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In an era where every artist has access to the same distribution platforms, the same social media tools, and the same algorithms, breaking through the noise in 2025 has become less about volume and more about intention. The music industry, once defined by gatekeepers in corner offices, is now shaped by artists who understand something more fundamental: visibility is engineered, not accidental.  That shift has created a new class of power players in the independent sector, not labels or playlist curators, but publicists and brand architects who help turn raw creative output into cultural impact.  Among the firms leading this shift is Starlight PR ,  a boutique agency that has quietly become one of the most trusted partners for emerging artists looking to step into a bigger arena. While some PR companies chase virality, Starlight has leaned into something more enduring: disciplined storytelling, premium positioning, and the belief that artists deserve the same level of media craftsmanship long reserved for major-label acts.  The New PR Playbook: Less Noise, More Narrative   Look across today’s landscape, and the shift is undeniable. Major artists still dominate charts, but independent acts now dominate conversation. Some of the biggest breakout stories in the last two years have come from artists who didn’t have a label advance but had a consistent narrative, high-quality press moments, and the ability to define their own public identity.  Publicity has evolved from a support function into a core creative asset. A strong campaign doesn’t just announce music; it contextualizes it. It gives audiences and editors a reason to care.  “Artists aren’t just competing with each other,” says one veteran A&R who has watched the new ecosystem develop in real time. “They’re competing with the entire internet. It’s not enough to drop a record. You need a story, a point of view, and a way to make people feel like they’re discovering something meaningful.”  That’s the gap agencies like Starlight PR have stepped in to fill, helping artists build a narrative that extends beyond a single release cycle.  Why Press Still Matters in the Age of Algorithms   It’s become fashionable in some corners of the industry to dismiss press as outdated relic from a pre-TikTok era. But the data tells a different story.  Artists with verified press placements:  • receive more editorial playlist consideration  • see significantly higher conversion rates on ads  • are approached earlier by festival bookers • experience longer-term growth versus algorithm-dependent spikes  Press is no longer about chasing a review. It’s about building credibility signals external validation that speaks to curators, managers, agents, and brands.  That’s why firms like Starlight PR focus on curated, strategic placements instead of broad shotgun outreach. It is not just about quantity; it’s about the quality and alignment of every feature.    What’s particularly notable in 2025 is how independent artists have elevated their expectations. They want a premium experience, the kind major-label artists receive, and they’re willing to invest in it.  A wave of boutique firms has emerged to meet that demand, but Starlight PR stands out for its dedication to white-glove service in a segment that has historically been transactional. Their campaigns emphasize clarity, communication, and a luxury-level onboarding process that feels more like entering a partnership than purchasing a service.  As one rising R&B artist put it after a recent campaign, “For the first time, I felt like my story was being handled with intention like I wasn’t just another pitch in somebody’s inbox.”  Looking Ahead: The Artists Who Will Win   The next generation of breakthrough acts won’t necessarily be the ones with the biggest budgets or the most viral clips. They’ll be the ones who know who they are and who surround themselves with teams that know how to amplify that identity with precision.  Authenticity is no longer optional. Consistency is no longer optional. And competitive PR, the kind that shapes how the world sees you, is no longer optional either. The independent artists winning today are the ones treating their careers like brands, not side hustles. And as the industry continues to evolve, one thing is becoming increasingly clear: great music may open the door, but great narrative keeps it open. In 2025, that narrative is often shaped by the people behind the scenes, the publicists, storytellers, and strategists, turning emerging talent into emerging movements.

There’s a specific kind of loneliness that hits when you realize your circle didn’t shrink overnight; it thinned out slowly, politely, without drama. No falling outs. No villains. Just distance. That’s the emotional core of “ Lonely Again ,” the latest release from NTHN , and it lands harder because it doesn’t beg for sympathy or spiral into theatrics. NTHN operates in the grey space between cloud rap, emo rap, and underground alternative hip hop, but what really sets him apart is his restraint. He calls his process “cloudsampling” taking casually recorded street sounds and reshaping them into airy, immersive soundscapes. The result feels lived-in, not overdesigned. Nothing here is screaming for attention, and that’s the point. “Lonely Again” was inspired by a moment most people don’t talk about: being in a room packed with over a thousand people and realizing only one of them actually knows you. The track wrestles with that contradiction, community versus connection, noise versus intimacy. It questions why so much energy gets poured into people who disappear when life stops being fun, while quietly acknowledging gratitude for the few who stay. Sonically, the song mirrors that emotional tension. On the surface, it’s surprisingly catchy, almost deceptively light. But underneath, there’s weight. The sadness isn’t loud or dramatic; it’s internalized, folded into the atmosphere. It reflects the way loneliness often presents itself in adulthood: functional, composed, hidden behind small talk and routine. The December 26 release date isn’t accidental. For NTHN, it’s a low point, the crash after the forced joy of the holidays, when expectations of happiness feel heavier than usual. Christmas, for him, carries pressure: to feel grateful, to feel okay, to maintain stability even when something inside is off. “Lonely Again” becomes a way of processing that comedown, capturing the feeling of appearing fine while quietly bracing for isolation to return. What makes the track resonate is its honesty without self-pity. This isn’t a song about being abandoned; it’s about growing older, settling into life, and realizing that fulfillment and loneliness can exist at the same time. NTHN doesn’t dramatize the loss of friendships—he documents it, calmly and clearly. As he puts it: “I’m at a very reflective point in my life… fulfilled, and at the same time, out of touch with a lot of friends who I used to be close to. I just wanted to share my experience with loneliness and hopefully, others won’t feel so alone.” “Lonely Again” doesn’t try to fix loneliness or romanticize it. It just names it. And in a culture obsessed with constant connection, that quiet honesty feels rare and necessary. You talk a lot about fading friendships on ‘Lonely Again.’ Was there a specific moment when you realized your circle had permanently changed, or was it more of a slow, uncomfortable awareness? I'd say it all sort of happened quite gradually - I don't think there was one single, defining moment. The time I feel it most is straight after an occasion or celebration, where there's so much love and company that can be gone in an instant the next day. That's always been hard for me, and I think this in particular was the inspiration for the track, but equally, there's probably an element of me being more selective about who I share my life with, and a smaller circle isn't always such a bad thing.  