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Emerging indie-pop artist Della Vonne dives headfirst into heartbreak on her latest single, "Unsteady," a cinematic and emotionally charged release that transforms personal devastation into quiet resilience. Continuing to establish herself as an artist unafraid of vulnerability, Della Vonne delivers a track that embraces the complexity of healing rather than offering easy answers. Influenced by artists like Billie Eilish and Lana Del Rey while maintaining a voice entirely her own, Della Vonne has built a reputation for pairing atmospheric production with deeply introspective songwriting. On "Unsteady," she explores the emotional fallout of losing someone who once felt like home, capturing the confusion, obsession, and loneliness that can accompany heartbreak. Instead of presenting grief as a linear path toward closure, the song lingers in its messier moments. Della Vonne allows space for spiraling thoughts and emotional uncertainty before gradually shifting toward self-discovery, reminding listeners that healing often begins with reclaiming oneself rather than another person. The production mirrors that emotional journey beautifully. Haunting melodies, cinematic textures, and intimate vocals create an immersive listening experience, while subtle swells in intensity reflect the unpredictable waves of grief. The result is a track that feels equally at home soundtracking a midnight drive or a moment of quiet reflection. What makes "Unsteady" especially compelling is Della Vonne's ability to turn deeply personal emotions into something universally relatable. Her songwriting speaks to anyone navigating loss, identity, or the difficult process of starting over, proving that vulnerability can be one of an artist's greatest strengths. With more music expected later this year, "Unsteady" marks another confident step forward for Della Vonne. If this release is any indication, she's building a catalog that isn't afraid to confront life's darkest moments while reminding listeners there's always a path back to themselves. Unsteady takes listeners into some very dark emotional territory before arriving at empowerment. Was writing this song a form of closure, or did it uncover emotions you hadn't fully processed yet? Unsteady came to me about 7 years after the relationship ended, so I was definitely unpacking some baggage. But I'm in a much better place and a healthier relationship now, which has made me look back and think, "Oh wow, this was handled really badly," or, "There was such a better way this could have been dealt with." One of those things was how that particular breakup was handled. Though Unsteady takes it to the extreme, I definitely look back in hindsight and think to myself, "Wow, I wish I hadn't cried in the middle of a JCPenney over this guy." The idea of someone feeling like "home" is central to the song. Looking back now, how has your definition of home changed since the relationship that inspired Unsteady? My idea of home, and by extension the person who feels like home, has changed. Home isn't just a place that's fun and exciting. It's not a body occupying the opposite end of the couch. It's someone who makes you feel safe and welcome, who challenges you to be better, and celebrates you when you are. Your music embraces emotional contradictions: darkness and humor, heartbreak and healing. Why is it important for you to create space for all of those emotions to coexist? I think the world is living in a contradiction right now. There's so much darkness, and younger generations who have lived through so much of it have turned to humor to cope. As someone who would consider themselves a little on the cynical side, I think making light of the darkness is a great way to relate to one another and help each other get through the chaos. You make music for the emotionally self-aware and for outsiders. What do you hope listeners feel when they leave the world of a Della Vonne song? I just want to make music that helps people feel seen. Most people in my life would probably describe me as outgoing, but I put on a pretty good show. I have moments of anxiety, worry, and emotions that bury me deep inside my own head. I want people to know that even those who seem like they have it all together are sometimes crumbling when they get home, too. I have a few songs in the works that go to some really dark places, and I hope people hear the thoughtfulness and understanding in them. If those songs touch on something listeners have felt themselves, I hope they feel represented. Unsteady ultimately reclaims power after a loss. What's one lesson heartbreak taught you that you carry into both your music and your life today? Ultimately, heartbreak taught me to be kinder to myself and give myself more credit. Throughout school, I was known as "the one who always had a boyfriend," and honestly, they were right. I spent a lot of time focusing on how I could stand out to a guy and not enough time focusing on how I could stand up for myself. If I had, I probably would have started my musical journey a lot sooner. I've learned to be more confident in who I am and to love myself, flaws, inner demons, and baggage. That self-acceptance has helped propel me forward in ways I never thought possible.

