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Brazilian-born singer-songwriter and producer Uriel revisits the song that captured a pivotal period of uncertainty with the anniversary edition of “OUTTA HERE (In My Room Before Going Out),” offering a new perspective on what it means to keep moving when the destination still feels out of reach. Blending contemporary jazz and pop with touches of rock, “OUTTA HERE” was born from the frustrating space between ambition and reality. Uriel writes about wanting more from life while confronting the doubt, setbacks, and uncomfortable question of whether all that effort will eventually lead somewhere. Lush vocal harmonies meet live instrumentation throughout the track, while its rhythmic movement rises and recedes alongside the emotional shifts in the songwriting. Moments of hesitation gradually give way to confidence, reinforcing the idea that progress isn't always obvious while you're living through it. A year after the original release, “OUTTA HERE” takes on new meaning. Produced by Yan Perchuk, the anniversary edition pairs a streamlined Single Edit with an intimate Green Room Rehearsal version. Hearing the song from these two perspectives feels fitting for a track centered on transformation. One captures its polished musical identity, while the other brings the listener closer to the performance itself. The original five-minute recording arrived in August 2025 and was submitted for consideration for the 67th Annual Grammy Awards in the Best Arrangement, Instruments and Vocals category. “OUTTA HERE” will also appear on Uriel’s forthcoming INFATUATED EP, part of a larger two-EP project currently in development. Ultimately, “OUTTA HERE” isn't about pretending uncertainty doesn't exist. It's about refusing to let it decide where you end up. “OUTTA HERE” was originally written from a place of uncertainty, but you’re revisiting it a year later from a different point in your life. Which lyrics or ideas hit differently for you now? Honestly, the lyrics were almost finished long before the song became what it is today. Originally, it was named “Blue,” but I couldn’t quite figure out how the production should sound until I found Yan Perchuk. I knew he was incredibly talented, and I decided to work with him because every other producer I had approached said that my composition was too complex. Even Yan acknowledged how challenging it was, which made the whole process so interesting. Looking back, one of the things that hits differently now is the bridge. During the recording sessions, I was genuinely unsure about those lyrics and even thought they were kind of lame. But after the song came out, several of my friends told me that their favorite part was the bridge groove. That made me incredibly proud because sometimes you’re so deep inside your own creative process that you can’t realize that you’re not making music just for yourself; other people will have their own individual experiences with your music. Of course, there are things I wish I’d had more time to explore in the studio, but I’ve also learned that a piece of work can be complete in its own right, even when you still have a thousand ideas left—as the lyrics state, “a thousand ideas running through my head”—that was literal at that moment, and I can still bring those ideas to life in a live performance. The song is rooted in manifestation, but it also acknowledges frustration, doubt, and failure. How do you personally separate genuine belief in yourself from simply hoping things will work out? I think genuine belief in yourself is something very different from simply hoping things will work out. Hope can be passive, but belief requires you to keep moving no matter what. Sometimes the worst things that happen to us lead us exactly where we need to be. I’ve had so many moments when I thought, “If that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be here now.” I remember that, as a child, I used to sing a song from a kids’ show about “never giving up and trying again and again” whenever I was trying to accomplish something. I think that message stayed with me. That’s why, in the bridge of “OUTTA HERE,” I say, “used to be lost, but now I’m leading the scene.” To me, it’s about realizing that failure isn’t the end of your story. Also, I’ve learned that doubt doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve stopped believing in yourself. You can be terrified, frustrated, and completely unsure of what comes next while still knowing deep down that you have something worth creating. I think the difference is whether you allow those feelings to define you or whether you keep going despite them. You’re presenting “OUTTA HERE” through both a polished Single Edit and a raw Green Room Rehearsal. What does the live version reveal about the song that the studio recording couldn’t? The Green Room Rehearsal version is actually a snapshot of “OUTTA HERE” before the song was even finished. It was recorded while I was still rehearsing the lyrics, the groove, and how I wanted everything to sound. Unlike the Single Edit, which represents a shorter version of the official version, the rehearsal captures a much more spontaneous moment. The instruments were played live, and although we made some corrections and mixed the recording afterward, we kept the experimental spirit of that session. You can hear different drum patterns, alternative bass lines, and musical ideas that didn’t necessarily make it into the final studio version. This live version brings some of that initial curiosity back. It’s less about presenting a finished product and more about capturing the creative process itself. It reveals how many different directions the song could have taken before we settled on its final sound. The arrangement moves between jazz, pop, and rock while mirroring the emotional shifts in the lyrics. When producing your own music, how intentionally do you use instrumentation to communicate what you aren’t saying directly? I was responsible for the arrangement and production direction of “OUTTA HERE,” choosing the instruments and sounds I wanted. At the time, I was really inspired by Jacob Collier and Brandee Younger. I once watched a video in which Jacob Collier suggested inserting a nonsensical, wild element mid-song, and I applied that exact approach to the outro’s arrangement. I understand that “OUTTA HERE” might not be for everyone, and honestly, that’s okay. I love this song, and I genuinely believe there’s something about its sound that belongs to the future. Maybe one day, someone will revisit it and think that this craziness of mine is a masterpiece. Sometimes, you have to trust your instincts enough to create something that might not make sense to everyone today but could mean something entirely different tomorrow. “OUTTA HERE” will appear on your upcoming INFATUATED EP as part of a larger two-EP project. Where does this song sit within that bigger story, and what can listeners expect the two projects to reveal about you as an artist? The two EPs are connected, and I view them as two segments of one narrative. “OUTTA HERE” appears on the first EP, while the final EP concludes the story with a track called HOME. There’s something meaningful about that journey: we venture outward, captivated by our ambitions, yet ultimately, we can always find our way home. No matter how far we go, there’s a place where we belong, and this purpose guides our way forward. I’m also planning to create visuals for the project, with music videos that represent the stories and ideas behind each song. I still want to shoot a music video for “OUTTA HERE,” and I believe it deserves that visual representation. Even though the song has been out for a while, I don’t think it’s ever too late. It’s like an introduction to who Uriel is as an artist. I love it when music surprises people. I want people to understand what I’m creating, what inspires me, and the kind of vision I’m trying to build through my music. I think this song will make even more sense when people hear the full EP, but for a little experiment, listen to “OUTTA HERE” and then play “Human Nature” by Michael Jackson. You might discover some connection between them.

