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Southern Soul doesn’t always get this kind of emotional depth. And that’s exactly why FMG Copa$tetic Baby is starting to feel dangerous in the best way. “Comfort Turned Complicated (I’m Passing Over)” is redefining the genre by drawing out its emotional core, pulling it deeper into real-life experiences where nothing is clean, simple, or easily explained. From the jump, the accordion sets the emotional battlefield. Not in a novelty way, not as some cultural checkbox, but as the backbone of the entire record. Its warmth invites, but tension lurks just beneath, a dance between comfort and looming complication. The production leans into Southern Soul textures while threading in hip-hop rhythms, giving the track a steady, hypnotic groove. It moves like a conversation that goes on longer than it should. You know the one. Where nobody says what they actually mean, but everything is being felt anyway. FMG Copa$tetic Baby keeps it grounded. No over-singing, no trying to force a moment. He lets the story breathe. That restraint is what makes it hit harder. You believe him when he talks about loyalty, about staying in his place, about choosing respect over impulse. And then you feel the shift when those emotions start getting heavier. That’s really what this song is about. Not just love, but timing. Boundaries. The kind of connection that exists in the gray area where nobody is technically wrong, but nobody is fully right either. Instead of turning that into drama, he leans into patience. That’s rare. Most artists would push this into betrayal or chaos. He keeps it rooted in care, which somehow makes it even more intense. With “Zydeco After Dark” on the way, fully written and produced in-house, he’s not just experimenting. He’s reshaping how the genre fits into today’s culture. “Comfort Turned Complicated” feels like a bridge. Between past and future. Between friendship and something more.

Live Nation and Ticketmaster just took one of the biggest legal hits in modern live music. On Wednesday, April 15, 2026, a federal jury in New York found that Live Nation and its Ticketmaster subsidiary maintained an illegal monopoly over large concert venues and violated antitrust laws. The civil verdict came after a closely watched trial brought by a coalition of U.S. states. The case centered on a question fans, artists, venues and independent promoters have been asking for years: does Live Nation have too much control over live music? According to the jury, the answer was yes. The lawsuit accused Live Nation and Ticketmaster of using their dominance across ticketing, concert promotion and venue operations to suppress competition and raise costs for consumers. The jury found that the companies’ conduct caused concertgoers in 22 states to pay an extra $1.72 per ticket. The verdict does not immediately break up Live Nation and Ticketmaster. That decision comes later. The next phase will determine remedies, which could include monetary damages, business restrictions, venue divestitures or other structural changes. Live Nation has denied violating antitrust law and has argued that its position in the market comes from lawful business success, not illegal conduct. The company has also pushed back on claims that it alone controls ticket prices, pointing to artists, teams and venues as major players in pricing and fees. Still, the verdict is a major moment for the live music industry. For years, Live Nation and Ticketmaster have faced criticism over ticket fees, exclusive venue deals and market control. Public scrutiny intensified after the 2022 Taylor Swift Eras Tour presale meltdown, which became a national flashpoint in the debate over ticketing power and fan access. Now, the issue is no longer just fan frustration. A jury has found that Live Nation and Ticketmaster crossed a legal line. The company has not been broken up, and the final consequences are still ahead. But the ruling puts Live Nation and Ticketmaster’s dominance under serious legal pressure, and it could reshape how concerts are promoted, ticketed and accessed in the years to come.

BIG VENTI ’s “ Coachella (Festival Mix) ” is having one of those moments artists dream about, and the wildest part is that it feels completely organic. The track has gone viral on Instagram Reels this year, becoming the most-used Coachella-themed song across the platform, even surpassing Lana Del Rey’s Coachella track in total reel usage. That kind of traction does not happen by accident. It happens when a song understands the moment better than everyone else trying to chase it. Across Instagram, creators from fashion brands, beauty influencers, dancers, music fans, restaurants, and even bus companies have been using “Coachella (Festival Mix)” to capture the feeling of the desert. It has become the audio behind outfit reveals, road trips, festival recaps, brand promos, and those cinematic clips that make Coachella feel less like an event and more like its own universe. The reason it works is simple. BIG VENTI actually sounds like someone who loves Coachella, not someone trying to capitalize on it. Created as a tribute to his own memories at the festival with friends, the track turns the Los Angeles-to-desert ritual into something bright, nostalgic, and addictive. Even the cover art comes from a photo VENTI took himself at Coachella, which keeps the whole release rooted in real experience. When he sings, “There’s traffic on the 10, know that you don’t want to wait,” it lands because anyone who has made that drive knows the feeling. Then the chorus opens up with “Be like water, don’t bottle up,” a Bruce Lee-inspired line that captures the heart of the song: let go, feel everything, and ride the wave. For VENTI, seeing people do exactly that has been the real reward. “Knowing that my music makes people happy is making me happier in return,” he shares. “Coachella (Festival Mix)” doesn't sound like a brand brief. It sounds like a memory with bass under it. BIG VENTI made a song about escaping worries and letting go, and now thousands of people are using it to do exactly that.

