Search this site

Let’s get something straight. Most “coming-of-age” indie projects sound like Pinterest quotes with a guitar. “Know Me As I Am” does not. Jax Turcotte walks into this release with the kind of emotional clarity most artists spend years faking. At 18, he’s not trying to sound wise. He just is. And that’s what makes this project hit harder than it should. Sonically, it lives in that sweet spot between folk intimacy and alt-rock tension. Guitars feel lived-in, not polished to death. There’s space in the production, but it’s intentional, not lazy. You can hear the fingerprints of Roy Hamilton III keeping things cohesive without sanding down Jax’s rough edges. That balance matters. “Season of Change” sets the tone immediately. It’s not some dramatic rebirth anthem. It feels more like a quiet, internal negotiation. The kind you have with yourself when life starts shifting, whether you’re ready or not. The vocals sit right on that line between fragile and grounded, never tipping into over-performed sadness. Then “Concave” comes in and flips the energy. This is where the grunge influence creeps through, but it’s controlled. It captures that very specific type of teenage connection. Intense, messy, and almost guaranteed to self-destruct. The writing doesn’t romanticize it either. It just tells the truth, which is rarer than people think. “Reverie” is where Jax leans into self-acceptance without turning it into a slogan. It’s awkward, introspective, and honest in a way that feels almost uncomfortable. Which is exactly why it works. And then there’s “Eclipse.” This one lands differently. A stripped piano ballad that could’ve easily fallen into cliché territory, but doesn’t. The context behind it changes everything. Losing a friend that young is the kind of thing that either shuts artists down or forces them to say something real. Jax chose the second. Donating royalties to youth wellness charities makes it more than just a song. It gives it weight. Culturally, this matters because many young artists are stuck performing emotions for algorithms. Jax Turcotte isn’t. He’s documenting them as they happen. Messy, unresolved, human. This isn’t potential. This is the direction. You’re documenting your life in real time instead of waiting for clarity. Do you ever worry about releasing songs before you fully understand what you went through? I’m not too worried about being clear or coherent, because I think creation of the songs is a necessary avenue for processing my own thoughts and feelings about a situation. I start with a general idea, but as I begin to write the lyrics, new feelings and ideas come forward that lead to both the end of the song and a better self-understanding.  “Concave” touches on intense friendships that burn out. Do you think those connections are necessary, or just inevitable at that age? Is it possible to be both? At that age, friendships become more important as you begin to feel some independence from your parents. That’s normal and necessary. I think when kids struggle and feel misunderstood or different, they inevitably cling to one another. Although it can bring great support and mutual understanding, sometimes it can feel like you are all just keeping each other underwater. A lot of young artists aestheticize mental health struggles. You didn’t. Was that a conscious decision or just instinct? The music itself has always been honest about my reality, which was, at one point, my struggle with mental health. I never wanted it to come across as anything besides that: it’s not something to aestheticize. I was conscious to make it known that it’s not my identity or my aesthetic. “Eclipse” carries real-world impact beyond streaming numbers. Do you feel a responsibility now to tie your music to something bigger than yourself? Maybe not when I started, but I definitely do now. I always felt I needed a career where I could make a small positive impact. As a music career becomes more of a possibility in my mind, I have to think long and hard about how I can make that impact. Especially on a song like “Eclipse, " which is about something very tragic and something that is a very large issue currently. You’re already evolving fast between releases. What parts of your current sound do you think you’ll outgrow first? I think a big difference between the sound of the first EP and this one is how I wrote the guitar parts. There were more harmonic elements and riffs, more complex chords, and more dynamics. I’ve been having more fun with the guitar parts, and I think as time goes forward I’ll continue to improve and play around with that.

RICO... isn’t trying to fit into a lane, he’s building his own ecosystem. Blending trip hop and rock with a self-made CEO mindset, the artist has been developing his sound since childhood, evolving from selling physical records to building a global audience through streams. Now leading two creative ventures, Made In Music  and RLProductions ... RICO... operates at the intersection of music, visuals, and full-scale production, treating artistry like a business and a lifestyle at the same time. His latest project, “SUN KISSED…” , reflects that mindset. More than just an album, it plays like an ongoing vision, capturing growth, reinvention, and the idea that every year brings a new chapter. With a sound he positions as completely his own, RICO... is focused on creating music that moves with people through real life, whether that’s in everyday moments or bigger experiences. You’ve been making music since you were seven years old. What first pulled you into music, and when did you realize it could become your life path? What pulled me into music was the inspirational message I put into my songs. I loved music so much that I wanted to hear myself and take from things that I’m saying in the songs to use in the present of making the music, throughout the years, reflecting back on it. I realized it could become my path of life once creating music 10 years, then another 10 years, and becoming better and better each year of making music. The way I look at my music is as art, describing meaningful aspects in each piece of the songs I make. Your sound blends trip hop and rock, which isn’t the most common combination. How did you develop that style, and what artists or moments influenced it? Well, trip hop does have stylistic origins of rock in the genre; I developed that style in the sound of my voice for the composition beat being displayed, which made it unique that I’m able to have the composure of an up-tempo sound and be able to sing as a rock artist. Moments that influenced it was myself (Rico…) I loved music, wanted to listen to a certain type of music, so I made that music for myself so I’m able to listen and hear best of music being made. You’re also the CEO of two record labels, MADE IN MUSIC and RLProductions… How does running those businesses shape the way you approach your own music career? Having my record labels shape my music by being able to do everything for my music approach, from the copyrights, publishing, releasing, distribution, development platforms, cover art, and scheduling the best times for these objectives and many more for “MADE IN MUSIC…” “RLProductions…” Your album “SUN KISSED…” explores new beginnings, growth, and building new structures each year. What experiences in your life inspired that theme? Just always wanting to create the best for myself, I have a high motor ethic, willing to become greater and greater, learning from the past in each positive individualism I reached among and using it in the present with more further work to add to my music workmanship skill. As you continue evolving as an artist and entrepreneur, what kind of legacy do you hope to build through your music and labels? The legacy of my music, I just want to become the greatest musician for myself, pushing forward each aspect I can make at best for music and being able to say I done everything I wanted as a musical artist; the legacy of my record labels “MADE IN MUSIC” “RLProductions…” want to continue with the great stewardship I have for the labels, teach more people about music that has interest in music, having the right direction of tools as the music evolves, and constructing travelers that moves as a journey of business.