Your music often sounds calm on the surface but heavy underneath. Is that intentional, a reflection of how you move through life emotionally, appearing okay while carrying more than you show? I'd say so, yeah! I've never thought about it like that. I'm generally pretty open about how I feel, but I've had experience with people asking how I am and, when I've been more honest, it's been a bit too much for them, which I understand, but it's certainly made me more cautious. I tend to use my music to express how I feel, but I like to make it accessible at the same time, so that listeners can read into it as much as they're comfortable with.  You’ve described your process as ‘cloudsampling.’ What does it give you emotionally that traditional production doesn’t, and why do street sounds feel like the right raw material for your stories? Everything I write is based on my experience, so sampling my environment feels like it brings a real sense of authenticity to the sound. It actually started because when I used to try to use 'real' samples, I kept getting copyright strikes. I just got sick of the restrictions, so I sampled some things that aren't even instruments, just textures or tones that inspire me. I heavily process it into something melodic, airy, and ethereal that really taps into your emotions - that's cloudsampling. Nowadays, though, I feel like there are so many talented experimental producers out and underground artists are getting the recognition they deserve, so traditional is hard to define, but I do feel that some production is a bit too 'clean' and lacks the real-life noise and grit that come with the field recordings and sampling. Releasing this track right after Christmas feels very intentional. Do you think we talk enough about how isolating the comedown after ‘forced happiness’ can be, especially for people who already struggle with their mood? I definitely feel this a lot, and I think it's important to talk about it. On any occasion, I spend the whole 'high' worried about whether I look or seem happy enough, whether I'm portraying myself in the way that's expected, then the next day, it's all over, and it takes me a while to level out. I keep my birthday super low-key for that reason, I prefer to just keep close family and friends around me when I can, and not do too much that'll throw the balance off. They all know that, though, and since I told them, everything got a lot more comfortable. Now that you’re feeling more settled but less connected to old friends, what does real connection look like to you at this stage of your life—and how has that changed the way you create? There are friends I've not spoken to or seen in years, but still, I know I could call or see at any moment, and things would feel like they always did. That, for me, is a real connection. Just the comfort of knowing they're there is enough and not feeling any pressure to be or act a certain way to maintain it. In terms of how it's affected how I create, I think having a small circle has made me more confident and experimental - I don't have to impress these people, they know me far too well for that to ever be a worry, and I'm no longer apprehensive about putting myself out there. In fact, through music and my Clouded North brand, I've met some incredible people and made some really meaningful connections, so in a way, they both go hand in hand now. I really feel like I'm learning to just be myself more these days and embracing that, with the people who are on the same journey with me.

Closure is rarely a conversation. It’s almost never an apology. Most of the time, it’s a quiet internal shift, the moment you stop waiting for something that isn’t coming. Music has a way of meeting us there. Not to fix the story, but to help us set it down. These songs don’t offer answers. They offer release. And sometimes, that’s the most honest form of closure there is. About Today – The National “About Today” feels like the emotional aftermath, the part nobody talks about once the damage is already done. It’s restrained, slow-burning, and devastating in its simplicity. The song doesn’t explain what went wrong, and that’s exactly why it works. It captures the quiet realization that something meaningful has ended, and nothing dramatic needs to happen for it to be true. Kettering – The Antlers This track feels like closure through understanding rather than forgiveness. “Kettering” is heavy, reflective, and deeply human, tracing the emotional weight of care, loss, and responsibility. It doesn’t resolve its pain; it acknowledges it, allowing the listener to accept that some experiences leave marks that don’t disappear, only soften. I Will Follow You Into the Dark – Death Cab for Cutie Few songs feel this final without being cold. This is closure rooted in love, not loss, an acceptance of impermanence that feels strangely comforting. It doesn’t promise answers beyond this life, but it offers companionship through uncertainty, which is often what we’re actually searching for. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room – John Mayer This song understands the moment when you know something is ending but aren’t ready to leave yet. It’s closure that comes too late, when the damage is already done, but the attachment lingers. The emotional clarity hits quietly, like realizing you’ve been grieving something while still inside it. Mariners Apartment Complex – Lana Del Rey This is a self-authored closure. Lana steps out of the narrative others have written for her and reclaims her own voice. The song doesn’t tie up loose ends; it simply refuses to keep explaining itself. That confidence, that emotional boundary-setting, is its resolution. Cigarettes & Saints – The Wonder Years Anger can be a form of closure, too. This song doesn’t soften grief or make peace with it; it names it. Loudly. It’s about reckoning with loss that didn’t need to happen, and finding release not through acceptance, but through truth. Sometimes closure is finally letting yourself be angry. I Know – Fiona Apple “I Know” is devastating in its restraint. It’s the sound of letting go without blame, explanation, or drama. Fiona doesn’t ask to be understood; she simply accepts the ending as it is. That emotional maturity, that quiet surrender, feels like closure earned the hard way. Poison Oak – Bright Eyes This song feels like revisiting old wounds with new eyes. “Poison Oak” doesn’t rewrite the past, it recontextualizes it. There’s pain here, but also distance. The kind of distance that only comes with time, when you can finally look back without being pulled under. I Know It’s Over – The Smiths This song doesn’t offer closure gently; it hands it to you raw. “I Know It’s Over” is the sound of finality settling in, not with peace, but with clarity. Morrissey leans fully into longing and isolation, allowing the listener to sit inside the ache without distraction. Closure here isn’t relief; it’s recognition. The recognition that something has ended, and no amount of wishing will reopen it. No Distance Left to Run – Blur There’s something quietly devastating about emotional exhaustion. This song captures the moment when persistence turns into acceptance, not because you’ve been defeated, but because continuing no longer makes sense. “No Distance Left to Run” feels like stopping mid-journey and realizing the destination doesn’t matter anymore. That realization, painful as it is, becomes its own form of closure. Liability – Lorde “Liability” is closure through self-awareness. It doesn’t rewrite the past or demand reassurance; it simply acknowledges