Let’s be honest...calling Justin Bieber’s Coachella set “lazy” is just code for “this didn’t look like what I expected.” No massive choreography, no perfectly timed nostalgia run, no obvious viral bait engineered for TikTok. Just a set that felt loose, reactive, and at times… almost too real. And that’s exactly why people got uncomfortable. Because instead of performing for the audience, Bieber did something most artists wouldn’t risk on a stage that big, he started building a moment with them. The set wasn’t locked into a rigid structure. It moved with the crowd. What they sang back mattered. What didn’t land mattered more. It felt less like a performance and more like a live experiment happening in real time. And yeah, people read that as messy. But that take completely misses what was actually happening. Artists spend months in studios and rehearsal spaces trying to predict what fans will connect with. Bieber skipped that entire process and tested it live, in front of millions. That’s not lazy, that’s the most honest kind of data you can get. There’s also a layer here that people keep avoiding. Performing your biggest hits isn’t always the win it looks like from the outside. When you don’t fully control your catalog, those moments can benefit the system more than the artist. Streams go up, numbers look great, but the payoff isn’t always equal. So instead of turning his set into a greatest hits commercial, Bieber pulled back. He didn’t overfeed nostalgia. He focused on what feels relevant now. That’s where the real shift is. People think control means perfection, tight visuals, flawless execution, and zero risk. But real control is knowing when to break your own formula. Bieber didn’t lose control of the set; he redefined it. He made unpredictability part of the experience, which ironically gives him more power than sticking to a script ever could. And if we’re being real, the industry doesn’t love that. Because the more artists rely on real-time connection, the less they rely on traditional systems to tell them what works. No forced nostalgia. No algorithm-chasing. Just direct feedback and actual audience engagement. So was it “lazy”? Or are people just not used to artists moving like this yet? It’s easier to dismiss something than to admit it’s ahead of you. Bieber didn’t give a perfect performance. He gave a strategic one. And the fact that people are still debating it proves he already got what he came for.

Russ gave an early listen to The Elephant & The Rider, and it’s easily some of his strongest, most dialed-in work yet. The new tracks double down on why his independent run isn’t just working, it’s leading the conversation. There are listening parties, and then there are moments that feel like a statement. Russ didn’t just preview new music at Only the Wild Ones in Venice. He turned a packed room into a real-time reminder that independence isn’t just a buzzword. It’s a completely different way of moving. BUZZMUSIC hosts Big Venti and Chaunte’ Wayans pulled up on an exclusive invite, and from the second they arrived, the energy already felt different. “There was a really long line,” Venti said. “Wrapped around the block. You could tell right away this wasn’t just industry people showing up. These were real fans.” Inside, the tone shifted into something more intentional. No chaos, no forced hype, no overproduction trying to distract from weak music. Just a clean, immersive space that actually respected the listening experience. “Inside, it was dimly lit with dope scenery. Real intimate, real intentional.” Chaunte’ added. That intentionality carried into every part of the night. Even the venue, a vinyl hi-fi sound system bar, felt like a reflection of Russ himself. Tasteful, stripped back, and focused on quality over noise. Venti and Chaunte’ kept it chill with a couple of mocktails, fully locked into the experience without distractions. And once Russ started playing tracks from the deluxe edition of W!LD, titled The Elephant & The Rider, it was clear why this wasn’t meant to be experienced through a phone screen. “This is the ultimate feel-good Russ album that I’ve been waiting for,” Venti said. “The beats were mostly downtempo and put you in a reflective state of mind. His singing sounded evolved and high-level. He was hitting high notes without that auto-tune sound. I haven’t enjoyed listening to someone sing like this since Trap Soul.” That’s not a casual statement. That’s calling out a level of artistry most artists aren’t even trying to reach anymore. At the same time, the balance in Russ’s sound stood out. The way his melodic rap flows into his vocals doesn’t feel like he’s switching styles. It feels like he’s mastered both. “One of the standouts for me was a track that sampled what sounded like Lauryn Hill,” Chaunte’ said. “Instant nostalgia, but still felt fresh.” But the real moment that defined the night had nothing to do with production or vocals. It was how Russ prioritized the crowd. “Russ is a fan-first