Singaporean-born artist Nevangelic taps into that tension on his latest instrumental release, “Fairytales,” a progressive guitar-driven track that quietly questions the stories we’ve been taught to believe about happiness, relationships, and “perfect endings.” Originally beginning his music journey posting guitar covers and short compositions online while studying in Adelaide, Nevangelic has evolved into a fully independent creator, writing, recording, and producing his own material from the ground up. His sound sits somewhere between prog-rock experimentation and lo-fi introspection, driven by electric guitar but layered with digital textures that give each track a cinematic feel. “Fairytales” plays out less like a traditional song and more like a narrative. Instead of a standard verse-chorus structure, the track unfolds in shifting chapters, moving from calm, reflective guitar passages into more energetic and hopeful sections. Along the way, Nevangelic experiments with glitchy digital artifacts, tape clicks, and vinyl-style textures that make the whole piece feel like flipping through scenes of a film. That storytelling approach isn’t accidental. The song was inspired by the way movies and fictional narratives shape our expectations in real life. From childhood fairytales to modern rom-coms, we’re constantly absorbing stories about how things should work out. “Fairytales” quietly asks the bigger question: what happens when those expectations don’t match reality? By pairing nostalgic guitar tones with fragmented digital sounds, Nevangelic creates a sonic metaphor for that gap between fantasy and the real world. It’s hopeful, reflective, and slightly unsettled all at once. And because the track is instrumental, listeners are free to project their own story onto it. “I hope listeners connect with the song by constructing their own meaning from it,” Nevangelic says. “Just as we often do with stories and art we love.” With “Fairytales,” Nevangelic proves that sometimes the most powerful narratives don’t need words. They just need the right sound to carry the story forward.

Billboard-charting multilingual artist Miist launches her 2026 creative initiative, The Love Project, with a track that leans into compassion at a time when the world feels increasingly tense. Co-written with legendary Italian producer Mauro Malavasi, known for his work with Andrea Bocelli, the song blends classic songwriting with a message that feels especially relevant right now. Musically, the track unfolds with a cinematic softness. Piano-led melodies and warm instrumentation give Miist’s voice room to carry the emotion without overcomplicating the moment. The result is a song that feels reflective rather than performative, centered on the simple but powerful idea that love and compassion can still guide people forward. Miist’s journey into music adds another layer of depth. After being abandoned at five and later surviving a terminal cancer diagnosis, she didn’t discover songwriting until her 30s. That perspective fuels the philosophy behind The Love Project, which encourages what she calls “15-second actions,” small, everyday acts of kindness that reconnect people with each other. The music video reflects that vision. Instead of focusing on herself, Miist invited fans from around the world to submit clips capturing real moments of kindness. Those contributions now form the heart of the video, turning the release into a global collaboration about connection. At a time when the world often feels divided, “Love Will Show Us Our Way” offers a simple reminder: sometimes the most powerful response is choosing compassion anyway. Your journey into music didn’t follow the typical industry path. How did discovering songwriting later in life change the way you approach creating and sharing your music? "Later in life" in my case meant after being abandoned at five, surviving a terminal cancer diagnosis at 27 (lost 60% of my liver), getting married, becoming a mom, and then coming to the realization that my past traumas have an enormous impact on my life. Whew. That is exhausting to even say out loud. But all those experiences hugely impacted the way I heard and started to create music when I was 34. A big part of my healing is from writing music. It is an emotional outlet, and I guess you could call it "self-therapy".  Those life experiences became the stories that I needed to tell through my music. And as those stories became more hopeful and healing, I was impelled to share those emotions and journeys with others who might relate. In my heart, my hope is that sharing my music becomes a bridge to connect every single one of my listeners and me, whether they are sitting in my living room or alone on the other side of the world. I believe that being older when this ability appeared has allowed me to see it for what it truly is: a gift that was meant to be shared and used to help others, not for selfish reasons. “Love Will Show Us Our Way” centers on compassion during a time when the world feels tense and divided. What moment or realization pushed you to write this song right now? I’ve always had this strong feeling that people should treat each other better. Growing up, I saw the people around me consistently only looking out for themselves. When I was in my 20's, that led me to search for something better. I was raised an atheist but a friend started talking to me about what he was learning from the Bible and I learned that there was a better way of living, one that was not self centered but dependent upon an altruistic way of life, to treat each other with dignity and kindness and to change the world around us by simple day to day actions that made others and myself happier. That transformed the way I lived from day to day. So now, I try to be conscious of smiling, being thankful, and showing kindness. Sadly, in today's world, those basic human actions are severely lacking.  When I met Mauro Malavasi in Bologna Italy a year ago he also asked me why I was on this global campaign to change peoples behavior. His work with Andrea Bocelli on Romanza (Producer and writer) was built on impacting people through positive emotions, so it was a natural fit for us to write "Love Will Show Us Our Way" together. You talk a lot about “15-second actions,” the idea that small acts of kindness can create real change. Can you share a moment where a small action from someone else had a big impact on your life? When I was 27, I was given a terminal cancer diagnosis and told I had a few weeks to live if I didn't have immediate surgery. That was obviously very stressful, not only to me but also to my family. I was admitted to the hospital and was in pre-op. It was 5 AM, and a group of nurses and doctors started pressuring me to accept a medical procedure that I did not want nor had been agreed upon prior. After quite a while of this badgering, the lead surgeon walked in, saw what was happening, and told them to leave me alone. He was going to perform the surgery exactly as he had already agreed. That act of kindness took only a few seconds of his time, but it provided a huge amount of relief to me and made me feel safe. His action demonstrated to me the power of small acts of kindness. While that is an extreme example, it is the first one that came to mind when you asked me this question.  