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Billboard-charting singer-songwriter and award-winning performer Tara Macri returns with “Grace,” a cinematic pop single built around the lasting impact certain people leave on our lives. Known for a career spanning music, Broadway, film, television, and voice acting, Tara Macri has spent years telling other people's stories on stage and screen. With “Grace,” Tara Macri turns inward, exploring a deeply personal idea that gradually became something universal. The song began at the piano during a period when Tara Macri found herself missing someone deeply and wondering whether that person could somehow send a sign that everything was okay. As the writing developed, the idea expanded beyond one relationship. “Grace” became a reflection on the people who change us, whether they remain in our lives, have been lost, or were only present briefly. Instead of allowing grief to dominate the song, Tara Macri focuses on what remains. “Grace” celebrates connection and the ways another person's influence can continue shaping who we become long after circumstances change. That emotional progression is mirrored in the production. What began as a simple piano demo grew significantly after producer Jordan “AliasOne” Winfield heard the song during a studio session. Mixed by five-time GRAMMY Award winner Chris Lord-Alge, the finished track moves from intimate piano into a soaring cinematic pop arrangement without losing the vulnerability at its center. The accompanying music video, directed by Julia Baylis and Sam Guest of Anarene Films, extends that idea through the streets of New York City, following seemingly disconnected strangers whose lives briefly intersect. With “Grace,” Tara Macri doesn't attempt to define who that person should be for the listener. Instead, the song leaves behind one deeply personal question: Who is your Grace? Grace” began with you missing someone and wondering if they could send you a sign. Was there a specific moment or experience that made you sit down at the piano and start writing? The big moment was losing someone who had been such an important part of my life. And then it was going through all those stages of grief you go through afterward, trying to understand it, trying to make sense of it, and trying to figure out how someone can be here one moment and then suddenly not be. I remember sitting at the piano by myself and having that thought that I think a lot of us have when we lose someone: Where did you go? Are you okay? Can you just send me some kind of sign or something so I know you're still around? And that's really where “Grace” started. I was just trying to work through what I was feeling, and writing has always been a way for me to do that. The beginning of the song almost felt more like a conversation than a song, like I was talking to someone I couldn't talk to anymore. There's a line, “Send a whisper, a signal, a sound,” and that really captures where my head was at when I started writing it. I think I was looking for some little sign that even though this person was gone, the connection between us wasn't. The song eventually grew beyond one person into something much more universal. At what point did you realize “Grace” wasn’t only your story anymore? I think that happened when I started playing it for other people. The lyrics are really personal, but the track itself has this upbeat, hopeful feeling to it, so I've found that people react to the song really differently depending on where they are in their own lives. I've had people hear it and say, “I'm adding this to my workout playlist!” And then I'll play it for someone else who really listens to the lyrics, and suddenly they're crying. I actually love that about the song. You can connect to the energy and hopefulness of it, or you can go deeper into the lyrics and hear the story underneath. And then people started telling me who the song reminded them of. Sometimes it was someone they'd lost, but sometimes it was someone who's still here, or even a pet. That's when I realized that even though I wrote “Grace” from such a personal place, the feeling behind it wasn't just mine. That's really where “Who's Your Grace?” came from. I think everybody has someone who comes into their life and changes it somehow. Sometimes they're with us for our whole lives, and sometimes they're only there for a chapter, but what they give us doesn't just disappear. Rather than sitting entirely in grief, “Grace” focuses on what people leave behind in us. Was that perspective there from the beginning, or did you have to work your way toward it while writing? I think that perspective was there from the beginning. The song came from grief and trying to make sense of losing someone, but I never wanted it to only be about the loss. It was also about everything that person leaves behind in you: the love, the memories, the things you carry forward. Even the last line of the song, “Always knew that you could fly,” has that sense of hope and release to it. I think that was always the heart of “Grace.” There’s sadness in it, but there’s also so much love and hope, and we wanted the production to reflect that too. You’ve spent much of your career performing and helping tell other people’s stories across music, Broadway, film, and television. What feels different when the material is this personal and the story is entirely your own? It’s definitely scarier! When I’m playing a role, I’m telling someone else’s story, so there’s always a little bit of protection there, even though you obviously have to find things in yourself to make the character truthful. With my own music, especially a song like “Grace,” there’s really nowhere to hide. They’re my words and my feelings. But I think everything I’ve done as an actor has made me a better songwriter because I approach a song almost the same way I approach a scene. And with “Grace,” the more personal I allowed myself to be the more other people seemed to see themselves in it which has been really special. The song ultimately asks listeners, “Who is your Grace?” After creating and living with this song, has your own understanding of who or what “Grace” represents changed? I think it has changed. When I wrote “Grace,” I was writing about one very specific person and what I was going through at that time. I don’t think I was thinking beyond that. But then people started telling me their own stories and who their Grace was, and I loved that. Someone might think of a parent they lost; someone else thinks of their best friend, their partner, or even their dog. It made me realize that we probably all have a few Graces in our lives people who come along at the right time and leave something with us, whether they’re still here or not. So for me now, I think Grace is really about connection and the people we’re lucky enough to have had in our lives.

