those artists taught you about expressing uncomfortable emotions through music, and how do you balance their influence with developing a sound that feels distinctly yours? When I first started to write songs, all I wanted to be was a replica of my influences. Although by studying them, I learned a lot about craft and how the thing that can connect you to an outside audience the most is vulnerability. I didn’t see it then, but now I see that my desire to be just like them stemmed from a belief that my creative voice simply wasn’t worth as much as the voices of my idols. As I grew older, and as I discovered the places my mind gravitated towards naturally, I realized that each of our minds is one of a kind. Even the “bad” art that we create can only be created by us, and I believe that is what makes every song, every art piece, every poem special. We are sharing a perspective that only we have, and in a way I believe we each have a responsibility to do so. I am not ashamed to admit where I find my inspiration. I embrace it deeply, but I am rarely ever thinking about my heroes while I am creating. The influence nowadays is far more subconscious than it is conscious. You've mentioned that your next project will explore a fuller, wall-of-sound production style that was only hinted at on Madeline. What's inspiring that sonic shift, and does the move toward a bigger, more expansive sound reflect a change in the emotional stories you want to tell? I’ve always hated the idea of being confined to a singular space as an artist. Before this project, I don’t think I had ever even produced a full song with vocals. I’ve been producing and writing songs for the past 8 or so years, but before Madeline, the two never co-existed in the same space. I think that may have stemmed from the embarrassment of sharing my voice. I believe singing is one of the most vulnerable things you could possibly do, but in order to work through the things I was facing at the time, I had to create Madeline, which served as a bridge for my two very different worlds. Now that I have a more consolidated vision for my music, all I want to do is explore everything else that I can do with it. I believe that branching out into different sonic territories will also allow me to explore certain concepts more freely. As songwriters, I feel like there are times when we can mistake a great song for a mediocre song with great lyrics. I’m not saying that lyrics will take a backseat on the next project. I will always be a writer first, but as of right now, I don’t believe the songs will be as sonically raw. I believe that the stories I want to tell next will be told by distributing the weight between the music itself and the words more equally.