We may not think our small actions will affect others that profoundly, but I disagree. In this world where there are so many people lonely, scared, and struggling, a smile, saying "You are doing a great job. Thank you.", telling someone "I love you" when you mean it from your heart - those actions could be the difference between that person just surviving today or feeling safe and loved. Those few seconds of kindness materially change our world. They make it a better, more connected place for us to be.  Instead of centering yourself in the music video, you invited fans to submit real moments of kindness. What was it like seeing those clips come in from people around the world? Every single one of them makes me feel hopeful! I loved looking at those pictures and video clips of friends or family enjoying their time together, lovers holding hands or kissing, a long gaze between family members before death pulled them apart, a girl and her dog together. It reminds me that there’s hope in people, there’s hope in love, there’s hope in this world, and I believe many people will feel the same when they watch the video.  With The Love Project launching alongside this single, it feels like you’re building something bigger than just a music release. What do you hope listeners actually do differently after hearing this song? Absolutely. Music is the most powerful way to change people’s emotions in a matter of seconds. There have been world songs like We Are The World that people love and remember for decades. If music is used to send the right message, it can be a powerful tool to motivate people to take action. Mauro and I want to remind everyone that we as humans are given the gift of love and the free will to make our own choices, so even though this world right now seems to encourage selfishness and division, we choose love.

When a band has already logged 12 full-length albums and more than 140 shows a year, the easy route would be to coast on muscle memory. Cold Engines does the opposite. Their new single “Nightfall” feels like a band still chasing the spark that made them start in the first place. Led by songwriter David Drouin, the North Shore Boston project has always leaned into melody-first rock, but “Nightfall” pushes the palette further. The track moves through funk, prog rock, and world groove without ever losing the pulse that makes it feel immediate and danceable. From the jump, the song locks into a deep groove that feels like it could soundtrack a packed dance floor just as easily as a late-night headphone session. Slap bass anchors the rhythm while horns from Jon Persson punch through the mix with swagger. Meanwhile, Seth Campbell’s clavinet work injects a vintage funk energy that instantly brings to mind the slick rhythmic bounce of artists like Prince. But “Nightfall” doesn’t sit in one lane for long. Cold Engines thread in unexpected textures throughout the track, including Peruvian flute and layered percussion, giving the song a subtle global feel that expands the atmosphere without turning it into a jam-band indulgence. Instead, everything feels intentional. Every element pushes the groove forward. The result is a song that feels tight, propulsive, and surprisingly playful. Lyrically, “Nightfall” leans into something universal: the desire for connection that refuses to fade, even when the world feels heavy. The song frames love not just as romance, but as something bigger. A need for acceptance, closeness, and shared humanity. That emotional pull is what keeps the track from feeling like a technical showcase. Even as the musicianship flexes through prog flourishes, horn blasts, and rhythmic shifts, the core of the song stays grounded in feeling. Cold Engines describe the track best themselves: “If people want to hit the dance floor and let the heaviness of the world drift away into hypnotic grooves, then this one’s for them. We hope it’s a fun love song that’s sensual and romantic while still being instrumentally intense and exciting with lots of surprises.” And that balance is exactly where the song wins. “Nightfall” manages to be musically dense without feeling complicated, groove-heavy without losing melody, and romantic without drifting into cliché. For a band already deep into their catalog, that’s the impressive part. Cold Engines aren’t just repeating a formula. They’re still building their world, one groove at a time. You’ve released 12 full-length albums and played over 140 shows a year at times. What keeps the creative engine running after that level of output and touring? The gathering of inspiration that plants seeds of creative output is a natural process when traveling the world with your best friends, with a simple intent to spread light and joy. Writing and recording music is just one of the ways being creative seeps out. We always have been and continue to be a true band of brothers. When we get into any room and start to communicate with our instruments, we find it's a language far deeper than the spoken word, and we have so much to say about life and our unique observations of the world. It's an endless and fulfilling endeavor of joy. “Nightfall” blends funk, prog rock, world groove, and pop hooks. When you’re writing, are you consciously mixing genres, or does the sound just naturally evolve in the room? While we have done genre-specific albums and trilogies and concept records, most of our music output has come from a mash-up of inspiration from every member of the band. Aaron brings a massive and ever-growing knowledge and skill set from almost every corner of music into his drumming and is a pure musician and artist with a seemingly endless supply of groove ideas and songs. Geoff is a true light in the world and brings a true sense of honoring one's purpose into each show, rehearsal, and hang. His creativity is boundless and expressive in ways that always make all the difference, not just on percussion but as a human. Adam is pure art. His knowledge of music, life, loyalty, and creativity makes me want to be better at everything I do. His ear is utterly unique, and his bass playing is nuanced and powerful! These are people I consider my brothers, and just being around them makes music happen.  