After six years of musical evolution, independent electronic music project Horizon Beats has officially closed its chapter, leaving listeners with one final release, “Come Find Me Again.” The melodic, cinematic progressive house single serves as a fitting conclusion to a creative journey defined by experimentation, emotional storytelling, and artistic growth. Founded in Queens, New York, in 2020 by producer Steven Sinanan, Horizon Beats began with beat production before gradually developing a distinctive electronic sound. Alongside longtime songwriter and creative collaborator Recardo Ramkishun, Steven Sinanan spent the following years refining a musical identity built around sweeping arrangements, expressive melodies, and emotionally charged production. Released ahead of the project's official retirement, “Come Find Me Again” explores separation, memory, and the possibility of rediscovering something meaningful long after it has ended. Its cinematic atmosphere and uplifting progressive house direction capture the sound Horizon Beats spent years developing. “I hope people take away the idea that an ending doesn’t erase what came before it,” Steven Sinanan explains. Having earned recognition from independent publications including EARMILK and A&R Factory, Horizon Beats leaves behind a six-year catalog that documents its creative evolution. As Horizon Beats steps away, “Come Find Me Again” offers a thoughtful reminder that music can keep connecting with listeners long after its creator moves on. Horizon Beats began in 2020 as a beat-production project before evolving into melodic, cinematic progressive house. Looking back on those six years, which creative turning points most influenced the sound and identity Horizon Beats ultimately became known for? Horizon Beats went through quite a few changes over those six years. When I first started the project in 2020, I was primarily focused on producing beats. It wasn't until January 2025 that I started seriously experimenting with electronic dance music, which was a completely different direction from what I'd been doing before. Throughout 2025, I experimented with different sounds and styles, trying to figure out what worked best for Horizon Beats. I think one of the biggest turning points came toward the end of that year with songs like "New Me," "Light Me Up," and "Falling Snow." Those releases introduced a darker, more cinematic approach to my production, with a greater emphasis on atmosphere, emotion, and storytelling. When I returned to making music in early 2026, I started experimenting with more energetic styles, particularly club house and progressive house. There were a lot of ideas that never made it into the official catalog, and some of those experiments helped shape the direction I eventually took. Our "Can't Forget" EP in June 2026 was another important turning point, although not necessarily for the reasons we'd hoped. We wanted to create something bigger and more energetic, but I wasn't entirely satisfied with how the project turned out. It taught me that making a song louder or more energetic didn't automatically make it better. The biggest breakthrough came with "Don't Cry For Me" in July 2026. I originally had a different musical direction planned for that song, but shortly before its release, I completely rebuilt it. I combined the emotional atmosphere of cinematic house with the melodies and energy of progressive house. That combination became the foundation for our final releases, including "Until You Wake" and "Come Find Me Again." Looking back, I think the identity of Horizon Beats came from years of experimentation. We didn't find our sound overnight. It took a lot of trial and error before everything finally came together. You officially retired Horizon Beats on October 1, 2026. What led you to recognize that the project had reached its natural conclusion, and was ending it something you had been considering for a long time or a decision that developed more recently? Retirement was something I'd actually been considering for quite a while. In December 2025, I was already planning to end Horizon Beats. I'd spent nearly the entire year working on music, and by that point, I was completely exhausted. I was also preparing for a military deployment, which meant my personal responsibilities were changing significantly. At the time, I genuinely believed "Falling Snow" would be our final release. I even made a public retirement announcement in December 2025. However, a few months later, I unexpectedly started making music again. There wasn't some elaborate comeback plan. I simply found myself wanting to create something, and before I knew it, I had new songs ready. That eventually led to our return in April 2026 with "Come Back Over," followed by "Stay Right Here" in May. But even after returning, I knew Horizon Beats wasn't something I wanted to continue indefinitely. I had other goals I wanted to pursue, and music required a tremendous amount of time and attention. By the time we reached our final releases, I felt that we'd finally developed the sound I'd been searching for. I was proud of the direction the music had taken, and I didn't feel the need to keep releasing songs simply for the sake of continuing. Retiring on October 1, 2026, wasn't really about losing interest in music. It was about recognizing that I'd reached a point where I was satisfied with what we'd created. I wanted Horizon Beats to have a proper ending rather than slowly disappear because I no longer had the time to maintain it. Recardo Ramkishun played an important role in Horizon Beats as a songwriter and creative collaborator. How did that partnership shape your approach to songwriting and production, and what do you feel you accomplished together that might not have happened independently? Recardo became involved with Horizon Beats in January 2025, around the time I was working on our debut EP, "Don't Give Up on Love." Originally, I was writing the lyrics myself. Recardo's involvement started more as someone I could bounce ideas off. I'd come to him with a song or concept, ask what he thought, and he'd give me his opinion. Sometimes he liked an idea, and sometimes he didn't. His first major songwriting contribution came with "Hold On Me," the fifth track from our debut EP. That song became one of our early successes, and it was really the moment when our creative partnership started taking shape. After that, Recardo became the primary lyricist for Horizon Beats throughout the remainder of the project's run, while I continued handling the production and overall musical direction. Our process was fairly straightforward. Sometimes I'd come up with a concept, and he'd develop the lyrics around it. Other times, he'd bring an idea to me, and I'd figure out how to turn it into a finished song. We didn't always agree on everything. There were definitely moments when we had different opinions about what direction a song should take, but I think that was part of what made the collaboration work. Recardo brought a different perspective to the songwriting, and I think that helped us develop a stronger connection between the lyrics and the production. Looking back, I think our biggest accomplishment together was helping Horizon Beats grow beyond its original identity. What started as a beat-production project eventually became something much more focused on emotional storytelling and melodic electronic music. I don't think the later Horizon Beats catalog would have developed in quite the same way without that partnership. "Come Find Me Again" feels particularly meaningful knowing it represents the final release. When creating the track, how intentional were you about capturing six years of artistic growth in one last song, and were there any emotions or ideas you found especially difficult to express? Interestingly enough, "Come Find Me Again" almost never happened. We originally had a completely different song planned for our final release called "Just Sleep Tonight." Recardo was supposed to handle the songwriting, but we ran into delays, and eventually I realized we were running out of time. Rather than push everything back, I decided to come up with something myself. That's how "Come Find Me Again" was created. I wrote it at the last minute, roughly a week before we were supposed to release the promotional trailer. The inspiration came from a personal situation I was experiencing at the time, and I wanted to turn those feelings into something musical. What makes the story even more interesting is that I wasn't happy with the first version. We actually released the trailer, but I took it down a few days later because I didn't like how the song sounded. About a week and a half before the official release, I went back and rebuilt the production. It was honestly a pretty stressful process, especially knowing this was supposed to be the final Horizon Beats single. I wasn't necessarily trying to summarize six years of music in one song. I think that would have been difficult to accomplish. Instead, I wanted to create something that represented the sound we'd spent all those years developing. I also wanted the lyrics to remain the focus, which is why the final version leaned more toward the cinematic side of our production rather than having an overwhelmingly energetic drop. The most difficult part was probably balancing the personal emotions behind the song with the realization that it would also be our final release. In the end, "Come Find Me Again" became something I hadn't originally planned. It started as a song inspired by a personal experience, but it eventually became the closing chapter of Horizon Beats. And looking back, I think that makes it a fitting ending. After six years of releases, experimentation, and recognition from publications like EARMILK and A&R Factory, what are you most proud of accomplishing with Horizon Beats? And when someone discovers your music five or ten years from now, what do you hope they'll understand about the project and the people behind it? I think what I'm most proud of is how far Horizon Beats came from where it originally started. When I founded the project in 2020, I was just making beats. I didn't have some massive plan for what it would eventually become, and I certainly didn't expect to spend six years building it. Over time, I learned a tremendous amount about music production, songwriting, releasing music, and what it actually takes to maintain an independent project. We were never a mainstream act, and I'm perfectly comfortable with that. But we still managed to build a catalog, reach listeners around the world, receive recognition from music publications, and eventually develop a sound that felt like our own. I'm especially proud of the music we created toward the end. Songs like "Falling Snow," "Don't Cry For Me," and "Come Find Me Again" represent different stages of our development, and I think they show just how much the project evolved. Another thing I'm proud of is the effort I've put into preserving Horizon Beats' history. I've spent a lot of time documenting our releases, organizing the music and artwork, and maintaining an archive so that people can still explore the catalog long after retirement. If someone discovers Horizon Beats five or ten years from now, I hope they understand that there was a lot more behind the music than just uploading songs. There were years of experimentation, creative disagreements, abandoned ideas, unsuccessful releases, and countless hours spent trying to improve. I also hope people recognize the contributions of everyone involved, especially Recardo, whose songwriting became such an important part of the project's identity. Ultimately, I don't need Horizon Beats to be remembered as some enormous success story. I'd rather people see it for what it was: an independent music project built through years of dedication, creativity, and a genuine love for making music. And if someone listens to our songs years from now and finds something meaningful in them, then I think we accomplished something worthwhile.