San Francisco Bay Area folk-pop duo Lonely Parrots are making a pretty convincing argument for canceling your plans. Their new single, “Living Room Lights,” turns an ordinary night at home into a warm, playful celebration of friendship, spontaneity, and the people who make anywhere feel like the place to be. Made up of singer-songwriters Michael Martinez and Max Embers, Lonely Parrots have built their sound around catchy melodies and emotionally honest songwriting. With “Living Room Lights,” they keep things refreshingly simple: sometimes a living room, good friends, music, and a stocked fridge beat going out altogether. Written in the same living room that inspired it, the acoustic bedroom-pop track was born from an evening of tears, laughter, and hanging out with one of the duo’s closest friends. That intimacy translates naturally into the record. Instead of chasing a massive party anthem, Lonely Parrots capture the smaller moments that somehow end up becoming core memories. There is an endearing looseness to the concept. Dance like nobody is watching, raid the fridge, turn the closet into an impromptu fashion show, sing way too loudly, and maybe attempt a questionable mouth-trumpet solo. “Living Room Lights” understands that the best nights rarely need much planning. The single also feels fitting for a duo that has built its career outside traditional industry expectations. After leaving Los Angeles behind, Michael Martinez and Max Embers leaned into intimate house concerts, touring the United States five times in their converted van, Wendy, and performing more than 250 shows together. Self-produced as part of Lonely Parrots’ forthcoming debut album, For The Time Being, expected in spring 2027, “Living Room Lights” brings that same house-show philosophy into the music itself.

Change can be liberating, but it rarely happens without leaving something behind. Toronto singer-songwriter Johann confronts that uncomfortable reality on Allowed To Change, an upcoming EP that trades the softer edges of his earlier work for distortion, urgency, and a noticeably sharper point of view. The Filipino-Canadian artist has previously moved between alternative rock, acoustic songwriting, and bedroom pop, pairing airy vocals with introspective stories of love and heartbreak. His 2024 self-released album, Surrendering Sunday, captured that side of his writing, but Allowed To Change leans into the heavier influences that have long existed beneath his music. Drawing from emo, post-hardcore, and shoegaze, Johann commits to driven guitar riffs, hard-hitting drums, and the tension between atmosphere and abrasion. Touchstones like Deftones, Beach House, and Foo Fighters remain recognizable. Still, the EP feels less interested in recreating influences than in using them to uncover a more forceful version of Johann’s own sound. The lyrical shift is equally significant. Romantic heartbreak takes a back seat as Johann examines another kind of loss: realizing certain people can no longer follow you into the person you're becoming. “DVP (Falling Apart)” complicates that perspective by turning the criticism inward, with Johann acknowledging his own mistakes and past behavior. Elsewhere, however, he is less forgiving, confronting the projections, actions, and strained relationships that made leaving certain connections behind feel necessary. Despite its resentment, Allowed To Change was built with movement in mind. Johann wrote and composed the material imagining how it would translate to the stage, giving its heavier arrangements an immediate, physical energy. The title ultimately says everything. Allowed To Change isn't asking permission to evolve. It recognizes that growth can require uncomfortable exits, honest accountability, and occasionally turning the guitars all the way up. The title Allowed To Change feels almost like a declaration. Was there a point when you realized you needed to give yourself permission to become someone different, both personally and creatively? "Allowed To Change" is definitely a declaration of sorts. But I wouldn't say there was a specific point when I realized I needed to permit myself to become someone different, both personally and creatively. Rather, after releasing my songs "EASY" and "UNEASY" last year, I naturally began writing songs similar to those, leaning more into that "alternative rock" sound—a genre and scene I've been invested in since I was 7 or 8 years old. So no, there wasn't an isolated "aha" moment where I decided to change sonically. But instead, a gradual unearthing of the kid in me. A kid who fell in love with bands like Foo Fighters, Green Day, and Paramore by playing Guitar Hero. Your earlier material leaned toward acoustic and bedroom-pop textures. What gave you the confidence to fully embrace the emo, post-hardcore, and shoegaze influences on this EP? I've always been an emo kid. While Foo Fighters, Green Day, and Paramore were my gateway "rock" bands, my favorite post-hardcore and "heavier" emo bands throughout high school were Billy Talent, Pierce the Veil, Saosin, and Thrice. Shoegaze was also a genre that floated in my orbit during those years. Still, I didn't start "falling in love" with it until my late teens, especially with bands like My Bloody Valentine, Softcult, and, of course, Deftones, who are my favourite band of all time. With that, you can say that I've always had the itch to write and perform songs with overdriven guitars, fast drum parts, and expressive vocals—all of which cater to the alternative/emo sound. The acoustic and bedroom-pop textures of my first couple of projects were, really, out of necessity, since most of that material was written and recorded during the pandemic. I only had access to my acoustic guitar, audio interface, and the stock drum samples in Logic at that time. Now, being lucky enough to have access to a studio, a full drum kit, and real guitar amps has made the transition into emo, post-hardcore, and shoegaze more seamless, which, I guess you could say, has given me the confidence to fully embody the "emo-ness" of it all, haha. Much of the record points outward at people from your past, while “DVP (Falling Apart)” forces you to confront your own mistakes. Why was it important