Los Angeles singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and NPR Tiny Desk finalist Noa Bar embraces that idea on her latest single, "MILK AND HOTTIES," the first taste of her forthcoming album, A Heartbreak Specialist. Blending disco rhythms, jazz sensibilities, hip-hop influences, and her unmistakably experimental production style, the track transforms heartbreak into something unexpectedly liberating. Written after the end of a significant relationship, "MILK AND HOTTIES" documents a period of self-discovery rather than self-destruction. Instead of dwelling on what was lost, Noa explores the freedom that comes with reconnecting to yourself, even while navigating the lingering challenges of learning to trust again. Part of what makes the single so captivating is Noa's unconventional approach to production. Known for her viral looping performances, she continues to turn everyday sounds into musical building blocks. The chorus features a sample taken from a friend's car reverse camera, while the percussion incorporates the sound of her jacket zipper, proving that creativity often lives in the most unexpected places. As the opening chapter of A Heartbreak Specialist, "MILK AND HOTTIES" sets the tone for an album that promises to explore heartbreak from a refreshingly different perspective. We caught up with Noa Bar to talk about the inspiration behind the song, her boundary-pushing production process, and what listeners can expect from the new record. "MILK AND HOTTIES" begins near the end of your heartbreak story rather than the beginning. What made you want to introduce A Heartbreak Specialist from that perspective? That’s a great question. I started writing the album while I was going through a heartbreak. During that time, I healed, fell in love again, and had my heart broken again, all while I was creating Danceable Problems, my first album. In a way, I wanted to spoil the ending a little bit. I wanted to tell anyone listening to the album and following my story that I would be okay again and that they would be too. When we’re going through a breakup, it can feel like there will never be a better love, or that we’re simply too hurt to love again. But love is the best feeling on earth. I won’t spoil the album's actual ending because that would be like telling you the ending of a movie. But sometimes when you watch a thriller, you don’t need to know exactly how it ends. You just want to know the hero will be okay eventually. Or maybe that’s just me. You’ve become known for turning everyday objects into instruments. What’s the most unexpected sound you’ve ever recorded that ended up making it into a song? You can actually hear a few of them on “Milk and Hotties.” The reverse camera sound from a car became the lead synth in the chorus, and the zipper from my jacket became a hi-hat. We even used a voice memo from the day we wrote the song and worked it into the final recording. We wanted to be as experimental as possible with this album. I feel like part of my job as an artist is to discover new sounds and bring them into the world. There are so many creative ideas throughout this project, and I’m incredibly excited for people to hear everything we’ve been working on. The track balances confidence and vulnerability in a really interesting way. How did your relationship with solitude change during the healing process? That’s such an interesting question. For most of my life, I was terrified of loneliness. I constantly surrounded myself with people, whether that meant having friends over, going out, dating, or finding ways to avoid being alone. My last breakup changed that completely. I found myself struggling to trust people, so I withdrew and focused on therapy and self-growth. Around that same time, I started posting my looping videos online, and suddenly, things in my career started coming together. Eventually, solitude became a choice instead of a fear. I discovered that I genuinely enjoy spending time with myself. I go to bookstores, galleries, movies, and restaurants alone because I love my own company. I also noticed how much my inner peace and career benefited from becoming more protective of my energy. Today, I’m lucky to have amazing friends and people I love around me, but I’m definitely more intentional about who I let into my life. I think I’ve become an extroverted introvert. Your music blends disco, jazz, hip-hop, and experimental production so naturally. Do you start with genre in mind, or do you simply follow whatever sounds excite you? I usually start with a feeling. Most of the time, I have something I want to say, a melody stuck in my head, or a chorus I can’t stop thinking about. From there, we start building around it, layering sounds and stripping things back until it feels right emotionally. I’ve been incredibly lucky to work with my producer, Jonathan. He somehow says yes to all of my wild ideas and finds ways to bring them to life. Most of our sessions feel like two music nerds experimenting with instruments and sounds until something clicks emotionally. Genre is never really the goal. The feeling is. If listeners take away one feeling from "MILK AND HOTTIES," what do you hope is still with them after the song ends? I’d love for listeners to realize how beautiful life can become when you learn to enjoy your own company. For me, everything started changing when I stopped looking for validation elsewhere and started protecting my peace and energy. Spending time with myself helped me heal, grow, and ultimately build a life that feels much more aligned with who I am. If someone walks away from this song feeling inspired to choose themselves, even for a moment, that would mean everything to me.

Some artists write songs to tell stories. Others create entire worlds. Independent artist, producer, songwriter, and creative director ANSONisKIDDY (ANSON) continues building his brand with the release of “ANF,” a deeply introspective single that transforms heartbreak into something unexpectedly peaceful. Rooted in alternative hip-hop, cloud rap, melodic rap, and electronic production, “ANF” blurs the line between meditation and modern music. Written during one of the most uncertain periods of ANSON’s life, the song takes inspiration from the Angeles National Forest, a place where he found solitude while navigating emotional upheaval. At the same time, the title also represents “Anson’s Forest,” a symbolic reflection of his own inner landscape and a nod to the Chinese character 森 in his name, meaning “forest.” Rather than resisting difficult emotions, ANSON embraces them. Guided by Taoist philosophy and the principle of “be like water,” the production drifts through dreamy synths, atmospheric textures, and hypnotic rhythms while his weightless vocal delivery glides effortlessly across the mix. The contrast creates an immersive listening experience that feels equally vulnerable and uplifting. What makes “ANF” particularly compelling is the philosophy beneath its sound. Inspired by the balance of yin and yang, the song reminds listeners that every moment of darkness contains the possibility of light. Instead of offering easy answers, ANSON invites audiences to remain present with uncertainty, trusting that healing often arrives through acceptance rather than resistance. That thoughtful approach extends beyond the music itself. Through fashion, visual storytelling, handcrafted ceramic collectibles inspired by Chinese intangible cultural heritage, and subtle references to traditional Chinese instruments, ANSON is creating a multidisciplinary artistic identity that feels both culturally rooted and unmistakably contemporary. With an established audience on NetEase Cloud Music and a growing international presence on Spotify and Apple Music, ANSONisKIDDY continues to prove that vulnerability, philosophy, and innovation can coexist beautifully. “ANF” is less a song than an emotional landscape—one worth getting lost in.