There's a point after every bad breakup when the heartbreak finally wears off, and you realize you're better off without them. New York-based alternative-pop artist Bri Carter captures that exact moment on her latest single, “2 LATE, I’M GONE.” Blending gritty guitars, punchy drums, and unapologetic attitude, Bri Carter delivers a high-energy breakup anthem about reclaiming your confidence and leaving the past exactly where it belongs. Originally conceived as a hyperpop track, “2 LATE, I’M GONE” underwent a complete transformation when Bri Carter realized the production needed more aggression to match its message. The result is an alternative-pop release that trades sadness for self-assurance, capturing the freedom of finally moving on. The single follows Bri Carter's growing success as an independent artist and self-taught producer. Her 2025 release “SWEET TOOTH” has surpassed one million streams across platforms, while her debut album, I CAN’T LOOK AWAY, introduced listeners to her emotionally charged songwriting. With more than 100,000 TikTok followers and performances spanning New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and Los Angeles, Bri Carter continues building momentum. “2 LATE, I’M GONE” makes one thing clear: sometimes the best revenge is realizing you don't need revenge at all. “2 LATE, I’M GONE” captures that moment when heartbreak turns into confidence. Did a specific experience inspire the song, or did it come from reflecting on past relationships? So I actually didn’t even write this song with a romantic relationship in mind. I was more so reflecting on a past relationship I’ve had with a friend in the industry who dragged me along for months and eventually ended up screwing me over. It really bummed me out and I was letting it affect my self worth and then I was like you know what screw it…I don’t need them I’ll be just fine on my own. So I wrote this song as an anthem to remind myself that I don’t need to keep people around who don’t deserve to be in my circle. Naturally, it turned into a breakup song, but to me it’s more about breaking up with any form of toxic relationship, not just a romantic one. You created this track as a hyperpop song before completely reworking it into something grittier. What wasn't working in the original version, and how did you know you'd finally captured the right energy? It was definitely missing that angst and anger. The original one almost sounds happy; it had a fun vibe to it. It was like I was hearing what I wrote, but I wasn’t feeling what I wrote. I almost didn’t drop this song because it just didn’t feel like it was aligning with me and the artistic direction I’m heading in, but then once I added in the rock elements like more guitar and the live-sounding drums, it all clicked. I was like wait this feels completely different, even though the vocals that are in the released version are the exact same vocals in the hyperpop version. So it’s crazy how much the production can totally change the emotional identity of a song. Your music often explores love, lust, betrayal, and heartbreak. How has your perspective on relationships changed since creating I CAN’T LOOK AWAY, and how does this new single reflect that growth? I honestly just love writing breakup songs; I think it’s the Scorpio in me being inspired by that rather than happy love songs. It’s interesting because at heart I am a lover girl; I’ve been with my girlfriend for almost 7 years, and I couldn’t be happier. Yet I find myself drawn to those darker concepts; even with the music I listen to, I’m rarely listening to a love song, haha. Kind of similar to how 2 LATE, I’M GONE is a breakup song but wasn’t inspired by a romantic relationship - I take things that have happened to me and just expand on that to create something sonically, whether that be romantic or not. My relationship with breakup songs reminds me of this quote from Beetlejuice “Live people ignore the strange and unusual." I, myself, am strange and unusual.” So it’s just something I’m drawn to even if it doesn’t make sense at the point of life I’m in. It’s just who I am. You've built an audience of over 100,000 TikTok followers while maintaining control over your songwriting and production. What's been the biggest challenge in balancing your creative identity with the expectations that come with a growing fanbase? Definitely doing everything myself is the biggest challenge but also the biggest reward. I basically create all my songs from start to finish: writing, recording, producing, and mixing them. It’s a blessing and a curse to be able to have full creative control. It’s super easy to get hung up on certain aspects because you have the ultimate freedom to make it sound literally however you want. But when you have a certain idea in mind, and you spend hours trying to get it right, but it still isn’t quite where you want it to be, you have to learn when it’s okay to let it go. I think life would be a little easier if I had someone else doing all the tedious stuff for me, but at the end of the day I am an artist before I am a singer, so I’d much rather have something that I made that I am proud of that may not be perfect, rather than something that wasn’t my vision. With “SWEET TOOTH” surpassing one million streams and your live performances reaching audiences across the country, what have those milestones taught you about the kind of artist you want to become, and what can fans expect from your next chapter? I am just so grateful for every single milestone I’ve hit. I just performed at Dinah Shore, which was an absolutely incredible experience. My very first performance ever was 4 years ago at this tiny little pride event, performing to absolutely no one, so to go from that to performing at the biggest event for queer women is mind-blowing. I’ve met so many amazing people who support me, and it just means so much to have these people in my corner when I never thought I would ever even make it this far. I’ve played a ton of shows to empty rooms, but no matter what, there’s always been at least one person there who has told me how much they love my music and how much it means to them. That’s what gives me the courage to just keep pushing and doing what I love because I know it’s not only making a difference for me; it’s making a difference for others. I have a long way to go, but I am very proud of how far I've come. I’m very excited for this next chapter; I am moving towards a more rock sound and really embracing my inner emo. 2 LATE, I’M GONE was kind of the bridge between my previous era and my upcoming era, where I will definitely be getting a little heavier in my music, and I am genuinely so excited and inspired by it.

Miami-based Italian singer-songwriter Alice Larcher introduces herself with vulnerability on “Echoes of You,” a bittersweet debut single that explores the difficult space between holding onto the past and finally allowing yourself to move forward. Drawing inspiration from the emotional immediacy of ’90s and 2000s pop-rock alongside contemporary bedroom pop, Alice Larcher pairs nostalgic songwriting with a brighter, flowing sound. It’s an effective contrast. While the lyrics wrestle with memories of someone who continues to linger long after a relationship ends, the production carries a sense of movement and possibility. At the heart of “Echoes of You” is a particularly relatable fear: sometimes letting go of another person also means saying goodbye to the version of yourself that existed with them. Alice Larcher doesn’t treat healing as an act of erasure. Instead, the song gradually arrives at the realization that remembering someone and making room for something new can exist at the same time. That transition is reflected directly in the production. A lo-fi bridge takes on the character of a distant phone call, creating a sonic divide between past and present before the track reaches its emotional release. The imagery surrounding “Echoes of You” extends that idea even further. Alice Larcher uses the sea as a recurring visual metaphor, comparing memories to waves that retreat, return, and occasionally pull us back toward places we thought we had already left behind. For a debut, “Echoes of You” feels remarkably clear about the artist Alice Larcher wants to become. There’s heartbreak here, but the more interesting story is what happens afterward: accepting what was, returning to the present, and finding the courage to love again. “Echoes of You” explores the fear that letting go of someone also means losing the version of yourself that existed with them. What part of yourself did you have to rediscover once that relationship was no longer part of your life? I think I had to rediscover my sense of self outside of the relationship, but from a much more mature place. When you enter a long relationship, especially at a younger age, so much growth happens over the years, and by the time it ends, you’re no longer the same person you were at the beginning. For me, that meant learning to understand myself more deeply: what I wanted, what I needed, what mattered to me, and what kind of relationship felt right for the person I had become. At the same time, I had to understand some of the emotional baggage I was still carrying from when I was younger, recognize where certain