to include that moment of accountability? With anything, it's important to hold oneself accountable before ever pointing the finger at someone else. That's why a song like DVP is important. It highlights my flaws and wrongdoings, and how, despite my best efforts, I still end up falling apart. Ironically, DVP was the last song I wrote for this EP. I guess after writing a bunch of songs that paint others in a negative light, I subconsciously needed to paint myself in the same negative light to validate those outward feelings. You wrote these songs specifically for live performance. How did imagining a crowd and a stage change the decisions you made while writing and arranging them? The influence of live performances on this EP came from loving the bands I love and how energetic and full of life their performances are. Being an avid concert-goer, especially for alternative, emo, hardcore, and metal bands, I can't help but be inspired by crowds that jump around and mosh. Do I anticipate the songs on this EP to conjure that type of energy? I mean, hopefully. The setlist we're currently working on is quite varied, intended to strike the perfect balance between singalongs and mosh-inducing songs. As long as you're having a good time, that's all that really matters. There’s a complicated reality to outgrowing people who once mattered to you. Did making Allowed To Change change how you view any of those relationships, or did it reinforce why you needed to leave them behind? This is a great question! I guess a bit of both? Two truths can exist simultaneously. You have to acknowledge and empathize with people who once meant a lot to you. With that said, nothing is more important than personal growth. "Allowed To Change" enabled me to reflect on nearly all of my relationships, primarily those with people who are no longer in my life. People are going to enter, exit, and re-enter your life, I think. Becoming the person you're meant to be often leaves certain relationships behind, and that's totally ok. I don't harbor any ill feelings towards anyone from my past. I suppose everyone is just going through the same growing pains at the same time. It's difficult, of course, but it's necessary. Writing an assortment of songs about it does make it easier, though!

New York City-based artist faesymphony creates a temporary escape from an overwhelming world on “ineedabreak,” a high-energy release that pushes faesymphony’s evolving sound further into immersive electronic territory. Blending EDM, hyperpop, and pop-rap energy with a theatrical approach to songwriting and performance, “ineedabreak” was created from the perspective of a young person attempting to process the constant stream of negativity surrounding them. From disturbing headlines and global suffering to feelings of powerlessness about the future, faesymphony transforms emotional exhaustion into something energetic and restorative. Rather than ignoring those realities, “ineedabreak” argues that stepping away from them can sometimes be necessary. The track becomes its own alternate universe, offering listeners a place to recharge before returning to the world with enough energy to participate in it. That tension between release and responsibility gives the song more depth than its escapist surface might suggest. At its core is the idea that holding too tightly to negativity, fear, or the need for control can make it difficult to recognize the life still happening around us. faesymphony encourages listeners to let go temporarily, dance, embrace their inner child, and remember that joy does not have to disappear simply because the world feels heavy. Sonically, “ineedabreak” embraces a larger-than-life quality that feels designed to extend beyond headphones. Its electronic intensity and theatricality make it easy to imagine translating into clubs, festival stages, and equally vivid visual worlds. For faesymphony, the single also represents another step toward defining an identity as an independent artist. Bold, energetic, and intentionally immersive, “ineedabreak” turns escapism into something more purposeful: a reminder that sometimes taking a break is exactly what allows you to keep going. “ineedabreak” was inspired by the exhaustion of constantly absorbing what’s happening in the world. Was there a specific moment when you realized you needed to turn that feeling into music? Honestly, no; it came as I was writing to the beat in the moment. Because it’s not like I had it on my checklist to write about it. I usually am always shopping for beats and testing out new sounds and just taking out time to write new lyrics and songs, and I have beats in the archives to write to later or producers to pull from. I think that day I had just finished testing out some verses for some other songs, and I landed back on this beat. And the first words that came to mind when listening were “need me a new dimension,” And then the rest was like magic. The arc of the song wrote itself after that. A lot of my song topics are not premeditated. They come as I’m hearing the beat. So after writing these first words, it was getting clearer to me that my heart had something to let out about the state of the world, and it forced me to kind of sit down with my feelings and realize that I was bottling up a lot of sadness, and I was lowkey letting the evil of the world make me lose hope. All of that analysis came as I was writing, and that helped direct the rest of the lyrics a little more. Because living in New York City, everything is so fast; everyone moves on so fast, you have to work your 3 jobs and go to school and then sleep and do it again, so you never get time to process your feelings. So I think that song really woke me up and allowed me to process and instead of talking about how sad everything made me feel, I was like, what if I decided to channel the light and the positive instead to alchemize all that is happening. And it started giving me hope as I was writing, so I knew it would give listeners hope too. And make them realize, wait, maybe I need to take a step back as well and take a breather for my sanity and allow myself to bask in joy, even within the context of this insane world for a moment. You describe the song as