There’s a strong theme of connection and longing in this song. Was that inspired by personal experience, or more a reflection of the world people are living in right now? This song, much like the majority of our new record, (coming out June 26th) was written in a room with all of us together. I think most recording musicians have had enough time to sit and work alone during and after the pandemic. We made an effort to focus rehearsals on writing, and so many of the grooves felt like a reconnecting and a return. This has been very exciting, and what was old became new once more, getting in a room with your friends and writing! This spirit of being together led to a record that shines with happiness, dance grooves, and a real feeling of togetherness. Most of the lyrics were recorded as the songs took shape and were just written down after the writing session. This song seemed to be about love and romance lyrically. Cold Engines has worked with a long list of collaborators and guest musicians. How do those outside voices shape the band’s sound without losing your core identity? For good or bad, we never fail to sound like OUR band. The friends we’ve met, shared stages with, and have gotten to know over so many years traveling the world creating art have only sharpened that unique sound we make together. We feel blessed to have some of the finest musicians in the world lend their talents to our songs and records! After such a prolific run of releases, what still excites you about making new music today that maybe didn’t exist earlier in your career? For me, over 60 albums ago, as a very young kid, I found myself in a two-inch tape studio staring at the glowing lights of some API VU meters and listening back to the first song I’d ever cut. I can still feel the sense of opportunity, purpose, wonder, possibilities, and above all, a way to get the feelings in my heart OUT into the world that I felt then now. Every time I hear a sharp hook, a good lyric, a killer groove, a great bass part, hand drums, or anything the band brings into the world, that feeling of purpose feels as fresh now as it did that very first day. Being an artist for me reached a point where it wasn’t a decision; I’m simply compelled to create as a means to communicate the overflow of passion and inspiration I gather from the world and people around me. It’s truly a way of being and a way of life.

Rock music has always thrived on tension. The push between doubt and defiance. The moment where frustration finally turns into movement. That exact pressure point lives inside Dead Churches ’ debut EP “Fear and Faith.” Founded by two brothers in Vancouver, the band mixes the storytelling weight of Americana with the punch of early 2000s rock and the raw urgency of hardcore punk. The result feels gritty, emotional, and unapologetically loud. Across the six-track project, frontman Devin leans into themes that most people quietly carry but rarely talk about openly. Loss. Regret. Addiction. Mental health. The uncomfortable question of whether the systems we live under actually serve us. The EP opens with “Royal Blue,” immediately establishing the band’s sonic identity. Crunching guitars drive forward while the vocals carry a rough emotional edge that feels closer to confession than performance. Then there is “Living Hell,” which leans harder into the band’s punk instincts. The energy is chaotic in the best way. You can hear echoes of bands like early Green Day or The Gaslight Anthem in the way the track balances aggression with melody. But the real power of “Fear and Faith” is its emotional through-line. Even when the lyrics explore darker territory, the songs never feel hopeless. Instead, they feel confrontational. The band is daring listeners to face the same uncomfortable questions. Tracks like “Hymns” and “Violent Dreams” slow the tempo slightly, giving the songwriting space to breathe while still maintaining the EP’s gritty tone. It is reflective without losing momentum. What makes Dead Churches particularly interesting right now is how independent the entire operation is. The band records, shoots, and edits their own music videos while building their fanbase without label backing. Their first single even landed radio play on a Vancouver alternative station purely through grassroots effort. And they are just getting started. With a BC tour kicking off in May, new singles produced by Steve Bays on the way, and a full-length album already in the works with producer Tim Creviston, Dead Churches are clearly playing the long game. “Fear and Faith” is not just a debut. It is a declarat ion. “Fear and Faith” tackles heavy themes like addiction, regret, and questioning institutions. Were there moments while writing where the songs became emotionally difficult to finish? Devin: Y es, but it was written over a period of years. Some parts were finished later. Some of it came easily and immediately, and some of it had to be workshopped. The recording process was long. There was a lot going on around the creation of the EP over a number of years. There were band members leaving, breakups, 2 rehab stays, our parents divorced, managing shared custody with my young daughter, more breakups, layoffs, strikes, a pandemic, a lot of chaos, and uncertainty. Regardless of all this happening in our lives, one of my only goals was to finish this thing.  You blend Americana storytelling with punk intensity. Was that something you planned, or did it evolve naturally as the songs came together? Eric: It really is just the natural outcome of our process and influences as brothers. Our chemistry makes it so easy that it’s almost non-verbal most of the time. Devin will usually have a pretty much completed song written on acoustic guitar with lyrics and everything, but when we start building it in our studio with electric guitar and drums, it just takes on a different shape. The other elements have to compete with the drums in terms of volume, speed, and intensity. So, if it were a different band with a different drummer, Devin’s songs could sound country or pop or indie, but both of us have this lifelong dedication and admiration for big, loud, intense rock music. It’s not planned this way, but there is definitely a focused vision and an undeniable passion for what we do. It’s more about what  we are or who  we are rather than “ what do we wanna sound like ?”  As a band built by two brothers, how does that dynamic shape the way you write, argue, and ultimately finish songs? Eric: We’ve been through so much together that even if we argue, we know that things can always be worse. We’re at a point now that we are hyper-focused and aligned with our goals. Our north star is Dead Churches, so every decision stems from that. Finishing songs is not really an issue because our process is so natural, and we basically live at our studio. So, although it can be challenging at times, and we are both intense people, we actually get along really well 98% of the time. We have things set up now so that when Devin receives a signal on his antenna for a song, we can write and demo in real time. Our differences complement each other, and our teamwork is a superpower. You’ve built everything independently, from music videos to radio momentum. What have been the biggest challenges of staying fully DIY? Eric: Honestly, the biggest challenge is always money! We have a good idea about the things we want to do and accomplish, and we carve out our own career path in our minds and figure out moves to make, but the biggest blocker is always money! We’ve learned to adapt and use our networks and cut costs where we can, but there are some things that just cost money, and there’s no way around it if you want it to look and sound good! Devin and I have worked some pretty gnarly days on construction sites and still come into the studio to rehearse or plan things out. We never stopped or took time off, even if our backs are broken, and skin is burnt and hands mangled. We worked crazy night shifts for years on film sets, and every other hour of the day was spent at our HQ. Another blocker is just knowledge or experience in the industry. We do our research, and we have some pretty cool friends in the industry as well, but at the end of the day, it’s a business, and sometimes the lack of knowledge, direction, or connection can be a blocker when trying to level up or take the next step. What we’ve noticed is that our work ethic and reputation have grown to be solid gold. When you get to a place where you’re trying to do something ambitious, we find that people will be glad to help out or do things for free because they believe in you.  