emotional patterns that no longer serve you. Lorde’s honesty creates a space where loneliness isn’t dramatized, it’s understood. Closure arrives when you stop arguing with yourself about who you are and start letting that truth exist without apology. Pink Moon – Nick Drake This song feels like emotional stillness after turbulence. “Pink Moon” doesn’t narrate closure; it embodies it. There’s no explanation, no reflection spelled out. Just a quiet acceptance that something has shifted. It’s the kind of closure that comes when words stop feeling necessary, and silence finally feels safe. Tolerate It – Taylor Swift Closure doesn’t always arrive with anger. Sometimes it comes with the realization that love shouldn’t require constant performance. “Tolerate It” captures the slow, internal unraveling of someone who has given too much for too little. The closure here is subtle but powerful; the moment you understand that being seen halfway isn’t the same as being loved. Rivers and Roads – The Head and the Heart Not all endings are dramatic. Some relationships fade simply because time moves forward. This song holds space for that quiet grief, the kind that comes with distance, growth, and change. Closure here isn’t about loss, but about gratitude. Loving something enough to let it become a memory without resentment. Myth – Beach House “Myth” feels like watching an illusion slowly dissolve. There’s no confrontation, no dramatic moment, just a gradual understanding that what you believed in no longer exists in the same way. The song’s hazy atmosphere mirrors that realization, offering closure through acceptance rather than explanation. Goodbye My Lover – James Blunt Sometimes closure is unapologetically emotional. This song doesn’t shy away from melodrama because it understands something important: grief doesn’t have to be subtle to be real. “Goodbye My Lover” allows the listener to fully feel the ending, not to wallow, but to finally release what’s been held in. Hard Feelings/Loveless – Lorde This track offers closure through honesty, even when that honesty stings. Lorde dismantles the emotional narrative piece by piece, refusing to soften the truth for comfort. Closure here comes from naming things as they are, rather than how you wish they were, a painful but freeing act. I Can’t Make You Love Me – Bonnie Raitt There may be no purer expression of emotional surrender than this song. It acknowledges a truth that can’t be negotiated: love cannot be forced. Closure arrives not with anger or bitterness, but with a quiet willingness to stop asking for what isn’t being offered. Video Games – Lana Del Rey This song doesn’t close the door; it simply stops pushing against it. “Video Games” feels like the moment you understand a relationship for what it was, not what you hoped it could be. Closure here is soft, reflective, and unresolved in the most honest way, a gentle acceptance rather than a clean ending.

Let’s be honest: not everyone wants peppermint pop and forced joy blasting from every speaker for an entire month. The holidays can be heavy, quiet, lonely, reflective, or just overstimulating as hell. If traditional holiday music makes you want to fake a phone call and leave the room, this list is for you. These aren’t Christmas songs. They’re the end-of-year songs. Music for night drives, empty kitchens, complicated families, end-of-year spirals, and moments where you just want the world to slow down. 1. River – Joni Mitchell Not technically a Christmas song, but spiritually devastating in the most winter-appropriate way. “River” captures the ache of wanting escape during a season built around togetherness. Soft, honest, timeless. 2. The Only Thing – Sufjan Stevens Quiet existential reckoning wrapped in delicate instrumentation. This is what plays when the decorations are still up, but the joy hasn’t shown up yet. 3. Motion Picture Soundtrack – Radiohead Haunting, reflective, and emotionally unresolved, which feels extremely accurate for late December. Not festive. Just real. 4. Moon – Kid Francescoli Dreamy, nocturnal, and detached in the best way. Perfect for winter nights when you’re avoiding small talk and staring out the window instead. 5. Cellophane – FKA twigs Vulnerable without being dramatic. This song feels like admitting something to yourself you’ve been avoiding all year, quietly. 6. Holocene – Bon Iver Cold air, wide space, emotional humility. Bon Iver remains undefeated for winter listening that doesn’t try to sell you happiness. 7. Night Shift – Lucy Dacus For anyone processing endings while everyone else is celebrating beginnings. Slow burn heartbreak with emotional payoff. 8. Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometime – The Korgis Melancholy pop perfection. Nostalgic without being corny, sad without being overwhelming. A reminder that change is unavoidable, even during the holidays. 9. Moon Song – Phoebe Bridgers December energy personified. Soft devastation, self-awareness, and emotional clarity wrapped in gentle instrumentation. 10. Between the Bars – Elliott Smith For the nights that feel too quiet and the thoughts that won’t shut up. Heavy, intimate, and painfully human, but never empty. Holiday music doesn’t have to sound like joy to be meaningful. Sometimes it just needs to acknowledge where you actually are. These songs don’t ask you to smile, celebrate, or pretend. They sit with you, and honestly, that’s the real gift. If you’re feeling disconnected this season, you’re not broken. You’re just listening differently. Why Does Music Help When You Feel Lonely? Loneliness isn’t just an emotional state; it’s a neurological one. When we feel isolated, the brain registers it similarly to physical pain, activating stress responses that heighten anxiety and emotional sensitivity. Music steps in as a kind of bridge, offering connection without requiring social interaction, which is exactly why it can feel so comforting when human closeness feels out of reach. From a scientific standpoint, listening to music activates the brain’s reward system, triggering the release of dopamine, the neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and motivation. This chemical response can gently counteract the emotional dullness that often accompanies loneliness, restoring a sense of engagement with the world. Even slow, melancholic music, especially music that mirrors how we feel, can produce this effect, because recognition itself is reassuring. Music also stimulates the release of oxytocin, sometimes referred to as the “bonding hormone.” While oxytocin is commonly linked to social connection, research suggests that music can evoke similar feelings of trust, safety, and emotional closeness. In other words, music can simulate companionship. It doesn’t replace human connection, but it reminds the brain what connection feels like. There’s also a regulation component at play. Rhythm and melody help synchronize brain activity, which can lower cortisol levels and reduce stress. This is why certain songs feel grounding during moments of emotional overload. When loneliness causes thoughts to spiral inward, music provides structure, a beginning, a middle, and an end, giving the mind something steady to hold onto. Perhaps most importantly, music validates emotion without demanding explanation. When you’re lonely, you don’t always want advice or optimism. You want acknowledgment. Music offers that acknowledgment in a way that feels private and non-invasive, allowing listeners to process feelings safely and at their own pace. In that sense, music doesn’t cure loneliness, but it softens it. It reminds us that someone else has felt this way before, translated it into sound, and left it there waiting. Sometimes, that quiet recognition is enough to make the solitude feel less empty.