artist,” Venti said. “He told the people inside he was going to play the whole album, then rotate everyone out so the fans outside could get a chance to come in. That was super important to him.” Let’s be honest. That doesn’t happen at most events. Especially not at this level. “I just want to be with my fans in real life. We don’t know what’s AI and what’s not AI. But you know I’m right here with you!” Russ told the room. That line lands harder than people might realize. Because while the industry keeps drifting toward artificial everything, Russ is doing the opposite. He’s doubling down on real-life connection, real consistency, and real output. “Russ played 13 songs in total on an incredible sounding system, repeating only one, ‘I Guess,’ my favorite,” Venti said. “Not your typical pop hit, but something more introspective. A song that truly resonates on a deeper level.” That’s the difference between chasing hits and building a catalog. Russ isn’t trying to win a moment. He’s building something that lasts. “Overall, it was a solid night,” Chaunte added. “Great music, great energy, and one of those experiences that just felt right.” Even Russ’s creative process reflects that same mindset. “Making music is like going to the gym.”Simple and consistent with no shortcuts. And that’s exactly why he’s been able to sustain this level of success independently, without folding into the system that most artists feel forced into. “Russ likely has more songs than any other artist, and he’s been doing this at a high level for a long time,” Venti said. “After interviewing him, seeing that same level of passion and excitement of an artist who’s just starting, along with his love for the craft and his fans, was one of the most fulfilling and inspiring experiences I’ve had in years.” That’s the real takeaway from the night. Not just that the music hit. Not just that, the room was packed. Not just that, the event felt curated. It’s that independence still works. And not in some romantic, struggling artist way. In a real, scalable, undeniable way. Russ isn’t asking for permission. He never did. And watching that play out in a room full of people who actually care made one thing obvious. The future of music doesn’t belong to whoever controls the system. It belongs to the artists who never needed it in the first place.

Drew & Ellie Holcomb are not slowing down anytime soon. Fresh off the release of their joint album Memory Bank and in the middle of their headline run, the duo is now stepping onto even bigger stages this summer, joining NEEDTOBREATHE on The Long Surrender tour. Known for their honest songwriting and tight harmonies, this next chapter puts their music in front of massive amphitheater crowds across the country, marking a clear step up in their already steady rise. You’re moving from more intimate headline shows to large amphitheaters with NEEDTOBREATHE. How do you plan to adapt your live set for those bigger spaces? We will certainly pay attention to the outdoor, summertime nature of the tour. It’s much different to have a 45-minute set than a 2-hour set, so we will have a ton of fun in that shorter set and focus on fan favorites.  Memory Bank feels deeply personal and rooted in your relationship. Was there ever a moment when it felt too personal to share publicly? It’s deeply personal for sure, but that is the nature of songwriting, and I think we are just accustomed to sharing our work, and our solo work is usually just as personal.  You’ve both had strong individual careers. What has changed creatively now that you’re fully stepping into a joint project together? It is a different set of muscles to share the creative direction, the songwriting, the harmony singing, etc. When we are doing our duo work, we have to learn to compromise, engage in gray areas, and listen to the other person much more than in our individual careers.  Touring with longtime friends like NEEDTOBREATHE adds a different dynamic. How does that relationship influence the energy of the tour? It has been over a decade since we shared a stage with NEEDTOBREATHE, but with all the shared history both on and off stage, I imagine there will be some collaborative moments on stage, but the energy and friendship offstage will most likely make all of us feel very at home, even though we will be in a new place each night. The energy and vibe offstage on a tour absolutely affects the quality of the show onstage. This is going to be a very trusting and familial situation off stage, so that energy will bleed over to the stage and the show.  With this tour marking a new level of exposure, what does growth look like for you right now without losing what makes your music feel so personal? I have learned that at the end of the day, what connects people to us and our music is the songs, and no matter the size of the venue or crowd, when an audience loves the songs, we can make that show feel personal. It’s years of hard knocks that give us that confidence and that comfort.