The EP asks listeners to question both authority and their own resilience. What does rebellion look like for Dead Churches in 2026? Devin: We do what we’re doing in spite of anything; we don’t do this for money (obviously). Our message is this: don’t believe in the internet, don’t believe your government, don’t “drink the kool-aid” at your job. No one is your boss. Believe in yourself. The system was designed to keep us at the bottom and to fight amongst ourselves. The present global situation is proof that the constructs of our society are fucking bullshit. When you can’t earn enough to pay your rent with a full-time job, then something is broken. Our rebellion is spreading punk rock and rock’n’roll, not as fashion but as a mindset.

Some songs talk about toxic relationships like distant memories. TARUKI’ s debut single “BLEED” sounds like it is still happening in real time. The project, led by vocalist and songwriter Joe Jones, arrives with a sound that feels intentionally rough around the edges. That rawness is not accidental. TARUKI is built around the idea that music should feel human again. Vintage amplifiers, tape recording, and real performances. Less digital polish. More emotional friction. You can hear that philosophy immediately. “BLEED” opens with thick guitars that feel heavy without becoming chaotic. The production leans dark and atmospheric, giving the song a sense of tension that never fully releases. It feels like standing in the middle of an emotional storm that refuses to pass. Jones’s vocal delivery carries the weight of the story. There is frustration in his voice, but also exhaustion. The kind that shows up when someone has been fighting the same emotional battle for too long. Lyrically, the track digs into the psychological damage of a parasitic relationship. Early lines establish the core theme of self-erasure, describing the space between two people where identity begins to dissolve. Love becomes survival. Survival becomes dependency. But the real punch comes later. By the final chorus, the narrative flips inward with the brutal question: “Am I your fucking disease?” It is the moment where anger turns into self-doubt. When the damage has lasted long enough that blame becomes impossible to untangle. That perspective shift gives “BLEED” its emotional depth. Behind the scenes, TARUKI operates less like a traditional band and more like a creative collective built on trust. Jones collaborates closely with longtime sonic architect Greg M. Johnson, whose work includes Powerman 5000 and ONE OK ROCK, alongside bassist Graham Rowell and Connor Denis of Beartooth. The result is a debut that feels deliberate and unfiltered. And if “BLEED” is the introduction, the upcoming full-length album expected later this year might dig even deeper into the darker corners of alternative rock. "BLEED" captures the moment when anger turns inward, and you start questioning yourself. Was writing the line "Am I your fucking disease?" a difficult moment creatively? Yes. That flipped perspective in BLEED was written about a long-term relationship, and inside that relationship, I lost who I was, who I thought I was. I did everything I could to try and make it work, to keep that light from fading. But on the flip side, I started to question if it was my fault. Am I not enough? Am I the reason you left? Am I why you're unhappy? Was it the unrelenting and stubborn pursuit of my dreams that somehow drove you away into someone else's arms? TARUKI operates more like a creative collective than a traditional band. How does that structure change the way songs evolve in the studio? So the process typically goes, I come up with a riff, a verse, or a chorus. From there, it goes to my friend and long-time creative partner, Greg. If he feels it resonates as a strong idea, we start developing it, and I track the demo at my studio, laying out the outline. From there, we have our bones. Then it goes to Graham, who adds his input and ideas, as well as tracking the bass. We all work remotely, though I often go to Greg's studio to weigh in on mixes or work out something we just can't crack apart. At that point, it's time to bring in collaborators on drums. Connor Denis is on BLEED, as well as several other songs on the coming record, and later in the year, you'll also hear Ben Cato, formerly of The Dangerous Summer and currently of Best Case, on some songs as well. We try to match songs to people based on their strengths. The guys and I will listen to a demo and typically know right away who we want drumming on it. Basically, it's like a layered set of creative filters; it starts with me and works its way down the chain until we have a song we're all proud of. Then it hits tape and gets shipped to Gentry Studer to master. You intentionally chose vintage amps, tape recording, and live performances instead of heavy digital editing. What emotional qualities do you think modern rock sometimes loses through overproduction? Yeah, so I grew up in the sunset of real amps, so I was really used to modelers and digital amp sims. But it wasn't until my dear friend Jason Achilles, a musician and audio engineer known for capturing the first audio on Mars through his work at NASA, that I started to question my approach. I would talk to him for hours about not being able to get the feeling out of my music that I heard in the songs I grew up on. He drove it hard into me that current production has erased the human imprint and entropy that defined music in the past. So despite a lot of hesitation from the team, I bought a Mesa Boogie Dual Rectifier, an analog vocal chain, and an Otari MX-5050 2-track tape machine, and pretty much forced everyone to try it. To my surprise, everyone loved it, and there it was. That unexplainable glue, that depth, that sound I remembered hearing growing up. It's not that digital is bad; it's that I think it's being over-applied. I watched so many mix videos of notable modern songs I really liked, and just about every time it was "yeah, we use this amp sim, and it's pretty much the default preset." I think that is such a problem. Everyone uses the same gear, the same plug-ins, the same pitch-perfect Melodyne, and in that pursuit of polished perfection, the song becomes more machine than human. I want the music we make to be imperfect, just like all of us are. I want to hear that fill fall out of time and that vocal drift away from perfect pitch. To me, that is where the emotion lives. It's in the broken pieces that make us all human. The song explores how long-term emotional damage can distort identity. Do