Chloe Mayse isn’t making indie pop for background noise. She’s writing from the kind of emotional place most artists spend years avoiding. The queer, alternative pop singer-songwriter from Toronto just released her debut EP Dear Love … , and it feels less like a polished “first project” and more like a personal reckoning set to melody. Recorded between Los Angeles and Toronto, the EP captures real-life experiences as they happened, without sanding down the edges. Love, heartbreak, mental health, family fractures, and self-discovery all collide here, and Chloe doesn’t pretend to have clean answers. She just tells the truth. Her path into music already hinted at where she was headed. Early in her career, Chloe won a singing competition that put her on stage backing Tegan and Sara at the JUNO Awards, a moment that helped her envision herself not just as a singer, but as a queer artist with a future in music. A multi-instrumentalist who’s been singing since she was two, playing guitar since ten, and writing songs since fifteen, Chloe has always treated songwriting as more than a creative outlet. It’s been a way to understand herself, her queerness, and the world around her, while also advocating openly for mental health and the queer community in Toronto. Dear Love…  takes its name from Chloe’s writing process. Each song is written like a journal entry, addressed to love in all its forms, including self-love. The EP opens with “High School,” a track that captures the loneliness of being fifteen and trying to fit into the version of life you think you’re supposed to want. Parties, crushes, expectations, and the hope of first love all swirl together, but what lingers is isolation. Chloe writes about loving a girl who never truly saw her back the same way, wrapping heartbreak in youthful, live-show energy that feels both nostalgic and quietly painful. On “Come Here With Me,” Chloe leans into the temptation of reopening a door that never fully closed. The song centers on reminiscing about a love that once felt safe, wondering if it could ever return to what it was. With lines that offer loyalty and reassurance, the track explores the hope that love doesn’t always end for good, even when it probably should. It’s about believing a second chance is possible, even when memory and reality don’t quite match. “Mad In Love” shifts the tone into something more intense and consuming. The song lives in the space between devotion and emotional dependence, where love becomes the thing that keeps you grounded through mania, sadness, and uncertainty. Chloe sings about imagining a future that never arrived, holding onto someone who makes life feel bearable, and questioning what happens if they’re gone. It’s vulnerable in a way that doesn’t romanticize obsession, but doesn’t deny it either. The aftermath hits on “Two Weeks,” a song that unfolds like a step-by-step guide to surviving a breakup. From sitting alone with old photos to calling friends, swiping for distraction, and trying to move forward before you’re ready, the track captures how hollow healing can feel when you’re forcing it. Chloe frames the song as an attempt at self-discovery, embracing solitude while admitting how lost she feels. Two weeks becomes both a time limit and a breaking point, marking the moment when being alone starts to hurt differently. One of the EP’s most powerful moments arrives with “Dear Dad,” a song that confronts addiction and the damage it leaves behind. Chloe writes about the breakdown of a parental relationship, the exhaustion of broken trust, and the decision to walk away in order to survive. There’s no dramatic confrontation here, just the quiet realization that love can’t exist alongside addiction without consequences. It’s a boundary-setting song, rooted in grief, acceptance, and the creation of a new safe space. The EP closes with “Horoscopes,” a reflective look at ambition, time, and uncertainty. Chloe questions whether the future she wants is already written or still within reach, balancing the reality of working a nine-to-five while dreaming of becoming an artist full-time. The song captures the anxiety of chasing purpose, the comfort of supportive relationships, and the human impulse to search for signs that everything will work out. Looking to the stars becomes a metaphor for hope, doubt, and the fear of running out of time. Dear Love…  doesn’t chase trends or tidy conclusions. It exists in the mess, offering connection instead of resolution. As Chloe shares, “I hope the audience listening to this EP album feels a connection to the songs I’ve written. I choose to share my songs with the world because I think people feel comforted when they can relate to others' life experiences.” That honesty is what makes the EP land. Chloe Mayse isn’t trying to be perfect or aspirational. She’s being real, and right now, that’s exactly what indie pop needs. You frame Dear Love… like a series of journal entries. Was there ever a moment you thought, “This is too personal to release,” and what made you push past that anyway? There have been many times over the years whe n I questioned releasing certain songs, especially a song like "Dear Dad". I have questioned it not because I am afraid to show the vulnerable layers of myself, but more because I don't want the people I write about to feel hurt. I try to push past this fear by reminding myself of why I decided to share my music to the world in the first place. I share my songs because I want to connect with other people who can relate to the music and feel comfort in that. Several songs wrestle with the idea that love can be both grounding and destructive. How do you know when love is helping you survive versus quietly holding you back? This is a great question. During the times of my life that I wrote about, where I was in certain loving romantic relationships, I made the mistake of letting the relationships play out and didn't do any self-reflection until they each ended. I don't regret any relationship I have had, and I have learned so much about myself with each experience. What I have learned is that being in love with someone and having a relationship with them should not feel like it is your sole purpose in life. It is not anyone's responsibility to help you survive the game of life. If any type of relationship feels