Some artists spend their careers chasing reinvention. Lauren Wilder became it. The Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter and front woman, Something Wilder arrives with her self-titled debut EP, a collection rooted in second chances, self-discovery, and the courage to abandon expectations that no longer fit. Drawing inspiration from artists like Lucinda Williams, Tom Petty, and The Wallflowers, Wilder blends classic Americana influences with deeply personal storytelling to create a project that feels both timeless and refreshingly honest. What makes Something Wilder particularly compelling is the perspective behind it. Wilder learned to play guitar at 38, got sober, underwent a profound personal transformation, and started a band at 44. Those experiences aren't simply part of her biography; they're woven into the DNA of every song on the record. Lead single "Something to Prove" sets the tone immediately. Rather than seeking validation from others, the song becomes a declaration of self-trust and personal conviction. It's about finding your voice, choosing yourself, and refusing to settle for a life that no longer aligns with who you are becoming. Elsewhere, "Stained Glass Girl" emerges as one of the EP's most moving moments. Reflecting on healing, sobriety, and rebuilding a sense of self later in life, the song embraces the idea that our broken pieces can ultimately form something beautiful. There's wisdom in its perspective, but never self-congratulation. "Blue" explores a different emotional terrain, examining the desire to rescue people who seem lost or hurting. Wilder approaches the subject with honesty, acknowledging the difficult truth that no matter how much we care for someone, we cannot save another person from themselves. The EP closes with "The Day LA Has Winters," a poignant meditation on acceptance and letting go. Using Los Angeles' famously warm climate as a metaphor for an impossible longing, the song finds freedom in releasing what was never meant to be. It's a fitting conclusion to a project centered on growth, resilience, and transformation. Throughout Something Wilder, Wilder writes with the confidence of someone who has lived enough life to know that personal growth rarely follows a straight path. The result is a debut EP filled with sincerity, hard-earned wisdom, and a refreshing sense of possibility. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is choose yourself. Something Wilder is a reminder that it's never too late to start over. You learned to play guitar at 38, got sober, and started a band at 44. How have those experiences changed the way you think about timing, ambition, and what it means to pursue a creative life? As long as you have air in your lungs, it’s never too late to express and create. A breakup, a move, or a disappointment can be an unexpected catalyst. It’s always the heavy stuff that carries the most kinetic energy. That energy doesn’t care what age you are; it’ll propel you forward towards your goals if you let it. The self-titled EP, Something Wilder, feels rooted in self-discovery and personal transformation. At what point did you stop trying to prove yourself to others and start choosing yourself instead? Once I got sober. The program's ethos focuses on avoiding the urge to fix other people, places, or things. Keep your side of the street clean. So, I just started living and loving my side more. I got more comfortable with disappointing people and saying no if it meant compromising myself. I also did a relentless amount of therapy, including therapy-assisted ketamine, and meditation to get really clear in there. "Stained Glass Girl" explores the idea that healing can transform broken pieces into something beautiful. Looking back, what parts of your own story were the most difficult to embrace as part of that larger picture? Along the way, the hardest to reconcile was depression. Creativity is the farthest thing from your mind when you’re depressed. I knew I had more inside me, dying to get out. I was surviving for so long and couldn’t understand why. I knew there was more to life, but despite meds and traditional therapy, I couldn’t shake it. Internal Family Systems and ketamine were my breakthrough. Now I could start to see and work through the parts. Sometimes you need a side door to see the bigger picture. Several songs on the EP deal with letting go, whether it's trying to save someone in "Blue" or releasing an impossible longing in "The Day LA Has Winters." What role has surrender played in your personal growth over the last few years? Well, certainly a lot. Had to see through a lot of ghosts there, even still, they’re a little grippy sometimes, mostly wanting to help others. It’s in my marrow. But I can’t save people, there’s a difference. So, I use the tools to reconnect to myself, ease back, and let go. That gets easier over time. Relationships get down a few layers, don’t they? It’s what we write songs about to work it through! This project feels deeply rooted in second chances and reinvention. If someone is standing at the edge of a major life change but is afraid it's too late, what do you hope Something Wilder helps them realize? If you can dig deep, be willing to break from expectations, and take a chance on yourself, you’ll find something truer, something wilder on the path to reinvention. Letting go and having the audacity to make a change, no matter how small, carries momentum to the next thing. If you know you need a reboot, find out what makes you weird, wild, and alive. If you liked it as a kid, odds are it’s been following you ever since, just waiting for you to say yes.

One of the biggest misconceptions in the music industry is that successful artists say yes to everything. In reality, many of the artists and creatives who build sustainable careers become experts at saying no. Learning how to decline opportunities professionally can help protect your time, energy, creativity, and long-term goals. Not Every Opportunity Is an Opportunity It's easy to assume that every collaboration, event, meeting, or offer deserves your attention. The truth is that some opportunities are distractions, some are favors, and some are simply someone else's priority rather than your own. The ability to recognize the difference is what allows artists to stay focused on opportunities that genuinely move their careers forward. You Don't Owe Anyone Your Time Many creatives feel obligated to say yes because someone has a larger platform, industry connections, or has helped them in the past. While gratitude and respect are important, they don't create an obligation. Your time is valuable before you're successful, not after, and protecting it is one of the most important investments you can make in your career. You Don't Need a Long Explanation A common mistake artists make is feeling like they need to justify every no. In reality, professionalism is often much simpler. A respectful response such as, "Thank you for thinking of me, but I'll have to pass," is usually enough. Clear communication is far more effective than lengthy excuses or commitments you don't truly want to make. Timing Is Everything Not every no has to be permanent. Sometimes the answer isn't "no," it's simply "not right now." If an opportunity is genuinely valuable and the relationship is strong, there is often a chance for it to come back around when the timing makes more sense for everyone involved. Protect Your Focus Every yes comes at a cost. Time, energy, attention, and creativity are all limited resources. Before accepting any opportunity, ask yourself what you're giving up in exchange. Many artists become overwhelmed not because they're lazy, but because they've committed themselves to too many things that don't align with their goals. Don't Say Yes Just to Stay on Someone's Radar Fear of being forgotten causes many creatives to accept opportunities they aren't excited about. However, people tend to respect artists who have boundaries and clarity around their priorities. Saying yes out of desperation rarely creates meaningful opportunities, but saying yes with intention often does. How You Say No Matters Declining an opportunity doesn't have to be cold or confrontational. Be kind, clear, and professional. You can respectfully pass on an opportunity while still leaving the door open for future conversations. In many cases, the way you communicate matters more than the answer itself. The Right People Won't Take It Personally One of the most valuable lessons in any creative career is learning that the right people will respect your boundaries. The wrong people may try to make you feel guilty for having them. Pay attention to how people respond when you communicate your needs, because it often reveals the type of relationship they're looking for. Saying No Isn't About Closing Doors Many artists fear that saying no will hurt their careers, but the opposite is often true. Saying no isn't about closing doors; it's about choosing the right ones. Protecting your peace, your time, and your creativity allows you to focus on opportunities that truly deserve your attention. The goal isn't to say yes to everything. The goal is to say yes to what matters. Final Thoughts The music industry will always ask for more. More content. More time. More availability. More access. If you say yes to everything, you'll eventually find yourself too exhausted to focus on the things that actually matter. Learning to say no isn't about being difficult. It's about being intentional. The artists who build sustainable careers aren't the ones who chase every opportunity. They're the ones who understand their value, protect their energy, and stay focused on what aligns with their goals. Remember: a respectful no won't burn bridges. But saying yes to the wrong things just might.