you see songwriting as a way of rebuilding that sense of self? To me, songs are my therapy, my ability to deal with my inability to cope. I see each song as a snow globe, if you will, of something I find hard to take. A moment in time that cut me deep enough that I have to put it in its own world to examine it, understand it, release it, and finally put it back on the shelf so I can move on. You won't find me writing happy TARUKI songs. You'll find me writing about what keeps me up at night, what's hard for me to face, the pain, the grief, the suffering, and ultimately some form of acceptance of that through art. With "BLEED" introducing the project, how much of the upcoming album will continue exploring darker emotional territory? The record itself, though not always sonically dark, will remain emotionally heavy. The coming album is a journal of the last four years of my life, all the people I've lost, my dad dying, some of my closest friends taking their own lives, and figuring out how to move on from being so broken to finding some kind of light I can face. The only way I could do that was to face the things that hurt me the most first. In closing, this song and the coming record are my stages of grief. And it ends in acceptance.

Some artists write breakup songs. Malsi writes emotional ecosystems. Her latest single, “Year of the Ocean,” drifts through alternative R&B, soul, jazz, and atmospheric electronic textures in a way that feels both intimate and cinematic. It is the kind of track that does not rush to impress you. Instead, it slowly pulls you under the surface. Malsi describes the song as a reflection on a relationship that started thrilling but eventually felt dangerous. The emotional push and pull mirrors the unpredictable nature of the ocean itself. One moment calm and beautiful, the next moment turbulent and overwhelming. That mood carries directly into the production. Built around airy keys, deep bass currents, and layered vocal textures, the track floats somewhere between experimental R&B and what Malsi calls her own lane: electrosoul. The sound design feels fluid and immersive, like waves slowly rolling in and out. Nothing is rushed. Everything breathes. Then there are the vocals. Malsi’s voice moves through the production with a quiet confidence that feels hypnotic. Her vocal layering is particularly striking. Harmonies shimmer in the background like distant echoes, creating a dreamy sonic space that feels both soothing and emotionally charged. Lyrically, the track carries more weight than the mellow sound initially suggests. “Year of the Ocean” explores themes of autonomy, emotional safety, and spiritual clarity after walking away from a relationship that began to feel dangerous. The message is clear without being preachy. Recognizing your worth is not just empowering. It is survival. Malsi also expands the conversation beyond the relationship itself, touching on the lack of mental health education for men and how that absence can ripple through relationships and communities. It is heavy subject matter, but the song never feels hopeless. Instead, it feels like a release. That emotional resonance is already connecting with listeners. Since its release, “Year of the Ocean” has climbed the Hypeddit Top 100 R&B chart, jumping from 99 to 55 in just a few weeks. For an artist already known for crafting her own sonic universe, the track feels like another step deeper into that world. And honestly, it is a place worth getting lost in. You describe your sound as “electrosoul.” At what point did you realize the music you were making didn’t really fit inside traditional genre boxes anymore? While I was creating my first album, Hades, I realized that what "felt right" to me instinctually at that time didn't really fit any traditional genre. As I continued to produce music in the following years, and my sound fell more into the electropop and electro-rnb categories (I felt like I needed to fit more into a commercial box during that time), my signature "Malsi" sound still remained embedded in those songs. As I've grown as an artist, I've finally fully embraced that I have a different style and sound in general, and I'm completely okay with that. “Year of the Ocean” uses water and lunar imagery to describe emotional cycles. When you write, do metaphors like that come naturally, or are they something you intentionally build into the storytelling? I find that metaphors tend to come to me naturally; I've always loved writing, and my English classes were probably my strongest back in high school. However, these days I tend to approach a new song with the idea or metaphor in mind, and then I build the world of the song around that concept, although I still allow my instincts to guide me the majority of the way through. The song touches on autonomy, emotional safety, and the lack of mental health education for men. Were you ever worried about how openly addressing those themes might be received? I definitely was. Not by my closest friends or family, but I'm more worried about listeners out there who may feel triggered. As someone who cares about the wellness of my listeners, I really try to promote healing energy through my music, and this was important to me. However, my observations of men in relationships (whether it was a few of my own, or of loved ones, or even of acquaintances) over time have led me to attempt to discuss these problems that directly impact women through my music. And I am curious to hear if you've observed this too: the increase in articles and people speaking up across social media platforms has become a more public discussion, which also encouraged me to more openly discuss the need for mental health education for men as well. You produce and shape your own sound from the ground up. How does controlling the production process change the way you express vulnerability in your music? Making music is something that's an incredibly vulnerable experience for me. Vulnerability feeds my sound. Plus, I've worked with various producers at this point, which has helped me get more comfortable with expressing myself fully and try new things with my voice, lyrics, and general musical style (jazz, rnb, etc). The Year of the Ocean itself was produced by one of my friends, Simpatico. I'm so grateful I was able to run with it in a way that translated my own sound through our musical enmeshment. Your background spans sociology, visual arts, and learning design. How do those disciplines influence the way you approach songwriting and building your sonic world? Sociology because I've always been curious about how groups of people work, and I have a deep appreciation for different cultures (I'm Bangladeshi myself). Visual and Dramatic Arts because I was a shy kid, and theatre helped me get out of my shell. Learning design because I believe education is the equalizer, regardless of race, gender, and class, and accessibility to education is what determines that (so strong, accessible learning design = access, in my opinion). These are all common themes in my music, whether I talk about my teaching background (and education in general), my Bangladeshi culture, or race/gender/class divides.