fears and insecurities came from, and learn what I needed to let go of. I think that process gave me much more clarity, not only about myself, but also about what I was looking for in another person. In a way, understanding myself better is what eventually allowed me to recognize the right person when they came into my life. You’ve described yourself as naturally nostalgic and melancholic. When does nostalgia become creatively useful for you, and when do you realize it’s keeping you stuck in the past? For me, nostalgia becomes creatively useful when I can turn it into something rather than just sit with it. Music gives me a way to process emotions that might otherwise feel overwhelming or unresolved. It brings a sense of calm to my restlessness, and there’s something very grounding about taking a feeling or a memory and slowly shaping it into a song. In hindsight, I also think I could have better navigated some of the more difficult moments in my life if I hadn’t neglected music or held myself back from creating and expressing myself because of my own insecurities. It’s such an important outlet and form of expression for me, and whenever I come back to it, I feel more connected to myself and better able to put things into perspective. I think nostalgia becomes less healthy when it starts taking up too much space in the present, or when I find myself idealizing the past instead of seeing it clearly. Writing gives me enough distance to look at those feelings from another angle. In that sense, music allows me to honor a memory without having to remain inside it. It’s a very cathartic process for me to turn an experience into a story: once I’ve expressed it, I can finally give it a place, let it settle, and move forward. The lo-fi bridge acts almost like a phone call between the past and present. How did you translate such an emotional idea into a specific production choice? To translate that idea of a bridge between past and present into the production, my producer, Andres Daza, and I decided to record the bridge through an analog telephone microphone rather than creating the effect later in the mix. The microphone itself has a very meaningful story. Some friends of Andres are from Ukraine and, while going through objects salvaged from the rubble left by the war, they came across a number of old analog telephones. Some of those were later sent to a friend of his in Arizona, who transforms vintage telephones into working microphones. Using that specific mic felt incredibly intentional and emotionally connected to the song. Symbolically, it became almost like having a phone call with a part of my past that I was finally learning to let go of. It also affected the way I performed the bridge. Singing through the phone mic in real time created the atmosphere I needed to access the emotion and intention behind that section. From a production perspective, we wanted that feeling to be captured in the performance itself rather than created afterward in the mix. Recording through the phone mic live gave the vocal a rawness and immediacy that would have been more difficult to recreate artificially. Then, as the bridge begins, the production almost feels as if it’s opening a portal into a memory. The more organic sound of the rest of the song gives way to this lo-fi, slightly surreal world: the real drums are replaced by a drum machine, and more synthetic and electronic textures begin to appear. There’s something intentionally less tangible about those sounds, almost as if they don’t fully belong to the present anymore, which felt very fitting for the way memories exist in our minds. We also used delay and reverb very deliberately around the entrance and exit of the bridge. I love the idea that a memory is almost like feedback from something that has already happened: every time we revisit it, we’re not necessarily accessing the event exactly as it was, but an echo of it. Over time, those echoes can become distorted, blurred, or even idealized. So, the delays literally allow fragments of the sound to repeat and fade into one another, while the reverb creates this sense of distance and space, almost as the voice is coming from somewhere else in time. The production therefore becomes another way of telling the story. For that brief section, you’re not only hearing me sing about the past; hopefully, you can actually feel it as if you’ve stepped inside a memory with me. You stepped away from music before moving to Miami reignited that part of your life. What changed internally that finally made you ready to pursue the career you had previously put aside? I’ve loved writing and singing for as long as I can remember, and by the time I was nine or ten, I knew music was something I wanted to pursue. But as I got older, I gradually pushed that dream aside for different reasons. I went through some health issues that left me feeling very drained and disconnected from myself, but I also struggled a lot with insecurity. I convinced myself that I wasn’t creative enough or good enough to seriously pursue music, and at that age, I let those doubts make the decision for me. So, I focused entirely on a more traditional career and, for a long time, I didn’t just put music on hold; I almost completely shut that part of myself away. I think part of the reason was that continuing to make music casually would have meant confronting how much I still wanted it, and at the time that felt painful. It was easier to archive that dream than to keep asking myself what could have been. What I didn’t realize then was how much of myself I was suppressing in the process. Music isn’t only something I enjoy doing; it’s one of the ways I naturally process emotions and make sense of what I’m experiencing. By neglecting that side of myself, I created a real void. Looking back, I think I could have navigated certain difficult periods of my life with much more balance if I had allowed myself to pursue it instead of repressing it. By the time I moved to Miami, something had shifted internally. I had grown a lot, and I was entering a completely new chapter of my life feeling hopeful, loved, inspired, and much more connected to myself. I had also become more confident and less willing to let fear dictate the choices I made. At some point, I realized I couldn’t keep denying something that had always been such an important part of who I am simply because pursuing it made me feel vulnerable. Miami definitely played a role in reigniting that side of me as well. I met musicians and creative people who inspired me, encouraged me, and made music feel possible again. I’ve come to realize how much your environment matters. Being surrounded by people who make you feel understood and safe enough to be vulnerable can completely change the way you see yourself. They gave me the encouragement to start trusting my creativity again, but I think the biggest change was that I was finally ready to give myself permission to try. It might sound cheesy, but we get one life, and fear shouldn’t stop us from pursuing what we love. Sometimes stepping outside your comfort zone is simply part of following what truly matters to you. Of course, at 29, I sometimes catch myself thinking that I’m late or that I need to make up for lost time. But I’m learning not to see it that way. I also have a demanding full-time job, so I have to learn to be gentle with myself and not burn myself out, taking into account my mental health too. Everyone has their own timeline, and comparing yours to someone else’s can take you away from what is actually meaningful to you. I can look at other artists for inspiration, but I don’t want comparison to dictate how I value my own journey. Maybe I needed all of those years and experiences to become the person and artist I am now. What matters to me is that I finally came back to music when I was ready to embrace it fully. “Echoes of You” is the first song people are hearing from you as an artist. Why did this particular story feel like the right introduction to Alice Larcher? I think this song felt like the right introduction because it represents so much of the growth I’ve gone through, both creatively and personally. When I was younger, I had a tendency to overthink the past and dwell on it to the point where it sometimes stopped me from fully appreciating the present. Over the years, I’ve really tried to work on myself, including going to therapy during more difficult periods, and learning how to understand and navigate emotions that used to overwhelm me. “Echoes of You” feels like a milestone in that process. Creatively, it marks the moment I finally embraced my confidence enough to step into being an independent artist. Emotionally, it reflects a different kind of maturity: learning how to accept, let go, and make peace with the idea that some chapters are meant to end. To me, the song is about closing a chapter without erasing it. It honors the memories and the version of myself that lived through them, while also representing a kind of rebirth. I’ve learned that the past doesn’t have to make you close your heart. If anything, it can teach you, shape you, and eventually help you recognize the right people and experiences when they come into your life. That felt like a very honest place to begin introducing who I am as an artist.