Montreal alternative artist Burgundy captures the emotional push and pull of long-distance love on "Marathon," a shimmering new single that transforms longing into something surprisingly uplifting. Equal parts nostalgic reflection and forward-looking optimism, the track serves as the first chapter in the rollout for his upcoming EP, Asterisk. Written during a particularly demanding period of his life, "Marathon" emerged while Burgundy was balancing 70-hour work weeks, preparing to release music, and saving every dollar he could to reunite with his girlfriend. That sense of constant movement is woven into every corner of the song. Rather than dwelling on separation, Burgundy channels the anticipation, determination, and hope that come with knowing the finish line is somewhere ahead. The track's origins are as organic as they are cinematic. After receiving an early demo from longtime collaborator and Juno Award-winning producer Oclair, Burgundy found himself replaying the melody in his head throughout a shift at a Thai restaurant. By the end of the night, he was recording voice notes between tasks to preserve the ideas that would eventually become "Marathon." That urgency remains intact in the finished version, giving the song a lived-in authenticity that resonates long after the final chorus fades. Sonically, "Marathon" sits comfortably at the intersection of alternative pop and atmospheric R&B. The production feels expansive without overwhelming the emotion at its core, allowing Burgundy's introspective songwriting to remain front and center. Every synth texture, instrumental layer, and vocal detail appears meticulously placed, creating an immersive listening experience that mirrors the emotional highs and lows of waiting for someone you love. What makes the song particularly effective is its ability to feel deeply personal while remaining universally relatable. Whether listeners connect to the realities of long-distance relationships, the pursuit of a goal, or simply the excitement of having something meaningful to look forward to, "Marathon" leaves plenty of room for individual interpretation. It's easy to imagine the track soundtracking late-night drives, summer adventures, morning runs, or those quiet moments spent reflecting on how far you've come. Named one of SOCAN's "Five Rising Stars of Quebec R&B & Soul to Watch in 2025," Burgundy continues to demonstrate why he's becoming one of Canada's most compelling emerging voices. With "Marathon," he delivers a song that feels both intimate and expansive—a reminder that sometimes the most meaningful journeys aren't measured by distance traveled, but by the people waiting for us at the finish line. As the first glimpse into Asterisk and with follow-up single "Sunbleached" arriving later this summer, Burgundy is building momentum one carefully crafted step at a time. "Marathon" was inspired by a very specific chapter of your life. Looking back now, what emotions hit differently when you listen to the song compared to when you first wrote it? It makes me reminisce about the excitement I was feeling back then. Everything was moving fast, but nothing felt heavy. I miss the relationship I had and the mission I had to see her again. Overall, it’s very nostalgic. You've spoken about being intentional with every sound and texture on this record. What was the most challenging production decision you and Oclair had to make to ensure the song captured the feeling you were chasing? The song wasn't particularly difficult to build, but a change in environment really reshaped its sound. We went from recording in a small home studio to renting a studio with many live instruments. We added some wind instruments at the last minute to create the magic of the instrumental part of the song. For the most part, this song kind of fell into place quite naturally. Many artists write about love and distance, but "Marathon" feels equally focused on ambition and personal growth. How do you balance pursuing your dreams without losing sight of the relationships that matter most? Honestly, I have no clue. That relationship ended because of the distance, and to close that distance, I would’ve had to give up my dream and move to the other side of the world, which I considered for a minute. I know this doesn’t really answer the question, but I’d give another piece of advice entirely. I’d say don’t be afraid to feel, whether it’s to fall in love with someone or to get your heart broken. We are here to feel and learn from these moments, and to create art is to use these emotions to make something we can share with the world. You've been recognized as one of Quebec's rising R&B and soul artists, but your music also draws heavily on alternative pop influences. Where do you see Burgundy fitting into Canada's music landscape as your sound continues to evolve? I’m seeing a shift in the new music coming out, with people more diverse than ever in their music tastes. I’ve always admired artists who redefine their sounds for every project they put out, like Tyler the Creator, Mac Miller, Amine, or Toro y Moi. That would be my goal, for the music to be ever-changing and to release wildly different-sounding projects.