Independent pop artist Berlin Fussy is turning a painful friendship into a bold statement with her latest single, “I Got You Now.” The track flips the usual breakup-song narrative on its head, focusing not on romance but on the fallout of a toxic friendship. The song pulls inspiration from Berlin’s own experiences with difficult friendships, including one recent relationship that pushed things further than ever before. Rather than quietly walking away, she turned the situation into a defiant pop anthem about standing up for yourself and recognizing someone’s true character. “This song is sort of a revenge song,” Berlin explains. “This is me saying, ‘you can say whatever you want about me, but I know who you really are.’” What makes the track stand out is its perspective. While breakup songs dominate pop music, friendships ending can sometimes cut just as deeply. “I Got You Now” taps into that emotional territory, encouraging listeners not to ignore toxic behavior simply because it comes from someone labeled as a friend. Berlin hopes the song gives listeners permission to prioritize their own well-being. Sometimes that means confrontation, and sometimes it means walking away entirely. “If people are going through something like this, they don’t have to be afraid to cut someone off,” she says. “Having one less friend is better than having a toxic one.” With a music video for “I Got You Now” already in the works and set to release soon on her YouTube channel, Berlin Fussy continues building a catalog of pop songs grounded in honesty, storytelling, and the messy realities of real-life relationships. “I Got You Now” focuses on a toxic friendship rather than a romantic breakup. What inspired you to write about that specific experience?   I have gone through many toxic friendships, but I went through one recently that was way worse than the rest. I use music as a way to express my feelings and to let people who I don’t speak to anymore know where I stand on our situation. So you/they can see where I stand on this specific situation if you listen to the song. I also like to use music as a way to relate to others. I hope other people can listen to this song and relate it to something they’ve gone through, or it inspires them to end a friendship they should’ve ended a while ago.  Your lyrics seem very personal and story-driven. How important are lyrics in your songwriting process compared to the music itself?   Lyrics are extremely important in my songwriting process. They are the bones of the song. Obviously, the music itself is important as well, but the lyrics really tell the story. I try to pull specific details from my real life to write my lyrics. It makes the song unique and personal to me.  Many people stay in unhealthy friendships longer than they should. What helped you reach the point where you felt ready to stand up for yourself?   Just simply being tired of trying to appeal to and making excuses for this person is what made me reach my breaking point. There were so many things that this person did  that I made excuses for, and tried to give them the  benefit of the doubt. The biggest problem was all the lying, then the lies started becoming about me, and that was when I couldn’t do it anymore. It really sucks to have to cut someone out who you thought was your good friend, but sometimes you need to do hard things to improve your life.  Do you find writing songs like this therapeutic, or does it bring those emotions back to the surface while creating? I think it really depends. If it’s still pretty fresh and I’m still in the depression stage of grief, it can definitely bring out a sad song. If I’m past being sad and I’m in the anger stage, then it feels more therapeutic to write angry songs about it. However, I think even if writing a song brings up the emotions, it can be therapeutic to continue writing. It acts as a journal of sorts; I’m able to get my emotions out onto paper, and it makes me feel a lot better.  With a music video coming soon for “I Got You Now,” what can fans expect visually from the story behind the song?   If you’ve seen my promos, it will be a lot of the same kind of thing. The western mixed with a biker vibe. I really wanted to incorporate bandits into the video (especially with the wanted poster on the cover of the single), but I also couldn’t unsee myself in that red leather jacket. I decided to combine the two and do a western/biker theme for the video. The video will be a dramatic retelling of the real story behind the song.