Let’s be honest, most “romantic” songs right now aren’t actually about connection. They’re about aesthetics. Vibes over substance. Chemistry reduced to late-night texts and half-attention. Sól clearly isn’t interested in that version of love. With “Talk to Me,” Sól pulls things all the way back to something people have quietly forgotten how to do. Actually connect. Not perform it. Not aestheticize it. Just sit in it. Built on a warm, 70s-inspired soul foundation, the track doesn’t rush to impress. It lingers. It invites. It asks for presence in a way that feels almost radical in a culture addicted to distraction. You hear it in the instrumentation, the pacing, and especially in her voice, which doesn’t fight for attention but commands it anyway. Sól isn’t just making music here. She’s creating space. And in a time where everything feels loud, fast, and disposable, that choice hits harder than any overproduced love song trying to go viral. You’re pushing conversation as intimacy in a time when people barely communicate beyond the surface. Do you think we’ve lost the ability to connect, or are people just avoiding it on purpose? What a great question! I think that we lost the ability because we don’t have to work that muscle anymore. We’ve become so reliant on social media, and in a way, it gives us a false sense of closeness to people, and we may not even realize it until later in life. We’re just hitting follow, like, or engaging with people’s content in a surface-level kind of way. But when it comes to actually being close to someone and getting to know them on a deep level, that feels like a completely different thing altogether. I don’t think we avoid it on purpose because deep down, connection is something we all need and crave as humans. And yes, maybe sometimes we might avoid interaction or communication because it can be scary or intimidating (for many reasons).  I also find myself feeling that way at times- but that’s why I think it’s so important to talk about these things and reconnect in a real way. The 70s influence is clear, but this doesn’t feel like nostalgia bait. What did you take from that era sonically and emotionally that you think is missing in today’s R&B? Thank you, I really appreciate that.  I think the main thing is the raw live instrumentation of it all. I loved how this song feels like I get to be in the studio singing with a band.  Will Catucci did all the live instrumentation, and I added a couple of my own sprinkles to the production as well. I think that analog feel was something I really craved. The song has so many production elements that feel 70s-coded to me, like the congas, percussion layers, funky rhythm guitar, guitar plucks, etc. And vocally, there’s a dreamy softness I wanted to embody that I hear in artists like Minnie Riperton, Dionne Warwick, and Deniece Williams. I also love the fullness of those compositions back then, and how layered the vocals would be. I wanted my vocals to sound like I had background singers, and sometimes I would even pitch some of them down to give it that effect. Emotionally, I think the song is so soulful, and that’s the kind of music I love to listen to from that era. At the moment, I just wrote what came to mind, but now looking back, I think the writing is also somewhat reminiscent of that time because the concept surrounds something as simple as conversation, which is super foundational. I think a lot of music from the 70’s soul era remains so timeless because the concepts are relatable to any generation, and that is something I also crave and admire in music.  You produce your own music. What’s a detail in “Talk to Me” that listeners might overlook but you obsessed over while building the track? I feel like there are so many details I could mention here, but I think in general, one thing I obsessed over was building the energy of the song up in the second verse. On top of the strings and drums that came in there,  I loved adding my different layered vocal stacks and accent sounds to echo back the lyrics- like a harp glissando and twinkle sound, for example, that only appeared once. One of my favorite parts was actually building the “make me think deeper, like the ocean” part of the verse because I got to sing so many vocal layers in the background, and you can hear the guitar playing the same melody over the vocal stacks. It’s a subtle detail, but for me, it adds a whole other groove layer to it.  There’s a calm confidence in your vocal delivery that doesn’t chase attention. Was that restraint intentional, or is that just how you naturally express emotion in your music? Thank you, I appreciate that. For this song in particular, I think maybe it was a little bit of both. I wanted this song to feel alluring and intimate, and I think vocally that translated into more soft and whispery vocals (even if the decision was more subconscious). But also, I do think my approach to the song was still consistent with how I’d naturally express myself and the vocal qualities I gravitate towards as a music listener. You move across multiple creative worlds like acting, scoring, and visual art. When you’re building a song like this, are you thinking sonically first or visually first, and how do those instincts compete or collaborate? I do love how different areas of the arts can interact with each other in that way. When it came to this song, I naturally started seeing different images in my head once I heard the production and came up with the concept. For example, the start of it made me visualize a beach at night, and that image shows up in a lot of the lyrics where I mention the full moon, ocean waves, wind blowing, etc. And as the song lyrics continued to develop, I kept picturing this idea of two people on a first date, having a conversation in a living room, which ended up tying into the concept for the music video (directed by Mami).