There is a certain kind of magic that only exists in the hours before sunrise. It is the feeling of a city exhaling after a long night, when conversations linger in your mind and emotions become impossible to ignore. Obi Blanche and Kristina Tica capture that atmosphere with remarkable precision on their latest single, "Key." Operating somewhere between post-punk, cold wave, and underground club culture, the duo has crafted a track that feels simultaneously intimate and expansive. Built around a hypnotic bass groove, fractured guitar textures, and minimalist production choices, "Key" thrives on restraint. Rather than overwhelming listeners with layers of sound, it creates space for reflection, allowing every note and lyric to carry weight. One of the song's most compelling qualities is its emotional ambiguity. Sung in both English and Serbian, "Key" explores the liminal space between departure and transformation. It never offers easy answers or neatly wrapped conclusions. Instead, it invites listeners to sit with uncertainty and find their own meaning within the experience. The production mirrors this tension beautifully. The groove remains danceable throughout, yet a persistent melancholy runs beneath the surface. It feels like the soundtrack to a solitary walk home after an unforgettable night, when memories and possibilities collide. What makes Obi Blanche and Kristina Tica particularly exciting is their commitment to experimentation. Through self-built instruments, custom performance systems, and their evolving #postdigitalpunk philosophy, they continue pushing beyond traditional genre boundaries without sacrificing emotional connection. "Key" succeeds because it balances innovation with accessibility. It is thoughtful without becoming distant, experimental without becoming inaccessible, and melancholic without losing its momentum. For listeners drawn to the darker corners of post-punk and electronic music, "Key" feels less like a song and more like a moment suspended in time. "Key" captures a very specific emotional atmosphere. Was there a particular memory, experience, or moment that inspired the song's creation? KT: Key emerged as resurfaced feelings of departure – from a person, a place, a room - all of which were personal experiences, ever so often happening when choosing to move to another country or place. It emerged as a sense of looming inevitability that once you leave, there is no turning back. Like Orpheus and Euridice, there is no reencounter in a goodbye. The lyrics in Serbian say - “if you turn around, I will turn to dust, I’ll turn into breadcrumbs for birds to eat” - it’s the act of disappearance. It is Persephone who sings these rules: what is gone, is beautiful. ​ OB: Like many of the new songs Kristina and I have created together, "Key" started from a strong mood in the room. I opened some of my rough sketches. Usually, there is a beat with a lot of character or a specific guitar sound that suggests a chord progression and a direction. With "Key", Kristina started improvising words in a spoken-word style. Very quickly, we found an emotional space that felt bigger than language itself. I don't speak Serbian, but I could immediately feel what the words were carrying. It was a beautiful example of communicating through music. There was no need to analyze anything. We simply followed the feeling. I have spent most of my adult life moving between cities, countries, scenes, bands, and different versions of myself. At some point, you realize that every choice opens one door and closes another. There is excitement in that, but there is also grief. When Kristina brought these lyrical ideas, I recognized that feeling. "Key" became a song about standing between worlds. Not fully belonging to the place you left, and not yet belonging to the place you are entering. I think many people who have moved, traveled, or reinvented themselves know that feeling. The song lives in that uncertain space. Your music blends post-punk, club culture, and experimental performance practices. How do you approach balancing emotional songwriting with sonic experimentation? KT: It’s all about presence - facing and surfacing the faith of being, feeling, and testing the momentum where there is nothing to lose - you can strip yourself of your ego, and let the joy prove your own worth. We come from club cultures such as Berlin and Belgrade, where you are expected to push your limits - to be the best of the hip and the best of the underground at the same time. We are also spanning two decades of nostalgia of the pre-digital age, and we have drawn on many of our influences from these raw cultures. However, the way we work together relies on an understanding of the need to experiment, to go beyond genres, to test our tastes, and to always challenge one another with our influences. It is about trust and the feeling of sharing a moment. The moments we collide and speak through music are where we talk beyond words and deliver the most honest moments that translate into a song as experience. We work with our impressions as jams, whereas the instruments are built to support our soundmaking, not aiming for perfection but for communication, snaps, and glitches. Our sensibilities are coming from different cultures and influences, from Serbia to Finland, metal to hip hop, we have a lot of fun understanding our pop influences while going wild with the experiments we can do with the instruments and electronics. That is also how we build mutual trust, by not knowing what we give next, getting groovy and gritty along the way. ​ OB: I grew up loving songs, but also textures. I have spent years modifying guitars, building instruments, working with feedback, sensors, and electronic systems. The challenge is to make these things serve the song rather than become a demonstration of technology. The song and sonic experimentation exist side by side; they influence each other. Then we ask how far we can stretch it without losing its emotional core. Sometimes a broken sound, a glitch, or an unstable feedback tone can communicate more than a perfectly produced arrangement. I am interested in moments where vulnerability and experimentation meet. ​ The concept of #postdigitalpunk sits at the center of your project. How would you define that philosophy for someone discovering your music for the first time? KT: The philosophy behind our music is about a live, raw, and honest experience. Spontaneity and permission to make mistakes, all the weird, unpredictable sounds are precious; they give character, and capture moments of reality. Strings, wood, and sensors. In the times of production perfectionism, we expose the vulnerability of creation. We abandon clinically clean sound for the raw emotion and energy of the momentum. From pop to electronic, to gritty rock, we speak about our worlds, and we let it be. OB: For me, #postdigitalpunk is a combination of DIY culture, imperfect technology, and human presence. We live in a time where almost anything can be edited, corrected, quantified, and optimized. I am interested in the opposite direction. Instruments that resist control. Systems that surprise us. Performances that can fail. Sounds that carry traces of the body that produced them. The punk part comes from building things ourselves and questioning established ways of making music. The post-digital part comes from accepting technology as part of everyday life while still searching for physicality, intimacy, and unpredictability. It is not anti-technology. It is technology with fingerprints on it. Your live performances feature self-built instruments and custom-designed systems, such as RAKE and BRAKE. How do these tools influence the songwriting process compared to traditional instruments? KT: The instruments challenge us in performative ways. By their shape, size, sensors, and electronics, they are