escaping into another dimension. If the world of “ineedabreak” existed visually, what would it look and feel like? Ouu, great question. I think it would look very similar to the cover art in terms of theme and color. It would be a world of glitter and glitches and light. Vibrant blues and purples. There would be birds flying around that would look covered in glitter one instant, then glitch the next. The world would feel electric but peaceful. All water would be clear, all people would be kind, but music would be the currency. People would trade or introduce to each other their best songs by their favorite artists in exchange for food or clothes. Art would be accessible ASF. For whoever wants to create, all the clubs would be deemed as a mental health space. The city or world would be alive. With good music playing everywhere you go. And when it rains, each droplet would make an angelic sound. And the rain would be glowing but clear. Having a dance break in the street would not be deemed crazy; it would be the norm. People would be free to be who they are, and it would actually be uncool and weird if you were the one trying to box people in. It would be cool to be yourself and show your interests. The world will not be ruled by what's popular but by what each individual person likes, and their respective communities will all be made space for. Butterflies would sing and turn into beautiful human queens at night to lull the people to a peaceful slumber. Animals would be in harmony with humans. There would be portals everywhere instead of buses and trains, and exclusive secret clubs or venues would require you to sing a specific song or put in a CD of a specific song to unlock the portal. Everyone would have a superpower, but the standard would be that everyone can fly from birth. There’s an interesting tension between staying informed and knowing when consuming too much negativity becomes damaging. How do you personally find that balance without feeling like you’re disconnecting from what matters? Well, these days all the news you find is mainly on your phone; even newspapers are digital. So to stay informed, I look at social media, trusted sources, and digital newspapers. But then, when I feel like I’m seeing too much news and it's all bad. I go search for good things happening around the world to give me hope. Because I notice in this world we receive all the bad news so much that the actual good news gets lost in the sauce. Sometimes I also just listen to music that gives me hope and has affirming, comforting words in it. And other times I just watch a TV show or movie that makes me feel safe. But the good thing about everything being digital these days is that I can just shut down my phone or the social media where that news is coming from and go about my day if I feel like I have consumed too much bad news for the day. I would say those are the ways that I balance it all. You’ve said that sometimes letting go is what allows us to “learn to fly.” How has that idea of releasing control shown up in your own life and evolution as an artist? I can be a very intense person at times, and so that lyric in the song was also a self-reminder to chill out sometimes haha. I am such a go-getter that I don’t like to wait for people to tell me what to do or give me approval. I will just go for what I want with a laser-focused goal in mind. And sometimes that can lead to me being controlling and having such a tight grip on whatever the situation is that I cannot see the bigger picture. The controlling part usually happens without me realizing that I am being that. For example, in my dating life, I can sometimes be so excited to see someone and the connection that we are developing that I jump ahead and talk about marriage and kids too early and am already planning our future for us, as opposed to letting it develop naturally and letting the bond form slowly, and that can overwhelm people, understandably. Even in my career, I am so laser-focused on my goal that in my head I’m already planning my Lollapalooza performance even though I am still at the beginning of my career. So now I try to have a more chilled approach to things. I am still organized and know what I want and have my boundaries, but I let the flow of time pass and go with the wind as opposed to trying to fast-forward because I can visualize the future that I want. Letting go of the need to control outcomes/ control what I cannot realistically control and trusting that each step I take will plant a seed that will help me grow later has been so fruitful for me and way easier on my mental health. I’ve developed the best connections since adopting that mindset. My career has come so far as well with that mindset. Sometimes it truly does feel like I’m flying. The biggest lesson I’ve learned that led me to write this lyric is that you gotta let stuff/ people breathe because distance does make the heart grow fonder, and you gotta let people miss you. In the sense of romance. I’ve learned loving someone doesn’t mean being attached at the hip 24/7. “ineedabreak” feels built for a bigger live experience, from clubs to festivals. As you continue developing the faesymphony world, what do you want people to experience when they see you perform this song live? Yes, omg, I have big visions for this song. Many people have told me that they can see “ineedabreak” in the club, and they see it performed at big festivals. I can’t wait to have those opportunities. When I perform this song, I want people to feel a sense of euphoria. And spiritual, mental, physical release. Almost like an exorcism, chile. You know the song that’s like “break every chain” haha, that’s my version of that except not so religious. I want all the people that be in the club shy and not moving and self-conscious to view this song as permission to let loose and scream and let it out and take a break from all that troubles them. If that means crying while dancing, that's fine; if that means closing your eyes and manifesting your dream life, that’s good too. When people see me perform this, I want them to grab the concept of freedom by the throat and DANCE their heart out and jump and share in the feeling of relief that the song brings with me.