There’s a version of folk music that tries way too hard to sound meaningful. Alexander Gallant doesn’t bother with that. On “Everything You Need,” he keeps it simple, and that’s exactly why it lands. The Halifax-based songwriter leans into something most artists avoid right now. Optimism. Not the fake, overproduced kind, but the quiet, earned version that comes after you’ve overthought everything and finally decide to let it go. The track feels like a reset. Like stepping outside after being stuck in your head for too long. Sonically, it’s stripped but not empty. Gallant’s fingerpicking carries the entire emotional weight, with subtle, slightly off-kilter tunings that give the song its character. It doesn’t try to be perfect. It feels lived-in. There’s a warmth to the arrangement that mirrors the message, soft, steady, and grounded in something real. Vocally, he doesn’t oversell it. That’s the point. His delivery is calm, almost conversational, like he’s figuring things out in real time instead of preaching from a distance. It makes the message hit harder. Lines about love and presence don’t feel like clichés here; they feel like conclusions he had to earn. What actually makes “Everything You Need” stand out is its restraint. In a landscape obsessed with big moments and instant hooks, Gallant lets the song breathe. He trusts the listener to sit with it. And if you do, it slowly unfolds into something more meaningful than most songs, trying twice as hard. As the lead single from his upcoming album The Prince Of Birchy Head , this feels intentional. A step away from noise, toward something quieter and more human. Recorded to tape and built to feel close, the project already sounds like it’s less about chasing attention and more about creating connection. “Everything You Need” doesn’t try to convince you of anything. It just sits there, warm and steady, reminding you that maybe the simplest things are the ones that actually stick. “Everything You Need” leans into choosing simplicity and joy. Was that mindset something you arrived at naturally, or did it come after hitting a breaking point with overthinking or burnout? A simple and joyous life is something that I certainly felt I was aiming for, at least intellectually. But until I found it, I realized it was not something I had. The reality is that I was always resigned in the back of my mind to thinking that maybe I wasn't someone who was capable or selfless enough to actually find real and all-encompassing love. This song is sort of about how the natural world can creep up and smack you on the head and remind you that these things aren't that complicated. Two people finding each other is the same as the sun and moon coming up and down every day, as sure as the seasons. We as people overcomplicate things and sometimes can't see what's really available to us. So I guess the answer is all of the above. Your music feels intentionally quiet and close, especially in a time when everything is loud and attention-driven. Do you ever feel pressure to make your sound bigger, or is resisting that part of your identity as an artist? On this record, I am being deliberately antiquated. I do feel that everything is screeching at top volumes at all times. The overcranked and slick bombast of modern production really turns me off. To me, there really isn't anything better than sitting in a kitchen or a living room and hearing someone just play and sing a song. If a song doesn't work in that environment, I'm not really interested in it. That's what I'm trying to capture here. Just the feeling of sitting with me on my couch. Those who know me personally are probably very aware that I am loud and attention-driven in my day-to-day life. I just seem to have some kind of curse when it comes to being like that in song. You recorded this project to tape and kept it raw. What does that process give you emotionally that digital recording doesn’t, and how does it change the way you perform a song? I find tape hiss relaxing. I think a lot of people are attempting to remove a few digital steps from their lives to soothe this modern alienation we all feel. I find a lot of comfort in old records, and I wanted this to really feel like one or two people in a studio, hitting the record button and capturing a moment in time. It's freeing to remove the perfectionist element that can often come with studio recording. Records to me are really these great time capsules, songs will change with time and live performance, but an album is a moment frozen. I want to portray the songs and myself honestly, how they are on the day I'm singing them into the mics. I like the feeling of playing the song and knowing that take is the best one, not having to fuss over it too much after that. There’s a strong sense of place in your music, especially tied to Nova Scotia. How much does your environment shape your songwriting, and do you think these songs would sound different if you were based somewhere like Toronto or LA? I lived in Toronto for a long time, and I certainly didn't write so many songs about seagulls and boats back then. I find it liberating to be an artist here in Nova Scotia and consider