a wild component of what we do, and they help us develop every song into something more experimental and experiential. They are also somatic, responsive to movement and performance, in which the post-digital spirit emerges. These instruments have a specific character, even though they consist of strings, wood, and a bit of sensors and electronics - they are unconventional, and we need to know them well enough to be able to use their full potential. ​ OB: Our instruments are our collaborators. When I build something like RAKE or BRAKE, I am not trying to improve the guitar in a traditional sense. I am creating a situation in which the instrument can suggest ideas I would never arrive at on my own. The physical shape, the feedback behavior, the sensors, and the limitations all influence how we play. Many songs begin when the instrument behaves in an unexpected way, and we find an interesting sound on it, often misusing it. Further, a gesture extends that sound, the sound creates a mood, and the mood becomes a composition. In that sense, the instruments are not neutral tools. They actively participate in the writing process. "Key" explores themes of transition, uncertainty, and transformation. What do you hope listeners take away from the song after experiencing it in their own lives? KT: To walk away in a good rhythm. Also slightly sexy, dark, and endearing. It might be a taboo night where you enjoy something you can love but also hide away. We have the goodbye in which East departs from West with a lullaby. Liminal confusion. Is it a winter night or a cold heart? This song is trying to answer these contemplations. We hope there is someone who hosts an afterparty, thinks of someone, hugs their best friend, and appreciates the sunrise soon to come. This song lets you know that you can leave and feel loved either way. OB: I hope people find their own story in it, even if they don’t understand the lyrics. The song is about departure, but it is also about possibility. There are moments in life where you don't know if you are losing something or becoming something new. Usually, it is both. If someone listens to the song at five in the morning after a long night, or while traveling somewhere alone, and feels a little less isolated in that uncertainty, then the song has done its job. Life rarely gives clear endings. Most of the time, we keep moving with unanswered questions. I think "Key" tries to find beauty in that. Many of the songs I am drawn to exist in that space between grief and transformation.

Love songs often promise forever, but Akilah Etienne's "Til The End Of Time" dares to ask a more difficult question: what if true love sometimes means letting go? The R&B and pop-soul artist transforms an intensely personal vision into a sweeping meditation on love, endings, and spiritual awakening. Inspired by an apocalyptic dream filled with angels, earthquakes, and the collapse of worlds, "Til The End Of Time" feels cinematic from its very first moments. Yet beneath its grand imagery lies something deeply human: the fear of losing what we love and the courage required to release it. Etienne's background as a vocalist and performer is immediately apparent. Her voice carries a rare emotional intelligence, moving effortlessly between vulnerability and power. Each lyric feels intentional, as if she is guiding listeners through the aftermath of heartbreak while illuminating the possibility of renewal. Rather than framing endings as failures, she presents them as necessary transformations. What makes "Til The End Of Time" especially compelling is its layered meaning. On the surface, it functions beautifully as a love song. Dig deeper, however, and it reveals itself as a reflection on surrender, faith, and self-discovery. The accompanying visual expands this message further, replacing literal destruction with spiritual rebirth and emphasizing the beauty that can emerge when we allow life to unfold beyond our control. The track also serves as a fitting extension of Etienne's artistic journey. Following themes explored on her EP Happy Heartbreak and later intensified on Fear God Not Man, the song captures an artist unafraid to confront difficult emotions while remaining open to hope. With "Til The End Of Time," Akilah Etienne reminds us that love is not always measured by permanence. Sometimes, its greatest expression is the willingness to let go with grace, trusting that what is truly meant for us endures beyond endings. "Til The End Of Time" was inspired by an apocalyptic dream involving angels and the end of the world. At what point did you realize this vision was more than a dream and needed to become a song? The beauty of this song is that I actually woke up immediately out of that dream, had this instrumental sitting on my computer, and sang the entire thing from the heart. I didn’t quite have the words to explain the dream, and the only thing that helped me capture that emotion was the melodies and words that flowed out of me right at the moment. So this song was written literally moments after I woke up. The song explores the idea that true love sometimes means letting go. How has your own understanding of love evolved to embrace that perspective? When ending my last relationship, unfortunately, self-love and all of that never propelled me to choose better for myself, but it was realizing I needed to do better for my kids that snapped me out of it. The best act of love that I could do was to let go of my own mistakes and choose a better future. Your music often balances vulnerability with strength. Was there a lyric or moment in "Til The End Of Time" that was particularly difficult to write or perform? So, because the song was literally a freestyle from when I woke up, there were no lyrics that were difficult to write because it all flowed. It did take me years to release the song because I was stuck dissecting my own words. I think what held me back was feeling a deep responsibility for my words. There is a lot of biblical imagery in my words, for example, “when you hear that sound, just know we go down” is referring to hearing the trumpet sound and knowing that it’s all over. “Stars in the morning, angels were calling, idols are falling, I want the world to know.” It was personal to me, saying that life was turned upside down, angels were directing me to make better choices, and the idol that I placed on my relationship was falling, but it also felt universal, given that certain structures in the world are changing and falling right before our eyes. I felt that it might be off-putting to listeners, but it was actually surprisingly relatable to many people. The music video frames endings as spiritual beginnings rather than losses. How has your personal journey shaped your belief that transformation can emerge from heartbreak? I personally had to rebuild my life from scratch through the ashes of heartbreak. I had to choose to see everything as a lesson and grow; otherwise, I would’ve been caught up in the time lost. I had to see my heartbreak as the fertilizer to my growth that gave me a little bit of a deeper place to sing from. From Happy Heartbreak to Fear God Not Man and now "Til The End Of Time," your music captures different stages of healing. Looking back, what has this chapter of your life taught you about forgiveness, faith, and self-worth? Honestly, this chapter has been the most growth that I’ve ever had to do, so it taught me everything. I had to actually forgive myself, so I didn’t remain bitter because it was affecting my health, even my voice. I had to actually lean on my faith in order to move forward and trust that things would work out. I had to really develop my self-worth because my confidence took a huge hit after having children and dealing with divorce. I’m living proof that all these things are real and they work if you do the inner work.