Los Angeles indie pop artist Jack Drinker is turning emotional whiplash into dancefloor catharsis on his new single “Adrenaline.” The track captures the complicated headspace that can follow heartbreak, when vulnerability starts to feel like a liability and the only thing that makes sense is chasing the rush of the moment. Originally from California’s South Bay, Drinker built his musical foundation singing in church choirs and performing in musicals before later studying music at the UCLA Herb Alpert School of Music. Those early influences still shape his work today, blending theatrical emotion with modern indie pop production and confessional lyricism. On “Adrenaline,” that emotional honesty sits beneath a glossy pop surface. The track moves with club-ready energy, built around shimmering synths, layered vocals, and a pulsing rhythm designed for late nights out with friends. But underneath the momentum is a deeper story about identity, heartbreak, and reclaiming personal power. Drinker wrote the song during a period when he felt himself shifting away from his usual hopeless romantic tendencies. After repeatedly leading with vulnerability in relationships, he found himself exploring the opposite approach: emotional distance, fleeting connections, and the temporary high of distraction. “Adrenaline” lives in that exact moment, the night out after a breakup when you tell yourself you’re fine, even if the truth is more complicated. The song also touches on an experience many queer listeners know well, particularly within the fast-paced dating culture of Los Angeles. While the track pulses with seductive, high-energy pop, its emotional core reflects the tension between wanting connection and protecting yourself from getting hurt again. Drinker hopes listeners can engage with the song on whatever level they need in the moment. “More than anything, I want people to have fun with this song and let it take them somewhere else for a couple of minutes,” he says. “Some people will connect with the story underneath it, and others might just want to lose themselves in the energy.” With his confessional songwriting style, growing live presence across Los Angeles, and a debut album on the horizon, Jack Drinker continues to emerge as one of indie pop’s most emotionally transparent new voices, proving that sometimes the most powerful songs are the ones that dance right on top of the pain. “Adrenaline” explores a shift from vulnerability to emotional distance after heartbreak. What moment in your life sparked the idea for this song? “Adrenaline” really came from a period where I felt like I was having a bit of an identity crisis in my love life. I had always been such a hopeless romantic—like, I led with vulnerability every single time—and it kept leaving me feeling kind of burned. There wasn’t one single dramatic moment, but more of a buildup where I realized I was tired of being the one picking up the pieces. I hit this point where I just flipped the script and started keeping people at a distance, leaning into more casual, surface-level connections. The song lives right in that shift—it’s not about becoming cynical, it’s about that moment where you decide to protect yourself and take your power back, even if you’re still figuring out what that looks like. The track feels like a dancefloor anthem but has a deeper emotional layer underneath. How did you balance those two sides during the writing process? That balance was really important to me from the start. I wanted it to feel like something you could lose yourself in on a dancefloor, but also have that emotional weight if you really listen to the lyrics. A lot of that came from how I naturally approach vocals—I grew up singing in choir, so I’m always thinking in terms of layers, harmonies, and dynamics to carry emotion. And working with Jaye Locke really helped bring that vision to life. He pushed the production into that house/EDM world so it hits hard, but we were really intentional about leaving space for the storytelling. So you get this track that feels euphoric and high-energy on the surface, but underneath it’s actually about avoiding your feelings and putting on a bit of a front. You mention that queer dating culture in Los Angeles influenced the song. How much did your environment shape the story behind “Adrenaline”? Honestly, a lot. Living in LA definitely shaped the emotional world of the song. The dating scene here can feel really fast-paced and, at times, a little transactional—like everyone’s always looking for the next best thing. I think especially within queer dating culture, there’s this really specific experience where you start out believing in this big, romantic idea of love, and then over time you become more guarded after getting hurt. “Adrenaline” sits right in that in-between space. It’s those nights of going out, getting ready with your friends, convincing yourself you’re unbothered—when really, you’re still processing everything underneath. Your music often blends confessional songwriting with polished pop production. Which artists or albums helped shape that sound for you? That’s so nice to hear. I’ve always been drawn to pop artists who can build a full world within an album—where every track feels different but still cohesive. I also grew up mimicking a lot of different artists, which honestly helped me discover my own voice and how I like to tell stories. Because I rely more on my ear than formal training, I pull inspiration from all over—different genres, different vocal styles—and then filter that through a really personal, confessional lens. That combination of big, cinematic pop production with very honest, sometimes messy emotions is what feels the most natural to me. Troye Sivan was definitely a huge inspiration for me in 2018 when I began making my own music. I went to his Bloom Tour at the Greek Theatre, and I genuinely felt the feeling that that was going to be me one day, or that I would die trying. The artists that I love the most are the artists that pave their own way and don’t shy away from being different or telling the hard truths in their lives. Other albums that have really inspired mine are Ryan Beatty’s ‘Calico’, Conan Gray’s ‘Kid Krow’, Melanie Martinez’s ‘K-12’, Billie Eilish’s ‘Happier Than Ever’, Role Model’s ‘Kansas Anymore’, and so many more. With a debut album on the horizon, how do you see your songwriting evolving from the themes explored in “Adrenaline”? “Adrenaline” definitely feels like the gateway into the album. It introduces that more confident, high-energy side of me, but the storytelling is still very personal. The album as a whole goes a lot deeper—it moves through different phases of relationships, growing pains, and self-reflection. “Adrenaline” is deep, but you have to piece that together a bit. There are other songs on the album that are a lot more specific and feel almost like open-heart surgery. Some songs are very introspective, almost like my inner thoughts spilled out, while others lean into a more fun side, like “Adrenaline” and a song I love called “Blurry Vision”. Compared to my earlier work, it feels more expansive and a bit more self-aware. I think I’m still exploring how to be as vulnerable as possible while also making songs that are interesting, but from a place that feels self-assured and more grounded than ever before.