Photo by Ben Cope At 20 years old, Anna Duboc is standing in that strange space between who you were and who you are becoming. On her debut EP, Once in a Blue Moon, the indie-pop artist turns that uncertainty into seven tracks exploring heartbreak, attraction, complicated relationships, self-discovery, and the uncomfortable reality of growing up. Co-written and co-produced by Anna Duboc, Once in a Blue Moon is less interested in settling into one signature sound than showing just how wide her musical instincts already run. Across the project, Anna Duboc moves between polished indie pop, guitar-heavy pop-rock, cinematic balladry, and darker atmospheric production without losing the emotional thread holding everything together. “Give Me the Night” opens with a relaxed groove, jangling guitars, and an immediately accessible chorus, transforming the deterioration of a relationship into something unexpectedly carefree. “Toxin” pushes further into pop-rock territory, pairing romantic confusion with muscular guitars, layered harmonies, and an infectious energy that contrasts its introspective core. “Object of Affection” is among the record's heavier moments, exploring the emotional toll of trying to support someone struggling with addiction while recognizing the relationship itself has become destructive. “Willing To Give” similarly builds from intimate piano into an explosive guitar-driven payoff. Then “Boy Next Door” switches gears completely. Bright guitars, playful vocals, and a hook-heavy chorus introduce a more mischievous side of Anna Duboc, while “Roadkill” pulls everything inward again. Built around descending piano and gradually expanding production, the latter confronts turning 20, uncertainty, wasted potential, and the fear that life might be moving faster than you are. The title track closes the project without forcing a neat resolution. “Once in a Blue Moon” leans into hypnotic rhythms, atmospheric textures, and richly layered vocals, leaving Anna Duboc somewhere between holding on and moving forward. There is serious musical weight behind the project, with contributions from musicians including Rhonda Smith, Vinnie Colaiuta, Gary Novak, Tom Crouch, and Vixen. Anna Duboc also takes an active role behind the scenes, handling her own background vocals, including recording and arranging them. But Once in a Blue Moon ultimately works because it still feels unmistakably like Anna Duboc. Instead of presenting adulthood as some grand arrival, she captures it as it actually feels: messy, contradictory, exciting, painful, and unfinished. You co-wrote and co-produced Once in a Blue Moon. How did taking more control behind the scenes change the way you approached this EP compared to your earlier music? I’ve always had control over my music, and whenever I go into a session, the producer and I establish what my vision is for the song. I’d say with this one I actually allowed myself to try new things based on suggestions from my co-creators, which expanded the way I approach writing and producing. This project captures the transition from high school into college and adulthood. Which song feels most connected to the person you are becoming right now, and why? I feel like I’m coming out of a season of “Roadkill” and going into a “Once in a Blue Moon” era. I’m very reflective of my past, but ready to move forward and bloom, even if that means I have to leave some things behind. “Roadkill” steps outside of relationships to explore turning 20, uncertainty, and the fear of falling behind. What made you want to confront those feelings so directly? When I was younger, there was this expectation that, especially in the entertainment industry, you have to “make it” before you’re too old (whatever that means). The feeling of a time bomb starting to tick down about 2 months before I turned 20 sent me into a panic, thinking, “Would everything I’ve worked for and dedicated my life to fall apart because I haven’t sold out stadiums by the time I’m 20?” The only way I could remind myself I still have so much life ahead of me and time to reach my goals was by writing a banger song, honestly. “Object of Affection” deals with loving someone while recognizing that the relationship has become destructive. How did you balance telling such a heavy story without losing the musicality of the song? When writing Object of Affection, I wanted to make sure the lyrics informed the musicality, ensuring I presented this heavy topic in a way that was gentle enough to focus on the message I am conveying while feeling it in your bones. There are places in every song where space is needed in the instrumental for the vocal/lyrics to be the focal point, and other spots where it's more important for an audience to feel the song to interpret as their own. In Object, the lyrics get the spotlight, but for the bridge I wanted to marry what the audience heard/felt from the lyrics with the heaviness of the instrumental so you can actually feel this person's mind race as they’re coming to terms with the fact they need to leave this relationship. It was important to play with the absence of instruments for this one as well. The EP moves from pop-rock and playful hooks to piano-driven introspection and darker production. Did making Once in a Blue Moon change your idea of what an “Anna Duboc song” can sound like? Yes, it did! Creating this EP helped me hone what my sound really is, identifying what elements I most like to sprinkle in as I wrote more and developed more of my artistry. For this EP, I allowed myself to be freer with the lyricism and have a more “upbeat pop” sound that I’ve been scared to touch. I still have my grounded lyrics and harmonic layers, etc., but I let myself have a little more fun this time.

Credit: Ryan Brough The Toronto band's new album, wide awake, was made during the year Michelle K lost both of her parents. She talks about letting go of perfection and finally saying what she'd been carrying for years. The last song on AloneKitty's new album is the only one Michelle K made alone. She recorded "Disappointed (For the Last Time)" at Harlow Sound with engineer Justin McWilliams, playing guitar and bass and singing herself. She calls it a wall of sound aimed at the ghost of a father who couldn't, or wouldn't, accept who she was. He isn't here to hear it, and neither is her mother. Michelle lost both of her parents while the Toronto band was making wide awake, which comes out November 6 on Mint 400 Records. "As adults we still, in some quiet way, think of our parents as the people behind us if everything falls apart," she says. "Suddenly that backstop was gone." That kind of loss could have pushed the band into overworking the record. It did the opposite. AloneKitty produced wide awake themselves with engineers Darren McGill and Michael Flynn, and they cut most of it in one or two takes. Bassist Michael Small and drummer Stefan Loebus asked to go again only when they felt they'd left something on the table. A lot of the songs took shape after Michelle fell hard for Thurston Moore's The Last Day and started writing in his alternate tunings. Those tunings ended up on more than half the album, including "She Thinks It's Alright" and the lead single, "I'm Wide Awake." Simon Scott of Slowdive, who has now mastered the band's last two records, didn't take long to decide which song should come first. "It's a banger," he told her. Mint 400 founder Neil Sabatino jokingly calls the band "shoegaze classic." Michelle accepts the label but doesn't hold on to it tightly. She grew up on Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive and Low long before the genre's current revival, and what drew her in was that none of those bands sounded like each other. Watch the video for "I'm Wide Awake" below. Over email, Michelle talked with us about why grief made her pay closer attention instead of shutting down, and how Moore's tunings broke her guitar habits. She also shared the family history that changed how she understands her father, and why the new shoegaze wave reminds her of everyone buying flannel in 1993. You've described your parents as the backstop that disappeared. Grief usually gets written about as fog or numbness, but you called the record wide awake. What does awake mean to you here? Was that title there before you lost them, or did it come out of it? I think grief has a strange way of waking you up. Not because it makes you happier or wiser overnight, but because it strips away the illusion that time is endless. Suddenly you're paying much closer attention to the life you're actually living. Hopefully. That's what wide awake came to mean for me. Thurston Moore's tunings from The Last Day ended up shaping more than half the album. What did those tunings let you say that standard tuning wouldn't? Did living in them change how you sang or wrote melodies over the top? More than anything, the tunings stopped me from playing by muscle memory. I had to listen again. That made the writing feel spontaneous because I wasn't reaching for the same ideas I'd always reached for. Suddenly all the familiar chord shapes I'd been relying on for years produced these strange, interesting voicings instead. I'd never seriously approached the guitar that way before. "Disappointed (For the Last Time)" is the only song you made completely alone, and it's aimed at a father who can't answer back anymore. Why did that one have to be just you? And did the peace you found come from the song itself or from those long control-room conversations around it? I think that song had to be just me because it's probably the most direct conversation I've ever had with my father, even though he isn't here to hear it. Do we ever really resolve our childhood issues? I'm not sure we do. I've long since come to terms with the fact that he was carrying a lifetime of trauma that began long before I was born. He grew up in what was then Poland, now part of Ukraine. During the Second World War his family was forcibly deported by the Soviets to labour camps in Siberia. On the journey that eventually brought his family to the UK, he lost his father, his sister and countless others. The stories my grandmother told were almost impossible to imagine. It doesn't change how he treated me, but it does provide context and maybe a space to accept that he did the best he could given what he had survived. He never talked about that trauma. I think the peace came from finally saying something I'd carried for years, and from doing it in a room where there was no judgment. Justin and I spent hours talking about music, art and life between takes. By the end, the song didn't feel like an argument anymore. It felt like a kind of acceptance. You've said Michael and Stefan kept pushing for more takes even when you might have moved on. Can you name a moment on the record where one of them heard something you didn't, or a rough edge you kept that a more careful band would have fixed? I honestly can't point to one specific moment because we were moving so quickly. We tracked most of the record in one or two takes, so there wasn't a lot of sitting around analysing every little thing. What I do remember is the attitude everyone brought into the room. Stefan was usually the first person to say, "Let's do that one again," if he felt he'd left something on the table. [Michael] was the same way. Nobody was trying to protect their ego or convince anyone a take was "good enough." If someone thought they could do better, we simply played it again. Ironically, I think that's why the record feels spontaneous. Once everyone believed a performance captured the song, we moved on. Even my own overdubs were done that way. Very little second-guessing. It really is a record that belongs to those few days in the studio. Shoegaze is in its biggest moment since the '90s, and a lot of people found it through TikTok instead of through Low and Slowdive. You talked about records that didn't try to pass a purity test. Who's giving the purity test now, and does this new wave feel like your scene or something running next to it? It's genuinely exciting to see younger people discovering bands like Slowdive, My Bloody Valentine and Ride, even if they found them through TikTok instead of a record shop. Music finding new listeners is always a good thing. Where I sometimes struggle is when a genre starts to feel like it has a rulebook. The records that made me fall in love with shoegaze never sounded like they were trying to be "shoegaze." They were experimental. They were taking risks. Sonic Youth didn't sound like Slowdive. Slowdive didn't sound like My Bloody Valentine. They were all following their own instincts. Every time a scene becomes popular, there's a temptation — for artists, labels and audiences — to define what belongs and what doesn't. We saw it with grunge in the '90s. Suddenly everyone owned a flannel shirt and every label wanted the next Nirvana. I don't really want to participate in that. I just want to hear artists making records that couldn't have been made by anyone else. There are bands doing exactly that. One local band I really admire is No Beauty from Hamilton. Every time I see them, they're completely committed to their own thing. That's far more interesting to me than whether someone checks the right genre boxes.