like it's holding you back or you need that person to stay alive, do some self-reflection exercises and therapy to question why you feel that way. I realized that it was very unhealthy to be thinking this way, and I had to do therapy for many years to develop my self-esteem. “Dear Dad” is one of the most emotionally heavy tracks on the EP. What changed for you after writing that song? Did it bring closure, or just clarity? Writing "Dear Dad" has been the hardest song I have written so far. I cried many times when I thought about what I wanted to say in the lyrics, and I have never played this song on stage because I don't know if I could sing it through without falling apart. I never felt closure after "Dear Dad" was made because this issue between my dad and I is ongoing and I have had to put up boundaries to protect my mental health. I wrote this song when I was very angry with both of my parents, and I have always struggled to have a relationship with my dad. This song allowed me to release some of my anger on the matter of addiction. Now, when I listen to "Dear Da,d" I feel grief and sadness that this is what ended up being the outcome, but I have accepted it.  A lot of this project sits in the uncomfortable in-between: not healed, not broken, just trying. Do you think audiences are finally ready for that kind of honesty, or did you stop caring whether they were? I think listeners always want to hear the honest truth in a song. I didn't ever think about whether they were ready for it or not. All of my music on this EP is written in the light of me trying to overcome a negative experience or feeling because all I can do is try. I have come a long way with working on myself and am very satisfied with the life I have now, but every day I still have to try and stay in a good headspace and be present. You’re honest about the tension between chasing music full-time and living inside a nine-to-five world. What would “success” actually look like for you if no one else got to define it? Success to me is having the opportunity to be a full-time music artist who gets to tour, write songs for other artists, and have my work in television and film projects. Success also includes having the people who mean the most to me along for the journey. I know I can't have everyone that I love on tour with me at all times, but having one or two people who know me best and can help keep me grounded and remind me to enjoy every part of the journey is important.

Let’s not lie, being an artist is exhausting. You’re expected to write, record, create content, stay online, stay inspired, stay consistent, stay booked, stay mentally stable, stay hydrated… It’s ridiculous. Burnout isn’t a maybe; it’s a guarantee if you don’t take care of yourself. So instead of pretending “self-care” is a bubble bath and a good cry (although, honestly, sometimes it is), here are 11 products artists swear by to actually reset their brain, refill their energy, and get back to making the music they love. Blue Light Glasses You stare at screens all day, DAWs, TikTok drafts, endless DMs, late-night mixing sessions. Your eyes are cooked. Blue light glasses help reduce strain, headaches, and that weird zombie feeling you get at 3 a.m. They basically give your brain permission to breathe again. We recommend these blue light glasses . Scented Candles Your studio doesn’t need to smell like lost hopes and stale coffee. A candle instantly resets the mood, softens your nervous system, and makes your creative space feel like somewhere you actually want  to be. Bonus points if it’s lavender, eucalyptus, or “I’m pretending my life is together” vanilla. We recommend these scented candles . Bath Balms Shoulders tense from producing? Jaw locked from anxiety? Back destroyed from sitting for 12 hours tracking vocals you didn’t even keep? CBD balms help your muscles chill out, reduce inflammation, and give your body the reset your mind refuses to take. We recommend these bath bombs . A Writing Journal You have too many ideas, too many emotions, too many goals, too many thoughts you shoved down because you “didn’t have time.” Journaling helps you dump the chaos onto paper so your brain can stop spiraling. It’s therapy without the copay. We recommend this writing journal . Noise-Cancelling Headphones Sometimes burnout hits because you can’t get silence.  Noise-cancelling headphones give you a second of peace, no traffic, no roommates, no chaos, just quiet. Quiet = clarity. We recommend this pair of headphones . Weighted Blanket Weighted blankets trigger deep pressure stimulation, which calms your nervous system and helps you sleep like you’re not in a constant existential crisis. Artists swear by them because rest is the real creative hack. We recommend this weighted blanket . Tea Blends for Stress Chamomile, lemon balm, lavender, the holy trifecta of “please relax my soul.” Tea slows you down, lowers cortisol, and tells your brain it’s time to unplug from the noise. We recommend this tea blend . A Desk Diffuser + Essential Oils Peppermint for focus. Lavender for calm. Citrus for energy. A diffuser turns your studio into a mini spa without you spending $200 on a sound bath ticket in Silver Lake. We recommend this desk infuser + essential oil set . Soft Studio Lighting Bright, overhead lighting is the enemy of inspiration. Soft, warm lamps make your studio feel safe again. Your nervous system will thank you. We recommend this soft lamp . Mini Massage Gun Your hands, wrists, shoulders, and back carry everything, from production work to endless typing to gripping the steering wheel while spiraling. Regular massage? Impossible. Mini devices? Life-changing. We recommend this mini hand massage gun . A Good Quality Water Bottle Half your burnout is dehydration pretending to be existential dread. Getting a bottle with motivational markings or a straw literally tricks your brain into drinking more. Hydration = energy. Energy = creativity. We recommend this water bottle . Burnout doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. Artists carry more emotional, mental, and creative weight than people realize. Resetting isn’t optional; it’s survival. These tools don’t “fix your life,” but they give your mind and body the space to breathe so you can get back to creating with intention instead of exhaustion.