how the environment shapes my inspiration. In Toronto, I felt I had to be some ambassador for the universal experience, but now I feel like an artisan who crafts little bits of folk art about weird-looking seabirds and fisherman's beards. It feels like people are living lives here and not trying to win a contest. I would like to win as many contests as possible, though. This track feels like it’s about letting go of control in relationships and life. What’s something you had to unlearn about love or success to be able to write a song like this, honestly? When I was young, I wrote this essay in high school about how I thought The Beatles' song All You Need Is Love was a phony premise, or something snarky like that. I think I carried that attitude for a long time. You really have to ascend to some higher position, or find some way to pry your way into the culture so that you become immortal just a little bit. But until I started to dismantle my ego and think about how much fear is a motivator in those pursuits, I was not able to write honestly or from this kind of a place. Obviously, this life is full of great horrors, but when it comes down to it, All You Need Is Love is right. It's easy.

Let’s be honest. A lot of “healing era” songs feel like Pinterest quotes with a melody. Bri Fletcher’s “ New Her ” is not that. This is what growth actually looks like when it’s uncomfortable, nonlinear, and a little bit haunting. From the first frame of the visual, Fletcher makes a bold choice. She doesn’t just reference her past; she physically walks into it. The childhood home setting could’ve easily been corny or overplayed, but instead it feels eerily intimate, like you’re watching someone process memories in real time. The moment she interacts with her younger self is when it really clicks. It’s not performative healing. It’s a confrontation. And then comes something softer, a feeling of compassion. That emotional weight carries straight into the sound. The production leans country at its core but refuses to stay boxed in. There’s a subtle R&B smoothness in the phrasing and a modern pop polish that makes it feel current without chasing trends. It’s clean, but not sterile. There’s space in the track, and Fletcher uses it. Vocally, she doesn’t overdo it, which is exactly why it works. There’s restraint in her delivery, like she knows the story is heavy enough without needing to oversell it. When she does push, it lands. You feel the tension between who she was and who she’s trying to become. What makes “New Her” stick is its perspective. This isn’t about becoming someone better in a glossy, aspirational way. It’s about acknowledging the version of you that didn’t know better and choosing not to hate her for it. That’s a harder narrative to sell, and Fletcher leans all the way in.

Led by Robert Kuhn, GALVEZTON is not just building a sound, they’re building a whole identity around Galveston itself. And this track makes it clear that the city is not just a backdrop. It is the reason everything exists. From the first note, there is a sense of movement, like you are already halfway down the highway before you even realize what’s happening. Sonically, “Roll to G-Town” sits in this genre-blurring space that shouldn’t work as well as it does. There are touches of Americana, blues, and something slightly off-kilter that keeps it from feeling predictable. The reverb-soaked production gives everything a hazy, sunburnt quality, like heat rising off asphalt. Then the harmonica cuts through it all, sharp and emotional, grounding the track in something real. Lyrically, it is simple but effective. This is not about overthinking. It is about leaving. Grabbing what you need, getting in the car, and going somewhere that feels better than where you are. That sense of escape runs through the entire track, but it never feels empty. There is an intention behind it. Galveston is not just a destination; it is a reset. The visual brings that idea to life without trying too hard. A convertible, empty roads, small stops along the way, and finally the coast. It feels cinematic, but still personal. Like you are watching someone retrace a route they have driven a hundred times before. The details matter. The abandoned Ocean Cabaret, the quiet streets, the beach at sunset. It all builds the world without forcing it. What makes this release stand out is how connected it is to something bigger. GALVEZTON is not just releasing music. They are actively building a community around the culture of the city through festivals, events, and local collaboration. That energy shows up in the track. It feels lived in, not manufactured. “Roll to G-Town” works because it does not try to be everything at once. It knows exactly what it is. A song about getting out, heading somewhere that feels like yours, and not looking back.   