Bryan Halo has never sounded interested in playing by anyone else's rules. On his latest single, “Throw It Around,” the Manila-based artist embraces chaos, freedom, and self-expression with a confidence that feels both nostalgic and entirely his own. Serving as the first glimpse into his upcoming debut album YOUTH DISTORTION, “Throw It Around” arrives with the energy of a mission statement. From the opening moments, the track feels cinematic, like the soundtrack to a late-night adventure waiting to happen. Fuzzy electric guitars crash into shimmering synths while pounding drums propel the song forward with relentless momentum. The result is a dense and immersive wall of sound that captures the rush of stepping into the unknown. What makes the single particularly effective is its balance between rebellion and purpose. While the production feels explosive and untamed, the song's deeper message lies at its heart. Halo isn't simply celebrating recklessness; he's encouraging listeners to let go of fear, challenge convention, and approach life with curiosity rather than caution. The recurring mantra at the center of the track transforms the song into something larger than a traditional alternative anthem. It becomes an invitation to live more boldly. Bryan Halo's years as a club DJ are evident throughout the record. Every layer feels intentional, from the washed-out textures and vintage-inspired electronics to the driving rhythm section that keeps the energy surging forward. Yet despite its polished construction, the song retains an emotional rawness that prevents it from feeling overly calculated. As the lead single from YOUTH DISTORTION, “Throw It Around” successfully establishes the world Bryan Halo is building: one shaped by rebellion, play, self-discovery, and fearless expression. It's an exhilarating introduction to what promises to be a defining chapter in the artist's career and further proof that Bryan Halo is carving out one of the most distinctive voices emerging from Southeast Asia's independent music scene. “Throw It Around” feels like a manifesto for YOUTH DISTORTION. At what point did you realize this had to be the first single introducing the album? While listening to the demos, I knew “Throw It Around” had to be the lead single. I needed a track that embodied the album's overall attitude, something that represented freedom and rebellion. The song is raw and loud, just me being unapologetically me. It’s the perfect opening chapter that sets the tone for the rest of the album. A big part of this record came from wanting to create a full-circle moment between the 17-year-old version of myself and the person I am now. It’s two different worlds coming together. The song explores rebellion and play simultaneously. Why do you think those two ideas are so closely connected? I think rebellion and play are pretty much two sides of the same coin because both require rejecting reality as it’s given to us. When we’re kids, play is how we make sense of everything, and we naturally create our own world with our own rules. As we get older, new rules are imposed on us, adding pressure and expectations about work, success, identity, and what our lives are supposed to look like. The older I get, the more I realize that rebellion and play are the spices you need to get that kick out of life. I’m now in my 30’s, and everything I’m doing now, I do for the younger version of myself. For me, it’s about giving your inner child more freedom to decide what you truly want for yourself. It's about doing the things you love and having the courage to go after them. Your production blends vintage textures with modern electronic elements. How did you approach building the sonic world of “Throw It Around”? I’ve always been driven by self-expression and curiosity whenever I create. With “Throw It Around,” I wanted to create a track that sounded nostalgic yet modern, like the music I grew up listening to in the '90s and 2000s. During the production process, I began transitioning to a hybrid studio setup and tracked vocals and instruments at my home studio in Ableton Live, combining software plugins and outboard gear with hardware synthesizers and electric guitars. While tracking vocals and guitars, I became interested in recording analog artifacts like noise and hiss and in processing them musically to add to the arrangement. I like experimenting in the studio and creating a range of sounds and textures. It’s literally me recording sound bits of this vintage equipment, sort of like capturing the “noise” from that era. Most producers & engineers would consider these artifacts undesirable, but I just thought they sounded cool, so I added them to the track. Instead of going for ultra-clean and pristine, I opted for more grit, texture, and character—a perfect representation of the album. Having spent over a decade as a club DJ, how has nightlife culture influenced the way you write and produce your own music? Yeah, for sure, it's influenced how I write and produce my own music. When I got started with my DJ career in 2011, I was always on the hunt for new music on music channels like Hype Machine, Majestic Casual, and UKF Dubstep. I was heavily influenced by Justice, Skrillex, Deadmau5, and labels like Ed Banger, OWSLA, and early Dim Mak releases. I study the artists I'm influenced by, and I was just so obsessed with getting better as a DJ and producer. I was on YouTube watching countless documentaries, interviews, live shows, and tutorial videos about the artists I was trying to emulate at the time, and eventually I developed my own style and refined my process. I consider myself a fan and a student of music first, and I’ve always loved electronic music for its democratic spirit. It's the perfect medium for me to freely express myself; it really feels like you're encouraged to create your own world to connect and celebrate diverse identities. At the end of the day, it’s all about balance for me. I keep an open ear to what's new and fresh, but I stay grounded by filtering external influences with my own perspective and story, ultimately coming up with something that’s uniquely mine. YOUTH DISTORTION explores themes of self-discovery and coming of age. What does the title mean to you personally at this stage of your life and career? YOUTH DISTORTION definitely serves as a personal manifesto and a time capsule for me. It’s a snapshot of who I am at this point in my life and career. It’s been a roller coaster ride to get to where I am now, but I managed to go through it with style and grace, anchored in my core identity. This album is a conversation between me and the younger version of myself. I’m at a point in my life where I’m doing everything for my 17-year-old self, and I'm finally being rewarded for being authentically me. Now I get the opportunity to live the life I used to only dream about. I’m living out my dreams.