2025 was the year Giselle fully stepped into her power, not just as a pop/R&B artist, but as a creative force shaping her own world. From upbeat anthems to cinematic indie-pop moments, this year showed the full scope of her artistry. With multiple releases, a new album, community-building projects, and massive personal milestones, Giselle turned 2025 into a year of evolution, expression, and unapologetic self-discovery. She kicked off the year with vibrant singles like “ GAME OVER ,” “ SUNSHINE ,” and “ SCHOOL'S OUT ” showcasing her ability to shift moods and genres with ease. By the time she released her album GISELLE REBORN , it was clear she wasn’t just writing songs; she was piecing together a narrative of transformation. Tracks like “Cruisin’” and “Final Girl” revealed her duality: the playful storyteller, the emotional architect, the pop artist who isn’t afraid to push into rock, R&B, or even horror-inspired themes. Final Girl in particular sparked conversation, flipping the classic trope and asking listeners to rethink who they root for, why, and what survival actually feels like. But the moment that defined her 2025 was the release of “(Haunted By) The Ghost.” A devastatingly vulnerable track, it marked a new height in Giselle’s storytelling. Where her earlier releases shimmered with confidence, this one cracked open the quiet, aching corners of the human experience. She wrote it for the people still carrying emotional residue from past hurt, the memories that linger, the whispers that follow us, the shadows our hearts haven’t outrun yet. With haunting production and vocal delivery that feels like a confession whispered in the dark, the song quickly became one of her most powerful releases to date. It wasn’t just music. It was catharsis. An invitation to cry. A safe room for anyone living with emotional hauntings of their own. Outside the studio, Giselle spent 2025 matching her creative output with real-world impact. She launched Soul Shadows, an immersive Black History Month event merging horror, art, culture, and community, a rare blend only someone with her artistic DNA could pull off. She celebrated one year of her horror pin brand Bloody Hell Pinz, curated multiple events, acted in several indie films, and even got married. It was a year of artistic expansion and personal joy, proving she’s not just building a career; she’s building a life rooted in passion and intention. As she heads into 2026, Giselle’s goals are beautifully simple: keep creating, keep performing, keep loving her family, furry babies included, and keep choosing gratitude. Because if 2025 proved anything, it’s this: Giselle thrives when she leads with heart. And with “(Haunted By) The Ghost” anchoring her most emotionally resonant year yet, she’s only getting started. 2025 felt like a massive era of reinvention for you, musically, personally, and creatively. When you look back at this year as a whole, what chapter do you feel you closed, and what new one do you think you opened?  This year has been such a great year overall. Of course, as with any fellow human, I had a lot of hardships and sad things happen. But overall ,so many positive things that I am grateful for in my personal life, musical life, etc. I really feel like with my music in 2025, I closed the chapter of my life where I was being told who I was as an artist wasn’t “enough” or “wasn’t going to get me anywhere.” I silenced those voices this year and explored all types of possibilities when it comes to creating my music! That is a door I have opened and one I will never close.  Your album Giselle Reborn showed such a wide emotional and sonic range. What part of the album felt like the biggest personal breakthrough for you as an artist? Thank you so much! Honestly? The whole album truly felt like a breakthrough for me. I’d say the final track on the album, “SCHOOL’S OUT,” felt like an intense moment of healing and a breakthrough not only for myself and my healing journey as a person who was bullied growing up, but it was a breakthrough song for me. I connected with new audiences due to this song, and also connected with other people who were also bullied. It felt like this amazing community grew in support, and this song became an anthem for a lot of people to say “F YOU!” to their past and their past bullies. There’s something so magical about that… having your music connect to people and not only telling my own personal story, but a story that many people could connect to and use this song to heal with.  You released several singles this year that each hit different corners of pop, R&B, and rock. What guided your sound this year? Was it experimentation, emotion, or something deeper? Honestly, it was a mix of experimentation, emotion, and something deeper. I’ve always loved experimenting with new sounds for myself, and I love following my emotions when it comes to it. The feelings I have while writing songs or just singing from the top of my head really format how a song will come out and in what style.  On a deeper level, I grew up listening to EVERYTHING. Every single genre. It’s part of who I am. I have a love and respect for so many genres that I don’t want to just center myself in only one genre, but I want to explore and experiment in all of them. Growing up and listening to an array of artists and genres made me who I am today, and I like to honor that. Soul Shadows became a huge moment in the culture this year. What did curating that event teach you about community-building and the intersection between music, art, and horror? Soul Shadows is my baby. A huge pride and joy of mine! Organizing, funding, hosting, and curating this event was so worth it because I got to see the community come together and celebrate. This event takes place in February and celebrates Black horror movies, Black horror directors, Black horror artists, Black horror businesses, and more. It takes place during Black History Month because I felt it was important to have an event like this since we often aren’t celebrated in the Horror genre. Times are changing, though, and we have seen growth in the Horror genre and community, but there still needs to be MORE inclusion and change.  I felt called to create this event to allow for that! To uplift my fellow Black horror fans and to celebrate music, art, culture, and horror all together. There’s so much intersectionality between music, physical art and horror. I’m going to geek out here for a second, so bear with me. The films rely so much on not only good acting and writing but also amazing music. Music that frightens you, scares you, and gives you goosebumps! But also music that calls to you and makes your heart race in a good way. Physical art is also so important for these films. Think of things like marketing, posters, flyers, and ads. Even down to the artwork we see ON the screen or the artwork used to create the Horror character! It all connects and each part is so important. Each part of it brings the community together.  “(Haunted By) The Ghost” is one of your most emotionally raw releases to date. What moment or realization made you feel ready to write a song that vulnerable? Thank you so much. To be fully transparent, there wasn’t really a moment or an ah-ha moment. I was in my music room that day, and it was a pretty stressful day, from what I remember. I decided to turn on my keyboard, grabbed my phone, hit record on my voice memo app, and then played from my heart. I didn’t even know what was going to happen. I literally closed my eyes and allowed myself to play and sing what I felt. That’s how this song came to be. Everything you hear in the track is exactly the same… just of course MORE production! And each part of the song are things I heard while playing it. So for example the song includes a theremin, bells, swooshes, ghost sounds, etc. When my eyes were closed, and I was singing and playing for the first time, I could hear in my head exactly how I wanted the full produced track to sound like. I saw the color schemes for the song along with the music video. I guess you could say somewhere in my mind I was ready for the pain to come out. I must’ve had it locked away and I needed to let it go. I am so glad I did because I am extremely proud of this song and music video. And I know it’s a song that will connect to many people.  This track invites listeners to sit with their pain instead of running from it. What was the hardest part of letting yourself go that deep, and what surprised you the most during the process? Yes, yes it does. As I said in my previous answers, I guess you could say somewhere in my mind I was ready for the pain to come out. I must’ve had it locked away and I needed to let it go. The most surprising thing during this process was how freeing it was to just let it out and while it’s intense and sad in many ways, it was overall a FUN process. That surprised me for sure!  If someone pressed play on “(Haunted By) The Ghost” at a moment when they’re hurting, what do you hope they feel in the first 10 seconds? Wow. This is a great question. I would truly hope within the first 10 seconds they realize they are NOT alone in their pain. I hope the first 10 seconds welcomes them in to listen to the rest of the song and allows them a very good cry session. It’s okay to let things out. I feel like so often we just store our pain away. I hope this song allows people to feel safe to cry and know they are not alone in their battle(s).