Pop-dance artist Mairose is encouraging listeners to embrace their individuality and pursue their ambitions with “IDWS,” an empowering single centered on self-belief, personal freedom, and the importance of recognizing one's worth. Exploring the pressure to meet other people's expectations, “IDWS” addresses the moment someone realizes that settling for less is no longer an option. Whether in relationships, professional ambitions, or everyday life, Mairose delivers a message about reclaiming control and refusing to sacrifice personal happiness for the comfort of others. Rooted in the pop-dance genre, the release places an uplifting message at the center of its artistic identity. Rather than focusing solely on romantic relationships, Mairose broadens the conversation to examine how external judgment can influence personal decisions, ambitions, and confidence. A central theme throughout “IDWS” is the importance of refusing to diminish yourself to satisfy those around you. The song encourages listeners to recognize their potential, challenge limiting expectations, and pursue opportunities that align with their own aspirations. “I hope to inspire other people to follow their own dreams and goals, and know their value and worth in life,” Mairose shares. The single has also been gaining exposure through Amazing Radio in the UK and United States, introducing Mairose's message to audiences across international markets. “IDWS” represents the first installment of a two-part project, with the second chapter expected in 2027 alongside additional single releases. With “IDWS,” Mairose establishes a clear message of independence and self-empowerment, reminding listeners that pursuing the life they want often begins with recognizing they deserve more.

Seattle-area emerging pop artist Aphrajay Appollinaire has released her debut single, “Arrhythmia (Love Me Tonight, Tonight),” introducing a dreamy, emotionally driven sound that blends contemporary pop with experimental electronic elements. The release marks the beginning of a new chapter for the independent singer-songwriter, who is currently preparing her debut EP, Manic Princess, expected in late 2026. Influenced by artists such as Janet Jackson, Aphrajay Appollinaire explores themes of unspoken love, emotional vulnerability, and romantic uncertainty throughout the single. Built around delicate vocals, layered harmonies, and understated electronic production, the track captures the internal conflict of developing feelings for someone while questioning whether those emotions will ever be reciprocated. Taking an unconventional approach to songwriting, Aphrajay Appollinaire holds back the song's chorus until its final section, allowing the arrangement to gradually build anticipation. Subtle robotic vocal effects further emphasize the contrast between private emotions and outward composure. The debut follows an independent creative journey that began with self-taught vocal training through YouTube and expanded into music production in late 2024. Since then, Aphrajay Appollinaire has documented her artistic development while working toward her first official release. Now collaborating with Billboard-charting producer Aiyan and Grammy-nominated engineer Zachary Jablow, Aphrajay Appollinaire is continuing to develop the sound and creative direction of her forthcoming project. With “Arrhythmia (Love Me Tonight, Tonight),” Aphrajay Appollinaire introduces the emotional themes and experimental approach that will help shape Manic Princess, offering listeners an early look at an emerging artist establishing her place in the pop landscape. “Arrhythmia (Love Me Tonight, Tonight)” explores the emotions people often keep hidden, particularly when outside expectations complicate romantic relationships. How much of the song comes from personal experience, and how did you decide which feelings to reveal through the lyrics? I would say all of the song stems from personal experiences. A significant portion of the feelings expressed were things I could never quite pen down in my diaries… perhaps due to pride or other human feelings. But when listening to the first guitar loop I made and got the lyrics from, there was one person in my life I couldn’t truly process my feelings towards. So on a plane ride I took from Seattle to Los Angeles, I was already bored out of my mind and did the best thing I could think of–be productive a little. So I listened to the loop nonstop, thinking of the person, and I imagined a cloud of lyrics personified. I then had the lyrics flow through me imaginatively, and even if they sounded like gibberish at first, I still penned what I could down. And by the time I finished writing it down, I already had the feeling I'd said all that I needed to say. After that day, I would try to add feelings or remove feelings from the song... but in the end, the first draft of lyrics remained the same. So my subconscious really decided how much to reveal in the song. You deliberately hold back the chorus until the end of the song, challenging one of pop music's most familiar structural conventions. What inspired that decision, and how does it connect to your philosophy of questioning what artists are supposedly meant to do? Yes, so when the lyrics came to me, the chorus stayed at the end in every draft. I would try to move it up, but it never really worked in my head. It always felt like the song should feel closer to a message with a chorus instead of a message around a chorus. I believe that way, it connects to my philosophy because it means I had enough trust in myself to do something different. I suppose time and the more people that grow to know me will let me know whether I had good instincts or not lol. You began learning music production relatively recently, yet you've already developed a distinctive approach to vocal layering and electronic textures. What was the biggest creative breakthrough that made you realize you could build the sound you were imagining? I’m someone who has a lot of anxiety generally. So it took me a while to take a stab at production because it seemed so complex in my head. But being who I am, I have a solution for all quirks I possess. For me, I know that if the thought of something seems too grand to attempt, I have to take small steps to get past the limits of my mind. So I asked myself, “What’s something small I can do that's lighthearted and has no pressure if I fail at it?” And for me, the answer was to try and compose a beat in Roblox lol. One day I was sitting in the school library, opened up the game on my MacBook, and searched for any beat creator I could find. I soon started clicking around in one, made a drum loop, and I thought, “Dang, this is really bumping, lol.” Then I took a stab at another fear… the adding music/notes part of it all. I reasoned, since I can sing well, I can take the same logic it takes to sing my next note and apply it to the instruments in front of me. By thinking of it like that, I didn’t have to worry myself about looking up what notes are in a key–the intuition of what notes fit in was already in my head. It sounded really good together, and the Roblox game I used handled the timing of the notes mostly, so that made my job easier. Because I felt proud of my work, I leveled up to BandLab, and that’s really where my breakthroughs happened. The first beats I made on BandLab were so good that I’m thinking of including them on the EP. Now I’m on to Logic and use more professional tools, but at the heart of any tool I used… I always had a “true north” of the sound I wanted to achieve. If I think of my music as a language, then working in Roblox, or BandLab, or Logic didn’t really limit how I wanted my music to sound. The language exists outside of the workspace, perhaps in me, and for some reason the ability to communicate that language was always the easy part. So there are fewer realizations for me in that regard. Moreso, the big “aha”, for me, was to not let fear get in the way. Janet Jackson is a major influence on your musical identity. Beyond the music itself, what aspects of Janet Jackson's artistry, creative control, or approach to reinvention have shaped the kind of artist you want to become? Yes, I live for Janet! I adore everything about her. I first fell in love with her through listening to Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation 1814 album. In it, I saw she had a mission, but it never came off as cliché. And musically, I loved her lyric soprano voice, with all the vocal layering, and how she could belt and it still sounded smooth and sweet. I also found her to be playful, and that’s something that I liked because it always fit in well with the song. Or how she could switch to carrying a more serious song like “Come Back To Me,” and I could still smile because the whole time, as I’m listening, I’m thinking, “My God, she’s killing it!" If I had to put it all into one sentence, Janet shapes the artist I’d like to become because she’s proven many things to be possible. The first thing she proved possible for me was that