New Wave and alternative pop artist Kael Strahm explores the uncomfortable distance between loving someone and loving an imagined version of them on his debut solo single, “Blinded By Your Light,” arriving on all major streaming platforms October 1. The first single from Strahm’s forthcoming EP, From The Heart, “Blinded By Your Light” introduces a solo project shaped by melancholic synths, dark acoustic guitars, gothic undertones, and his distinctive baritone. While Strahm initially began making music simply as a creative outlet, his songwriting has gradually developed into a space for examining emotions that did not fit within the darker rock direction of his band, Halevine. “Blinded By Your Light” is both a love song and an exercise in self-reproach. Its central character becomes so consumed by admiration that the person he desires is elevated into an “angel divine,” leaving reality increasingly obscured by fantasy. There is something painfully recognizable in that progression. Strahm focuses less on whether the object of affection deserves such devotion and more on the narrator’s responsibility for constructing an impossible version of them. Attraction becomes idealization, idealization becomes obsession, and eventually the emotional relationship exists as much within the narrator’s imagination as it does in reality. The darker textures surrounding Strahm’s restrained vocal approach suit that realization particularly well. Rather than using his voice to chase theatricality, he treats it as another atmospheric element, allowing the lyrics and mood to carry the emotional weight. That restraint keeps the song from romanticizing the obsession at its center. Most importantly, “Blinded By Your Light” refuses to manufacture closure. There is no dramatic breakthrough or clean escape from desire. Instead, Strahm leaves the listener suspended between longing and shame, confronting the realization that sometimes understanding how love became distorted does not immediately make it easier to let go. “Blinded By Your Light” focuses on falling for an idealized version of someone rather than the person themselves. What made you want to examine the narrator’s own responsibility in creating that illusion? I’ve been in that situation myself. It was my responsibility not to lose sight of reality, but my fantasies were overpowering. It’s something I wanted to reflect on rather than simply blame someone else for. The song deliberately avoids giving the listener closure. Why was it important to leave the narrator trapped between desire, realization, and shame rather than offering a way out? I think everyone has to create their own way out of situations like these. Closure is not always found in the other person or circumstances. I wanted the song to capture that feeling of not knowing where things stand. I’m also a big fan of open endings in movies and stories, so that must have played a part, too. Your solo project began because certain emotions and ideas did not fit within Halevine. What did writing as Kael Strahm allow you to express that you couldn’t within the band? It didn't feel right for me to sing about love and romantic thoughts with metal guitars thundering along. The lyrics in my solo project are more direct and personal than they are in Halevine. I also enjoy being the dictator of my own music while working as a team in the band. You started singing without any previous vocal experience and have said you view your voice primarily as another storytelling tool. How has that perspective shaped the way you approach recording and performance? I don't have much natural talent for singing. I've gotten to a passable level through training and countless hours of practice. I don't even like singing that much. It's always been more a means to an end for me than a source of personal fulfillment. But I think my somewhat detached relationship with singing contributes to the subdued, somber atmosphere of my music. I can focus entirely on the sound and character of the vocals when recording, rather than having to manufacture the right emotion. “Blinded By Your Light” begins the journey toward From The Heart. What does this song reveal about the emotional or musical world listeners will encounter across the rest of the EP? The song is a musical and emotional anchor. The other tracks have a bit more going on, but they're all strongly connected to the debut single. "Blinded By Your Light" sets the tone without serving as a template.