Bekka Dowland has always written like someone who’s lived a few lifetimes, honest, grounded, and unafraid to tell the kind of stories country music is built on. But in 2025, she leveled up in a way that actually shows. With more live shows, a sharper vocal tone, and a new sense of discipline born from finishing 75 Hard at the top of the year, Bekka stepped into her artistry with real clarity and confidence. That growth hits hardest on “Be a Little Kinder,” BUZZMUSIC’s pick for Best Releases of 2025. The track distills everything she does well: lived-in storytelling, emotional restraint, and a voice that sounds stronger because it knows exactly what it’s saying. As she works toward her debut album, Bekka is no longer just writing solid songs. She’s building a world people recognize themselves in. Whether she’s unpacking heartbreak, self-worth, resilience, or the messy space in between, her writing lands because it feels familiar in the best way. This year made one thing obvious: Bekka Dowland isn’t circling her potential anymore. She’s standing in it. You started the year with 75 Hard, which is no joke. How did that discipline spill into your creative process, your confidence, or the way you approached making music this year? It really opened my eyes to understanding better that you really can accomplish anything you set your mind to. I’ve found that having a balance between taking care of my mental and physical health, I could intentionally focus more on creating. I feel my confidence is truly at the best it has ever been and I hope to continue growing in the new year.  You’ve played more live shows than ever in 2025. How did being on stage, in front of real people, change the way you see yourself as an artist and as a country storyteller? Performing live has always been one of my favorite things to do. Connecting with people in person is so special. I’ve definitely learned that the higher the energy I bring, the more the crowd engages and sings along, which is such a high. With every performance, I feel that I concentrated more on the emotion of the song I was performing and really tried channeling those feelings for an organic experience.  You’ve been working hard on strengthening your voice for your upcoming album. What has that intentional vocal growth taught you about your sound, and how do you hear the difference when you compare old recordings to where you are now? I find that I have increased in my vocal range, which is something I never thought I’d be able to do. Being able to hit notes that I couldn’t in the past has been a huge reward. Even listening to recordings from one year ago, I can hear a more rich tone in my voice now and it sounds a bit fuller.  With your debut album on the way and dreams of touring next year, what do you feel is shifting inside you creatively? What era do you feel yourself stepping into as you prepare for 2026? I’ve noticed I’m stepping into my most confident and secure era, which is something I’m extremely proud of. My debut album truly focuses on the last decade of my life, navigating through my 20’s, which was a very chaotic time for me. I’m happy to capture this era of my life and send it off into the world for the people who will need it/relate to it. Once it’s complete, I feel I will be finally turning the page of a chapter that helped shape who I am today.  You give great advice about not comparing yourself to other artists. What practice or mindset has helped you protect your own path while navigating an industry that’s constantly pushing comparison? When I find myself starting down the road of comparison, I try to rewire my mind into thinking of the skills I do have versus the ones I don’t. Everyone is good at something and I feel it is very important to find what it is you are good at and run with it. I used to beat myself up for not being able to play crazy guitar riffs, but that just isn’t my strong suit, and that’s okay. My strength is in lyrics and storytelling, which is something I’m proud of. I also find listening to interviews of artists I look up to helps me stay in a positive mindset, given they have been in the industry for many years and have much more insight than I do.