an artist can carry a mission in their hearts and connect with many people through it. The second is that an artist can serve many different facets of themselves as they grow over time. Each work of art by Janet showcases a new side to her, and they all make sense. Velvet Rope Janet is different from Control Janet; Control Janet is different from All For You Janet. And in each era, she brings something fundamentally new…I think that makes her art timeless. I still remember bringing my parents around the TV to pull up Janet’s “Doesn’t Really Matter” video on YouTube. Of course they likely saw the video when it came out … but I wasn’t born yet lol. I just had to make sure they appreciated her art as much as I did. I’d heard nothing like that song before–it just had a magic to it…and I was a self-proclaimed lover of 2000s and 90s music. How could it slip past my radar for so long? But yeah, that’s the type of music I hope to make someday. Something that feels fresh, true to oneself, and stands out like a ray of light in any era. Your upcoming EP, Manic Princess, explores the uncertainty surrounding your decision to pursue music professionally. What does that title represent to you, and what can listeners expect to discover about Aphrajay Appollinaire that this debut single hasn't revealed yet? For me, the title encompasses how I feel, truly. There are times that I wake up and kind of have moments where I’m like, “...where did all of this energy come from?” The energy to not just make music for the project, but to post content daily, run campaigns, do graphic design, sing for posts, beat-create and co-produce for the vault, have freelancers on payroll, engineer, network, cold call and cold email, strategize, and dream despite what initial realities life throws at me. It reminds me of other times when I’ve had a heightened feeling that I could do anything. In those periods, my mind tends to lock in on the future for some reason. It’s what got me to college for free; it’s what led me to study Mandarin Chinese out of the blue–and stick with it; it’s led me to start a business that taught me about social media long before @aphollinaire was created; it’s led to straight A’s for most of college, and now it has me putting myself out there for the music dream I’ve felt like I’ve been preparing for my entire life. All my periods of heightened feelings have taught me a skill to prepare me for a career in music, even though most of them aren’t directly about music at all. I always wanted to prepare myself for music in a way where… no one can stop me except for myself. I’ve had this idea of being “a thousand people in one” for quite a while. And it seems like each heightened period was a time when I gained the skill set to make that idea happen, even if I consciously didn’t know it. I suppose that’s the force driving me in this Manic Princess era. The only thing I can’t control is exactly where I’m headed and how fast I’m headed there. That is the sink in my chest I think, that little fear outside of me … something that a heightened period can’t truly delude myself through lol. Through this EP, I hope that listeners discover an artist worth investing in like I’ve invested in myself, and I’d also like it to reveal where I am now, musically. Maybe that can brew excitement for where I’m headed.

Portuguese-born, Canada-based rock artist VAXXO takes listeners into the darker corners of the human mind with his latest single, “Monsters,” an emotionally charged release that explores fear, vulnerability, and the strength required to confront our internal battles. Blending alternative rock with atmospheric electronic production, “Monsters” builds its identity around the tension between aggression and vulnerability. Heavy guitar work brings urgency to the track, while darker electronic textures reinforce the psychological weight of its subject matter. Rather than presenting monsters as imaginary creatures, VAXXO uses them as metaphors for anxiety, insecurity, loneliness, and the struggles people often keep hidden. The song examines the exhausting relationship between wanting to escape those feelings and recognizing that confronting them may be the only way forward. “I want people to understand that they are not alone in their battles,” VAXXO explains. “We all have monsters inside us, fears, pain, doubts, and things we don't always talk about.” The release also reflects VAXXO's international musical background, featuring Canadian and Portuguese musicians. Produced, engineered, and mixed by Ben Pelchat, “Monsters” features guitars by Cole Geconcillo, drums by Renato Simões, and backing vocals by Emily Peneda. João Carvalho Mastering handled the mastering. Since releasing original music in 2013, VAXXO has steadily built a catalog rooted in emotionally honest songwriting. His achievements include recognition at the 2023 International Portuguese Music Awards for “Give Me Life” and winning Best of North America in the Rock category at the 2026 InterContinental Music Awards for “Save Me.” With “Monsters,” VAXXO continues exploring the intersection of traditional rock instrumentation and contemporary electronic production, delivering a message that feels particularly relevant: acknowledging darkness does not mean surrendering to it. “Monsters” explores the internal battles people rarely discuss openly. Was there a particular experience or realization that inspired you to write this song? “Monsters” came from a very real place. We all carry things we don’t always talk about—fear, anxiety, doubts, and memories that follow us even when nobody else can see them. I wanted to capture the feeling of fighting something inside yourself and feeling unable to escape it. The song became a way to turn those emotions into something powerful instead of keeping them buried. The “monsters” aren’t one specific thing; they can represent whatever someone is personally fighting. But I also believe that, without God, we can’t truly face our fears. Faith gives me the strength, hope, and courage to confront what feels bigger than me. That spiritual dimension is central to what “Monsters” means to me. Your music combines the raw intensity of traditional rock with darker electronic production. How did you approach balancing those two worlds on “Monsters” without compromising its emotional authenticity? For me, the emotion always comes first. The rock elements give “Monsters” its aggression and energy, while the darker electronics create the atmosphere and tension. I wanted the production to feel like you’re inside someone’s head as they fight their thoughts. We experimented with texture and dynamics, but never wanted the production to overshadow the song’s heart. The goal was to make it modern and powerful while preserving that raw VAXXO feeling. This release brings together musicians from Canada and Portugal. How have the different musical cultures you’ve experienced influenced your creative identity, and what did each bring to this recording? Both places are part of who I am as an artist. Portugal gave me my roots and a strong connection to melody, emotion, and storytelling, while Canada exposed me to a diverse music scene and different approaches to rock and production. Bringing those influences together feels natural; they’ve become part of my musical identity. With “Monsters,” everyone brought their own energy and experience, and you can hear that combination in the final recording. I also want to recognize Ben Pelchat, Renato Simões, Cole Geconcillo, Ricardo Araújo, and Emily Peneda. Their contributions were essential to this Canada-Portugal collaboration. You’ve been releasing original music since 2013 and recently earned international recognition for “Save Me.” How has your definition of success changed throughout your career, particularly as your songwriting has become more personal? When I started, success was mainly about numbers, recognition, and reaching listeners. Those things still matter, but my definition has changed. Today, if someone tells me a song connected with them or helped them through something, that’s success to me. Recognition for “Save Me” was an incredible honor, but the most rewarding part is knowing the music reaches people. As my songwriting has become more personal, I’ve learned that honesty matters more than creating something everyone will like. There’s an interesting contradiction at the heart of “Monsters”: wanting your fears to disappear while understanding that you have to confront them. Has creating this song changed your own relationship with fear or vulnerability? Absolutely. Writing “Monsters” made me realize that you can’t always run from what scares you; sometimes you have to face it. Vulnerability can feel like weakness, but I’ve learned it can also be a source of strength. Making this song was like turning something dark into something creative and powerful. Music may not make the monsters disappear, but it can help you face them. Faith is essential to that process for me, because without God, I don’t believe we can truly overcome our deepest fears.