James Collector and Sloppy Joe Lessard step into new territory with “At The Speed of Dawn,” a cinematic instrumental that blends classical crossover, ambient textures, and electronic production into something quietly expansive. The collaboration marks the first joint release from James Collector and Sloppy Joe Lessard, two artists whose musical histories make the pairing particularly interesting. Both have roots in Colorado’s hip-hop scene. Meanwhile, Sloppy Joe Lessard has since become known for violin work and bluegrass, and James Collector has built a career around electronic production and multi-instrumental experimentation. “At The Speed of Dawn” began with a chord progression James Collector wrote during a personal challenge to create something new every day for 16 days. Years later, the demo reached Sloppy Joe Lessard in Arizona, where violin and whistling transformed the original idea into a fully realized instrumental. The result feels less like a traditional song and more like a moving landscape. Piano, violin, synths, and delicate electronic production unfold gradually, capturing that strange stillness as night begins to give way to morning. Sloppy Joe Lessard’s whistled melody adds an almost wandering quality, while sparse orchestral moments let the composition feel massive without becoming overcrowded. Something refreshing also comes from how little “At The Speed of Dawn” demands of the listener. Instead, James Collector and Sloppy Joe Lessard leave room to notice the smaller details, turning an everyday sunrise into something worth paying attention to. For two artists stepping outside the genres that have largely defined their careers, “At The Speed of Dawn” makes their new direction feel remarkably natural. And with more collaborative music already on the horizon, this first chapter feels like exactly that: a beginning. What about the original chord progression made you hold onto it for years before “At The Speed of Dawn” finally took shape? James: When I wrote these chords, I was challenging myself to compose new progressions every day. Something clicked on day nine of an ‘everyday’ exercise in 2023. It was July. I was burnt out from my day job. The anticipation of my wife being 8 months pregnant was underscoring life. My son would be born in less than six weeks. Working with Olafur Arnalds ’ chamber strings VST, the notes fell into place in an uncanny way, integrating my prior study of modal interchange. For years, I knew the progression was something new, more cinematic than the other electronic music I typically write. But I didn’t yet envision how a project with fewer drums could open up the possibilities for developing this idea. You both come from musical worlds where rhythm plays a major role. What did removing that emphasis on percussion force you to explore differently as musicians? James: When Sloppy Joe and I first reconnected, we initially discussed a collaboration on hip-hop beats. He is still part of the legendary Colorado hip-hop group Whiskey Blanket, three MCs who blend live instruments with beatboxing. Knowing what a talented violinist Joe is, I mentioned that I had a number of more neoclassical sketches in the works. He was intrigued. When he sent me some recordings from his home in Arizona, I immediately gravitated to his use of plucking. I also knew that I wanted to use a few specific techniques to replace the rhythm that drums typically provide. I don’t want to spill all my secrets, but I will name-drop the Slate + Ash plug-in Cycles. Processing violin with that was a lot of fun. Sloppy Joe Lessard’s violin and whistling completely changed the character of the original demo. Was there a specific moment when you realized the collaboration had become something bigger than the initial idea? James: Joe has such a strong ear for melody and good songwriting instincts that the big moment is always my first listen to the recordings he sends. I was surprised by his choice to include whistling, but it made instant sense. At The Speed of Dawn always reminded me of a traveler hitting the road before sunrise. There’s a special feeling of clarity and possibility you get early on the trail or highway, in motion, seizing the day. There’s a strong sense of movement and scale in “At The Speed of Dawn,” despite how sparse the arrangement can be. How did you balance intimacy with that larger cinematic feeling? James: I think that sensation of expansive scale comes from the chord changes. The big orchestral timpani strikes also lend a spaciousness. When juxtaposed against the intimate piano and violin sounds, the contrast of large and small, above and below, macro and micro emerges. What I love most about writing music is discovering emotions and perspectives I hadn't yet consciously intended to express, but that came through from my subconscious. The title of this track also reminds me of a flight I took from Taiwan to Detroit in 2011. Looking out the plane window, I felt like we were chasing the penumbra of sunlight over the earth, soaring at high elevation in a state of perpetual dawn. You’ve described this collaboration as an outlet from your other projects. Where does “At The Speed of Dawn” lead next, and how far are you willing to push this new musical direction? James: This is the tip of the iceberg. Sloppy Joe and I have a whole unreleased album up our sleeve. So, we are looking for alliances in the sync and record label world. You can get in touch via my website, jamescollector.com.