And honestly, the way it’s framed, it’s Galveston or nothing. GALVEZTON feels bigger than just a band; it feels like a movement around a place. At what point did you realize you weren’t just making music, you were building a culture? Good question. The GALVEZTON thing all happened sometime in 2022 when we were coming out of the pandemic. I was releasing a new album, PERSEVERE, and the sound was much bigger and more complex than the singer-songwriter stuff I had been doing until then. My management suggested the name change around the same time we started our community-building non-profit organization, La Izqueirda. We started hosting a longboard surf competition and music festival, and used the proceeds to throw free family-friendly concerts in a cool old park on the Seawall, where there was a historic stage that had sat vacant for many years. Everyone loved it. Old people, young people, and children of the island came out, played, danced, and sang. It allowed local and regional bands to perform and make a little change, and it gave the locals a space to get together safely and get to know their neighbors. We called the summer concert series Save the Locals and you could see the community building each week. Galveston, like much of the world, has been losing its culture and artists to gentrification, and these events gave us a platform to rally around the beauty of our home and the artists it nurtures. “Roll to G-Town” is all about escape, but it’s very specific about where you’re going. What is it about Galveston that makes it feel like a reset instead of just another destination? Houston is a massive sprawling urban jungle that often feels inescapable. Galveston has always been a refuge like that. It's the first spot where you can see the horizon and connect with nature a little bit. It's the end of the road and has always attracted those end-of-the-road people. Artists, musicians, vagabonds, fishermen, surfers, pirates, gangsters, and people on the fringes have gravitated here for years because of that. You cross a big causeway, smell the air, and leave Houston and the rest of the world behind. It’s led to a pretty strong community of independent-minded people living their dreams. It also has a strong energetic presence that most everyone feels, and some people talk about. Have you ever heard of Ley Lines?  Your sound pulls from a lot of different influences without sitting in one lane. Do you think genre matters less when the identity behind the music is this strong? Definitely. I’ve lived all over the world and learned a ton of different music, and at its heart, it's all the same. Music is rhythm and melody. The rhythm is our heartbeat. The melody is our spirit. Our location all populate cultures and climates, and wherever we are, we pick up on the local sounds and vibrations, so this creates different genres that express themselves when we open up to music. It’s the universal language and a way to connect with people wherever we are. It joins us together and shows us how similar we all are. You’ve lived and worked all over the world before coming back to Texas. How did leaving shape your perspective on what “home” actually means? Leaving is Returning . I was a pretty jaded and angsty young man when I left home at nineteen, and once I got moving, I didn’t think I’d ever come home. I found a lot of beauty and a lot of love out there, even though I had nothing for most of the time. I lived in indigenous villages where people fished, farmed, and made their homes out of trees we cut down and bricks we made. People had zero money and were smiling and living with a happiness that I never really saw where I grew up. People were happy because of their community and families. These relationships and connections are the true source of happiness, and when I returned to Texas after over a decade, I had a newfound appreciation for my own family and community that I want to nurture and develop. I know I can live anywhere, but I made a decision to live where I am.  Between the music, festivals, and community work, you’re building something tangible in Galveston. What does success look like for you beyond streams and numbers? It's definitely a balance that I have to check myself on daily. I have to take a few deep breaths and quiet my mind when I catch it running wild with all the numbers and data. We all need currency to survive and keep things rolling, but I think we all know that isn’t what brings happiness. Success is happiness as far as I can tell, and I have to ask myself all the time, “What if I’m happy in life?” The answer always takes me back home to a vision of my little girls and my wife and the friends, family, and community surrounding me.  I’ve worked all kinds of jobs, and sometimes the fear of having to go back to work in a factory, in construction, or on the sea strikes me. I just remind myself how broke I’ve been and how even in those times, I got through just fine. I know how to think, wait, and fast, and get by with nothing. I feel far ahead of that now. Success is waking up every day with a little chance to catch the sunrise. Success is having somewhere to come home to and rest when work is finished, and feel some love there. Success is having the space and opportunity to play music with my friends and fans, no matter what the stage and audience look like. Just to be able to play music, write, and create is success. What we win is what we’re doing. It's very important to disassociate ourselves with the results.