Super Love didn’t just show up in 2025; they rebuilt the foundation beneath their sound and walked into a new era with a vision sharper than ever. The NYC alt-rock duo, formed by Constance Watkins and Jared Watkins, has always thrived in the overlap between genres: the grit of rock, the pulse of hip-hop, the sweetness of pop, the edge of punk, the improvisational DNA of jazz. But this year, something shifted. Super Love didn’t just experiment; they elevated. They defined what “autonomous indie” looks like in real time. Their 2025 release, “Vibes,” captures exactly where they’re standing right now: in that electric space between who they were and who they’re becoming. Not the final chapter, but the moment before the breakthrough, the inhale before the explosion. It’s a song rooted in growth, grit, and instinct, and it reflects the bigger truth about Super Love’s year: this wasn’t a season of noise, chaos, or constant content. It was a season of disappearing into the work. A year of sharpening edges, pushing boundaries, and refusing to let outside voices dictate who they should be. Behind the curtain, Super Love spent 2025 locked in the studio, building something bigger, louder, and more intentional than anything they’ve released before. They didn’t chase trends. They didn’t chase the algorithm. They chased that fire-in-your-chest feeling, the songs that spark movement, crack open emotion, and make you want to turn the volume up all the way. If “Vibes” is the snapshot of this moment, 2026 looks like the year they’re stepping fully into the identity they’ve been sculpting since 2019. Super Love’s story has always been about evolution, trust, and creative fearlessness. And now, standing at the edge of their most ambitious era yet, they aren’t just one of the best acts of 2025, they’re a band proving what happens when you go all-in on your own instincts. Their next chapter isn’t coming quietly. And honestly? We wouldn’t want it any other way. What part of 2025’s behind-the-scenes grind changed the way you approach music forever? Honestly, 2025 lit a fire under us. We spent the year chasing ideas at full volume, writing like we had something wild breathing down our necks. That pressure sharpened us. It turned rough drafts into lightning. Some songs hit so fast they were finished in a day, like they just fell out of the sky and demanded to exist. That pace changed us. It taught us to trust instincts, ride the spark, and catch the song while it’s still burning. “Vibes” feels like a turning-point energy. What shift in your lives sparked this new momentum? Yeah, "Vibes" totally has that energy. We played more, experimented more, and let ourselves get lost in new mixing and recording techniques that opened up whole new sounds for us. "Vibes" is a chill moment in a year of singing at the top of our lungs, and playing in the unknown, looking for just the right sound. A slow glow in the middle of all that fire.  How do you know when a song feels like Super Love and not just another cool experiment? For us, if we love it, it's Super Love. We only put out songs we feel in our bones. We show up with ideas we're already obsessed with, then we run them through our favorite process, which is basically us asking each other, “Is this cool? Do you like this? Are we both feeling it?” When we both get that same spark and know the idea actually has teeth, that is when the song becomes ours. That spark is the whole point. You’ve built a sound that refuses to sit in one box.  What’s the secret to blending genres without losing identity? There is no secret, really. We built genre blending into our identity from day one. We just make what we love instead of trying to squeeze into someone else’s box. If the song feels like us, it is Super Love, no matter what playlist it lands on. What did 2025 teach you about noise, pressure, and tuning into your own voice above everything else? 2025 taught us to chase the absolute best version of a song, then shut up and ship it once it hits that mark. We learned to tune out the noise, the pressure, and the endless second-guessing, and trust our own instincts instead. That is why some tracks were written, recorded, and wrapped in a day. When the song feels true and alive, you hit export and move on. When you think about your 2026 vision, what’s the emotion or intention leading the charge? Our 2026 vision is all about forward motion and refusal to coast. We write and record out of pure love for this, so we don’t really burn out, and we definitely don’t give up. Every track has to be something we’d blast in the car with the windows down, not just “good enough to send off.” If it doesn’t rock and feel undeniable, it doesn’t leave the studio. If you could tell your 2019 selves one thing about where you are now, what would it be? I’d tell our 2019 selves, “Do it for love. It is worth it. You’re doing it right.” All the late nights, weird gigs, and risky choices you are stressing over now are exactly what carry you to this version of Super Love.

Two decades deep into a career that shaped emo and alt-rock, Mayday Parade are far from slowing down. The Tallahassee legends just announced Sad , the second installment of their 20th anniversary album trilogy, arriving October 3. Leading the charge is their new single “ Under My Sweater ,” a nostalgic yet forward-looking track that tips its hat to Weezer while carving out Mayday Parade’s own emotional lane. “It’s difficult to sing about a sweater without invoking Weezer, but that’s part of what I love about this song,” says Sanders. “‘Under My Sweater’ wears its inspirations on its sleeve and feels both a part of old school nostalgic emo as well as something modern and a step forward for Mayday Parade.” Where Sweet brought euphoric anthems, Sad leans into atmosphere, mood, and vulnerability. Tracks like “Promises” and “One Day At A Time” slow the tempo, while the expansive closer “I Must Obey The Inscrutable Exhortations Of My Soul” pushes the band into daring new territory. Produced by longtime collaborators Zack Odom and Kenneth Mount, Sad continues the band’s self-released era, fueled by creative freedom and a direct connection with fans. Following a sold-out anniversary tour and a Warped Tour main-stage return, Mayday Parade proves they’re still writing their legacy on their own terms. Stream “Under My Sweater” now and catch them on tour with All Time Low and at When We Were Young this fall. How does  Sad  reflect where Mayday Parade are creatively at 20 years in? I would say we've always tried to just write what comes out naturally. Since we all live in different states, we normally work on our demos independently of each other. I find it's rare to have a band where everyone writes, and it makes for a very eclectic album since our personal music tastes are all slightly different. I would like to think we have grown as musicians and songwriters. "Under My Sweater" has nostalgic vibes; what inspired this track? I think the idea was things slipping away that are out of your control, and how, in those uncertain moments when things are out of control, you can feel your heart racing in your chest. This is the impression I get from it anyway, Derek wrote this particular song, and I don't have all the details lol. What was different about creating  Sad  compared to  Sweet ? Truthfully, not too much other than the time between releases. For this three-part album, we've just been going back and forth from tour to the studio to a little time at home to work on music, rinse and repeat. We are recording with the same producers, Zack Odom and Kenneth Mount, out of Atlanta, and we've worked with them for the majority of our career. Everything just feels comfortable and fluid, so I don't personally feel like anything was different in the creation process at all, really.  How has going independent changed your approach to making music? You always have more freedom to be creative when you're independent, but you also bear all the weight of that when things don't work out. Truthfully, though, after our second album, we've said we would never allow a label to control our creative process ever again, and that has been true. We've been lucky that we've been allowed full control of our music for a long time now, even under previous labels.  Looking back at Warped Tour and your anniversary tour, what moments stood out to you? Man, I truly miss Warped Tour. It's great that they have come back to a degree, but people will never really understand what they missed unless they experienced it firsthand. We were lucky to have played it so many times. I'm thinking we did seven years of Warped Tour? Honestly, it's hard to recall. There isn't a particular moment that stands out, just the overall vibe of everyone working together for the same goal.  Our anniversary tour was a blast. I loved all the bands and felt like it was such an easy tour. I think my favorite moment is when we had a day off before our last show, and we had all the bands come to a bar that a friend owned and reserved for us, and we just played games, drank, and chit-chatted from the afternoon until bus call. It was just a nice way to end the tour, and a last hurrah for everyone on the tour.