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from a relationship where every conversation feels like another boundary being tested. On “Blicky,” Los Angeles-based R&B artist D’Anthony Davis takes that tension and turns it into something intimate, confrontational, and refreshingly honest. Born in Indianapolis and formerly known as Didda Joe, Davis has spent years developing his identity as a singer, multi-instrumentalist, producer, and performer. His musical world pulls from Prince, D’Angelo, Musiq Soulchild, Jimi Hendrix, John Mayer, and Lenny Kravitz, while his career has already placed him alongside artists including Miguel, Anderson.Paak, and Syd of The Internet. “Blicky” feels like another step toward defining exactly what D’Anthony Davis sounds like on his own terms. The record emerged during a studio session with fellow artist Jordan Hawkins, when the two realized they were navigating remarkably similar relationships. Both were dealing with partners whose behavior had begun crossing boundaries, replacing emotional safety with surveillance, manipulation, and conflict. Rather than romanticizing that dysfunction, Davis examines what it feels like to be on the receiving end. That perspective gives “Blicky” its edge. Davis explores the damage words can inflict during arguments and the psychological weight of constantly having your peace disrupted. Frustration underpins the record, but vulnerability keeps it from becoming a simple accusation. His performance instead captures the moment when attraction and attachment stop being enough to justify an unhealthy dynamic. “Blicky” also introduces listeners to what Davis and Hawkins describe as Electric Soul, a collaborative musical movement reconnecting contemporary R&B with the Black musicians who helped shape rock, soul, and rhythm and blues. Its lineage stretches toward Hendrix, Prince, Sly Stone, and D’Angelo without treating those names as aesthetic shorthand. For Davis, authenticity remains the foundation. Every record comes from somewhere he has genuinely lived, felt, or experienced, and “Blicky” makes that philosophy clear. It’s R&B with teeth, built around the uncomfortable realization that sometimes protecting your peace means recognizing when love is the thing disturbing it.

According to Ditto Music’s Independent Music Report 2026, 74% of independent artists surveyed earned less than $1,000 from their music in 2025. The report surveyed more than 5,000 independent artists across 112 countries, offering a snapshot of the financial reality behind today’s growing independent music scene. Despite artists having greater access to distribution, recording technology, and global audiences, earning a sustainable income remains one of the industry’s biggest challenges. Only 9% of artists surveyed reported earning more than $5,000 from music last year, while 64% said they work a full-time or part-time job alongside their music career. Money was also the most commonly reported barrier to growth. According to the Ditto Music report, 43% of artists identified finances as the biggest obstacle standing between them and the next stage of their career. The pressure extends beyond simply paying for studio time. Independent artists are increasingly responsible for their own marketing, social media, content creation, touring and release strategies. Ditto Music found that 86% of respondents create social media content to promote their music, while 75% believe social media success is essential to building a career. Touring presents another financial hurdle. The report found that 82% of artists surveyed said they could not currently afford the costs associated with going on tour. Still, artists aren't necessarily looking toward major labels for the answer. When asked what could accelerate their careers, signing with a major label ranked last among the options presented, at 13%. Perhaps the most concerning finding is how many artists are questioning whether they can continue at all. Nearly one-third of respondents said they had considered quitting music within the past year. The numbers arrive at a time when independent music is often positioned as one of the industry's biggest success stories. Artists have more tools, more control, and more ways to release music than ever before. But Ditto Music's latest report highlights a much less glamorous side of that independence: for the majority of artists surveyed, making music still isn't making much money.