Photo by James Patrick Smith Italian-born, East London-based composer Thomas Bagnoli, recording under The Melancholy Hours, has released “SunSeekers,” the latest preview of his forthcoming 2027 album, Notes from the Sea. The instrumental track was inspired by the familiar sight of people gathering to watch the final moments of daylight, with Thomas Bagnoli using the experience as a starting point to explore presence, impermanence, and the instinct to follow the light. Built around analog tape loops, layered guitars, and experimental sound manipulation, “SunSeekers” reflects The Melancholy Hours’ texture-driven approach to composition. Rather than relying on traditional song structures, repetition and gradual sonic changes guide the track, allowing imperfections and subtle shifts to become part of its character. The release also draws from Thomas Bagnoli’s time traveling alone through the Canary Islands. Landscapes, photographs, and experiences collected during those travels became an important creative foundation for Notes from the Sea. “With ‘SunSeekers’, I hope people connect with the music and find something personal in it,” Thomas Bagnoli explains. “The song is about following the light, noticing your surroundings and allowing yourself to be present for a moment.” “SunSeekers” follows the September release of debut EP In Saudade, a collaborative project with Arthur Pegis of Monochromatic Visions that incorporated elements of shoegaze, dream-pop, and synthesizer-driven music. Notes from the Sea will expand further into instrumental territory across eight compositions. The forthcoming album was mastered by Simon Scott of Slowdive and will also feature a vocal collaboration with Alex Argot. With live performances also in development, “SunSeekers” marks the beginning of the next chapter for The Melancholy Hours and offers an early look at the atmosphere and ideas shaping Notes from the Sea. Photo by James Patrick Smith “SunSeekers” began with the observation of people following the last light of the day. What about that seemingly ordinary ritual made you want to translate it into music? When I travel to the Canary Islands, chasing the sun and finding a quiet, isolated place to watch the sunset has become a kind of daily ritual for me. That moment of the day is probably the most meditative part of my day. It allows me to detach from everything, be present, connect with my thoughts, and feel grateful for where I am and for everything around me. Those moments and experiences tend to stay with me, and sometimes they naturally find their way into the music. With “SunSeekers”, the feeling of following the last light of the day became one of the things that shaped the piece. It isn't about describing a particular sunset, but more about capturing something of what that moment means to me: being completely present, stepping away from everything else, and allowing yourself to simply experience it. Your compositions rely heavily on analog tape loops, repetition, and the unpredictable nature of sound manipulation. How do you determine when a piece has reached its final form, particularly when the recording process itself plays such an important creative role? That’s a great question. I don’t usually start recording with a clear idea of what I want the finished piece to sound like. A lot of the time, melodies and ideas just come naturally while I’m playing, and I record those first. From there, I start adding layers, experimenting with different instruments, tapes, and sounds, and gradually see where the piece takes me. I usually like to keep the original melody quite present, even as the piece develops around it. The recording process becomes part of discovering what the music can become, rather than trying to follow a structure that I have already decided on. I’ve never been particularly drawn to fixed structures, so this more unconventional way of working feels natural to me. I also like to approach each release differently. I’m constantly exploring new sounds, instruments, tape machines, and other equipment, so every record becomes a learning process. I can keep experimenting for quite a long time, but eventually I reach a point where the piece simply feels right. If adding more layers makes it too busy or starts taking it away from the original melody, that’s usually when I know it’s time to stop. You spent a month alone in the Canary Islands, and those landscapes became an important influence on Notes from the Sea. Did that period of solitude change how you approached composition or how you understood your relationship with music? This is quite a deep question for me. I’ve been living in London for almost 11 years now, and when I decided to go to the Canary Islands, I was going through a very difficult period in my life. I felt like I needed to disappear for a while, step away from everything, and reconnect with myself. I think an experience like that creates its own landscape in your mind, and that’s probably what I was trying to get into with the album. Of course, the places I was surrounded by, the landscapes and everything I experienced there influenced the music, but I think I was really trying to translate something that was happening internally. In a way, the experience eventually liberated me from a lot of things from the past, without me being consciously aware of it at the time. When I came back, I just started recording and approaching music in my own way. It felt very natural. I recorded a lot of ideas without really knowing where they were going, and then gradually collected the ones that felt right and could work together coherently as an album. I don’t think the solitude necessarily changed my approach to composition in a conscious way. It was more that something had shifted internally, and that naturally came through in the way I started making music afterward. I’ve kept going back to the Canary Islands ever since, whenever I feel I need that distance again. It’s almost become a habit, because I always seem to come back with something new, an idea, a feeling, or simply a different perspective. Your debut EP, In Saudade, incorporates shoegaze and dream-pop influences, while Notes from the Sea moves toward longer, more experimental instrumental compositions. What inspired that creative shift, and what did you discover about yourself while making the album? I think the transition from In Saudade to Notes from the Sea happened quite naturally. In Saudade was still very much connected to summer, nostalgia, previous trips, and past relationships. The demos were recorded by me and were quite rough ideas, usually starting with layers of guitar loops and drum kits. In a way, it was still an extension of the way I had been working with Monochromatic Visions. I then developed those ideas together with my bandmate Artur Pegis. We share a flat in London where we also have our own small studio with all our equipment, so it was a very natural and collaborative process. He helped turn those rough demos into something that felt more like complete songs by adding synths and bass. There was still a connection to the kind of music we were making together at the time, when we were starting to explore more experimental territory and blend different genres. I was also listening to a lot of HTRK, Slowdive, Windy & Carl, and Bowery Electric, which naturally became part of that period too. So for me, In Saudade still had the last bit of that band-related influence in it, even though the initial ideas were already coming from my own work. After the Canary Islands trip, things naturally started moving in a different direction. When I came back, I began working in a much more personal way, without really thinking about traditional song structures or where the music was supposed to go. Notes from the Sea became a much more direct exploration of my own approach, experimenting with sounds, recording methods, and ideas and seeing where they would take me. I think that’s probably what I discovered while making the album: that I could develop my own approach and methodology without needing to fit the music into something else. It felt like I was finally figuring out what The Melancholy Hours could be on its own. Having Notes from the Sea mastered by Simon Scott of Slowdive is a significant connection to the musical world your project inhabits. What did that collaboration bring to the finished record, and how are you approaching the challenge of translating these intricate studio compositions into live performances? Slowdive has been one of my favorite bands since I was a teenager, and their sound has probably influenced me more than any other band. I remember seeing Simon doing a short ambient live set in East London a few years ago, and I realized he was also releasing his own music, which had a sound quite close to what I had in mind for Notes from the Sea. That made me think he could be the best fit for the album. When I was looking for someone to master it, I wanted someone who would understand the direction I was taking but also bring their own perspective. Simon did exactly that. His contribution made the album feel more coherent, and he focused on a lot of small sonic details that really helped bring out the best in the recordings. Having the opportunity for him to listen to my demos and eventually work on the mastering was a real privilege, especially considering how much his work has influenced me over the years. When it comes to translating Notes from the Sea into a live setting, it’s quite tricky now because I’m not physically able to reproduce the new album live in its current form. Most of the tracks I perform are therefore from In Saudade, as the guitar parts work more naturally with backing tracks. There is one piece from Notes from the Sea that I use at the beginning of the set. I improvise over the track and create an additional live loop, while manipulating it with effects and granular tape sounds. I like having that element of improvisation because I’m not simply reproducing the studio recording but allowing the piece to develop differently during each performance. I’m also currently experimenting with modular synths as another layer for the live shows. I’m still figuring out how that could work, but I think it could make the performance more interesting both for me and for the audience. I’d like the live show to feel more like an audiovisual performance. I am having visuals projected behind me that connect with and help describe the music, while keeping the stage itself very dark and avoiding having lights directly on me. I don’t really want the audience to be focused on watching me perform; I’d rather they get immersed in the music and the images. I think that would feel much more natural for this project.