Some songs are written to tell a story. Others are written because there are no words left to say. On “I DIDN’T EXPECT THE WORLD,” Canada-based French artist DOYLE MAÏA transforms an unresolved chapter of her life into a moving pop-soul ballad that lingers long after the final note fades. Built around the painful reality of losing someone without explanation, the song serves as an emotional open letter to a former best friend whose silence left more questions than answers. Rather than focusing on dramatic heartbreak, DOYLE MAÏA captures something far more relatable: the confusion that follows when a meaningful relationship slowly disappears and closure never arrives. What makes the track resonate is its emotional honesty. The lyrics navigate the complicated space between love and resentment, grief and acceptance. There is no attempt to paint the situation in black-and-white. Instead, DOYLE MAÏA embraces the contradictions of caring deeply for someone while feeling hurt by their absence. Vocally, she delivers the song with remarkable restraint. Every line feels personal, as if listeners are being invited into a private conversation she never got the chance to have. The production complements that vulnerability, blending soulful melodies with atmospheric pop textures that keep the emotion at the forefront. At its core, “I DIDN’T EXPECT THE WORLD” is not a song about blame. It is a song about processing silence. It speaks to anyone who has spent months replaying conversations, searching for reasons, or wondering whether they could have done something differently. With this release, DOYLE MAÏA proves that some of the most powerful songs emerge from life's unanswered questions. The result is an intimate, beautifully crafted ballad that offers comfort to listeners navigating their own experiences with loss, distance, and emotional uncertainty. As she prepares to release more alternative R&B and retro-pop inspired music later this year, “I DIDN’T EXPECT THE WORLD” stands as a compelling introduction to an artist unafraid to turn vulnerability into connection. “I DIDN’T EXPECT THE WORLD” was inspired by a friendship that ended without explanation. At what point did you realize this experience needed to become a song rather than remain an unsent message? I believe that when someone has meant a lot to you, it’s important to leave a tangible trace of them somewhere in the world, whether it’s a photo or some messages. What I do best is write and express myself through music, so I wanted to leave a trace of someone who has deeply impacted my life. I realized I had to write about this situation when I stopped denying the fact that he was gone for good. I told myself, “Well, I have nothing left of him, so at least I’ll have this song. The song explores both love and anger toward the same person. Was it challenging to balance those conflicting emotions while writing and recording the track? Yes, it was definitely a challenge, but I couldn’t talk about love without talking about anger, and vice versa, yet I could never quite decide which should take the upper hand. So I embraced the chaotic mix of these two emotions and wrote it as it is. Silence can often hurt more than an honest conversation. What did creating this song teach you about finding closure when answers never come? I think it’s taught me to let things go, even when it’s hard. Realizing that not everyone is intentionally trying to hurt you, and that not everything needs to be taken personally, is difficult to come to terms with, especially in your twenties, because that’s the time in our lives when we realize we’re not the center of the world and that people have their own lives and their own challenges, which sometimes mean you naturally grow apart. Now I feel like I’m trying to connect with as many things as possible without getting too attached to them, even though that might seem unrealistic to do with a friendship that’s lasted almost eight years. And I had to face the facts: no answer could ever have been satisfactory, so perhaps silence is what hurts the least after all. Your music often transforms difficult emotions into something listeners can connect with. How important is vulnerability in your songwriting process? Vulnerability means everything to me. Art is about being deeply vulnerable, and having grown up in a family where emotions were often pushed into the background, music was my escape, my only space where vulnerability became possible, so I took refuge in writing for that very reason. The more specific it is, the more it will resonate with a wider audience, because you need to hear what you could never really say to someone’s face and make the most of the fact that, in music, there’s this perfect balance between honesty and tact that I find fascinating. You mentioned a new alt-R&B and alt-retro pop release is on the way. How does that upcoming music expand on the artistic world you're building as DOYLE MAÏA? I think this release will mark a new turning point in my art. It will mark my coming of age and, above all, showcase my strong desire to explore my R&B and alternative pop influences. A lot of people say, “Oh, a voice and a piano—that’s all it takes,” and they’re not wrong, but I don’t want to be just that; I’m not just that. My themes are always melancholic and nostalgic, and this time I wanted to convey them in a different way. I want to show the side of myself that refuses to let anything slide and confidently champions independence. As time has gone on, I’ve come to believe I’m meant to make people feel intensely. Somewhere between crying and dancing. I want to be an escape, just as music is for me. I want to be there for my community when they run, cry, dance, shout, and tap into aspects of people that they sometimes cannot bring out in public because they are afraid to disturb, afraid of being too much, of saying too much, of being judged. I want to be the gateway to embracing their imperfections and chaos without having to conform because DOYLE MAÏA is an artist who doesn’t want to conform to a specific musical genre; I am an artist who tried to escape these expectations, but found myself faced with a reality: I am too complex to be pushed into a corner or conform to a single thing. So I’d like people to fully embrace their unconventional, messy identities, because art has never made sense to me, and that’s why I chose this path.