Alternative rock project Your Neighbors has never been particularly interested in staying inside one creative lane, and the latest single, “REC.,” makes that philosophy abundantly clear. Built around a deliberately provocative concept, the track trades heavier introspection for something playful, impulsive, and completely unapologetic. Known for combining guitar-driven hooks with electronic textures, modern production, and unexpected creative choices, Your Neighbors approaches each release according to what the song demands rather than a fixed formula. That freedom has allowed the project to move between emotionally direct songwriting and more unpredictable territory without losing its identity. While previous Your Neighbors material has explored existential questions, addiction, self-awareness, and complicated relationships, “REC.” is considerably less interested in unpacking an emotional crisis. The premise is refreshingly straightforward: making your own porn. That bluntness is part of the appeal. Instead of forcing every release to carry some profound revelation, Your Neighbors lets “REC.” exist as a mischievous detour, leaning into humor, sexuality, and the kind of questionable decision-making that makes for a much more entertaining song. Even the band’s takeaway from the release refuses to become overly serious, offering listeners one particularly modern piece of advice: maybe reconsider filming anything too private with Meta glasses, given their security concerns. Beneath the joke, “REC.” reinforces what makes Your Neighbors interesting in the first place. There is no obvious pressure to make one song resemble the last, and unpredictability remains part of the project’s appeal. Your Neighbors plans to coast through the remainder of the year, but already has considerably more music waiting in the wings. If “REC.” is any indication, predicting exactly what comes next would probably defeat the point. “REC.,” is intentionally less serious than some of your previous work. What made you want to step away from heavier subject matter and make something purely provocative and fun? Not for any particular reason, but I did feel like coming off the last album, we needed to balance the catalog with things that were a bit more approachable. “American Hedonism” is such a crazy album that took a lot of effort, but I think if I continued on that path, the music would start sounding like it insisted upon itself rather than serving the purpose I meant for it to have. Sometimes people don’t want an intricate story, including myself. Your Neighbors seems comfortable letting each song become whatever it needs to be rather than following one sonic formula. How do you know when an unexpected idea is worth chasing instead of reining it in? Honestly, I don’t think I do. If there’s something about the song I like, whether it be the song itself or the instrumental, I’ll chase it down with my producers and see where it lands. Will DuPerier (my main producer/mix guy) plays a huge role in the process. He’s kind of like an analog Suno program, where I’ll feed him a song and give him some guidelines, and then he just rips the track to shreds and builds it from the ground up into something I never expect. We have very different influences, but we still respect each other’s tastes, so it allows for some crazy experimentation. By the end of the process, the song is usually worth putting out. But sometimes it just sits on the hard drive forever because we think it sucks. There’s a difference between writing about sexuality and actually making it feel playful rather than forced. What was the creative approach behind getting the tone of “REC.” right? I was just talking to Keaton (one of my producers) about this. Some artists just have a sexier aura and can get away with more on-the-nose lyrics. I would not put myself in that category. I think for someone like me, it’s best to speak in innuendo; the more flowery and esoteric, the better. But I think the best litmus test is just showing it to people, and if my lyrics aren’t vomit-inducing to them, then it’s probably fine. Most people don’t even clock what this song is about; they just like the beat and the melody. You mentioned Meta glasses when talking about the takeaway from this release. How much did technology, privacy, and the way people document their lives today influence the concept behind “REC.”? I think there is some kind of meta dialogue with the title (pun maybe intended), but mainly I just liked how it spelled out the song’s topic with recording a video of an intimate moment. There is a massive pushback on video surveillance right now, and it is really cool to see our society actively rejecting a “big-brother” future in a real way. It’s one thing to be an internet activist, but there are actual people going out of their way to tear down Flock cameras and showing up to city council meetings protesting data centers. It seems like we’re seeing a shift towards viewing policy through a “Human vs Anti-Human” lens rather than a strict adherence to party lines. It’s easy to get depressed with all the insanity in the world right now, but there are glimmers of hope worthy of being celebrated. You’ve said there’s already a lot more music on the way. After a track as unpredictable as “REC.,” what side of Your Neighbors are you interested in showing listeners next? This is kind of a one-off; I wouldn’t expect more EDM in the immediate future. The next songs are much more band-driven, and not as “in-your-face” as I’ve recently liked to be. I want the next songs to be more “song-forward” and less flashy production-wise.

Swiss psyche-folk band HAARA is stepping into darker territory with “Baccano,” a new single released through Rattler Records that transforms ritual, tension and impending battle into a hypnotic collision of sound. The track takes its name from Bacchanalia, the ancient Roman festivals held in honor of Bacchus. Known for nights of dancing, shouting and general commotion, those celebrations provide an appropriate foundation for a song that rarely sits still. “Baccano” opens with the voice of filmmaker Robert Gardner, sampled from his 1963 ethnographic documentary Dead Birds, before a didgeridoo cuts through the atmosphere. From there, percussion begins to build while electric guitar pushes the track into increasingly chaotic territory. HAARA describes “Baccano” as an “electric tarantella,” and that collision of tradition and psychedelia sits at the center of the release. Electric bass is treated as a percussive force rather than simply holding down the low end, while layers of rhythm give the track an almost ceremonial intensity. It feels less like a conventional rock arrangement and more like something unfolding in real time. The lyrics add another layer to that tension. Written and performed in English, they follow characters preparing for a battle set to take place the following day. Their words become a mantra as they perform a propitiatory ritual, ultimately placing their lives in the hands of fate. Released alongside an accompanying music video, “Baccano” finds HAARA leaning fully into atmosphere and experimentation. Powerful, strange, and intentionally unsettling, the track makes chaos part of the experience rather than something to clean up.