Beyond the Charts: Session 2

The mainstream might feed the algorithm, but it rarely feeds the soul. That’s where Beyond the Charts comes in. This isn’t about playlists designed to keep you comfortable — it’s about chasing the friction, the spark, the sound that refuses to play it safe.

In Session 2, we dig deeper into the artists pushing against the grain — the ones who don’t just make music, but carve out movements. These are the voices building subcultures in real time, sketching new aesthetics on the bones of old genres. Think of it as tracing the DNA between yesterday’s renegades and today’s boundary-breakers: the punk urgency bleeding into hyperpop chaos, the soul of 70s vinyl resurrected in bedroom beats, the echoes of stadium rock turned inside out for late-night headphones.

We’re not here to hand out gold stars. Every track, every project we spotlight is put under the microscope — risks weighed against rewards, ambition against execution. Sometimes an artist sticks the landing, sometimes they stumble. Either way, the stakes are real, and that’s what makes it worth listening.

Session 2 is about stories as much as songs — the hero’s journey rewritten in basslines and feedback. The grind, the gamble, the almost-broken moments before a chorus saves everything. If the charts measure popularity, we measure pulse.

Welcome to Beyond the Charts. Let’s go where the algorithms can’t follow.

"The Long Game: Cameron Sage's 'You Won' Signals Something Bigger"

Cameron Sage From doesn’t sound like someone chasing trends. “You Won,” their latest track, opens in a way that feels almost unassuming—until it doesn’t. The beat pulls in slow, then the vocals cut through with that mix of calm confidence and vulnerability that makes you sit up straighter. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t just play in the background; it nudges its way into your headspace.

What struck me first was the clarity of the production. There’s no overcrowding, no unnecessary layers—just space for the voice to carry the weight of the story. You can hear the hours of thought put into pacing, where each pause feels intentional. Sage isn’t just making music; they’re building atmosphere. And that atmosphere lingers.

Of course, this didn’t happen overnight. Sage’s journey has been shaped by years of trial, collaboration, and carving out a personal lane in a saturated market. There’s a backstory here of working behind the scenes, absorbing industry lessons, and then stepping forward when the moment finally felt right. Listening to “You Won,” you get the sense of someone who’s no longer just experimenting—they’re arriving.

One of the details I love? Sage has this habit of sketching little fragments of lyrics on old receipts. Some of those half-finished lines eventually end up in their songs. It’s small, but it tells you everything about their process: music isn’t separate from life; it’s stitched into the everyday. Maybe that’s why fans are already describing their sound as “lived-in”—like you’re hearing someone’s real diary entries, not just polished hooks.

And yet, there’s a sharpness too. The visuals that accompany “You Won” lean cinematic but avoid the cliché. The camera lingers on moments that most videos would cut away from—someone’s hands trembling, a quick glance that doesn’t quite land, an unfinished gesture. It’s understated, almost frustratingly so, but that’s the point. Sage seems less interested in telling you how to feel, more in letting you sit with the tension.

Industry folks are starting to notice. You can hear echoes of influences—yes, a bit of Frank Ocean’s patience with space, maybe hints of James Blake’s willingness to sit in the shadows—but Sage resists the easy comparisons. They’re not chasing that “for fans of” box. Honestly, that’s refreshing. It feels like they’re playing the long game, trusting the music to connect without needing shortcuts.

What’s next? Sage hints at a full project in the works, though they’re cagey about details. What’s clear is that “You Won” isn’t just a standalone single; it’s a marker. A signal of where things are headed. And if the song is any indication, the path forward looks promising—not flawless, not tidy, but worth following. I’ll be keeping an eye out, and I’d suggest you do the same.

"Mathea-Mari's Unfinished Business" 

Mathea-Mari doesn’t ease you in. Her new single “Tired of Fixing a Broken Heart” drops you right into the middle of the wreckage—melody first, then that unmistakable Norwegian lilt that’s carried her since she was a kid on TV. It’s not one of those glossy, distant pop vocals; it feels lived-in, even weary, like she’s been singing the same story to herself in the mirror for years before letting anyone else hear it. That’s the hook: it sounds too personal not to believe.

If her name feels familiar, that’s because she’s been around longer than you’d think for someone just 24. At twelve, she was the wide-eyed kid who floored Norway’s Got Talent, and two years later, she walked away with the Eurovision Junior crown. That early spotlight could have eaten her alive—child stars burn out quick—but instead she kept going. Hundreds of concerts, some in packed halls, some in small towns where people probably still talk about the night she came through. It built muscle memory into her voice. You can hear it now: control without losing the crackle.

She’s not leaning on nostalgia, though. “Crush,” her other recent release, proves she’s got no interest in staying frozen in teenage fame. It’s a smarter kind of pop—tight production, lyrics that land in the sweet spot between diary-entry honesty and radio-ready catchiness. Pairing with Christian Burns (yes, the same one who worked with Tiësto and BBMak) feels like a statement move. She’s not just dabbling. She’s aiming for songs that stick.

What’s interesting is that she’s not overly polished about it. Mathea-Mari studied at LIMPI, that breeding ground for Norway’s next-gen pop makers, but you don’t hear “school project” precision in her tracks. Instead, the edges are slightly uneven. It almost feels like she wants you to notice the places where she’s still figuring things out. There’s a contradiction here: she’s got major-industry-level experience but still comes across like she’s just starting to let us in.

The visuals matter, too. Watch her videos and you’ll catch it—the little details, like the way she doesn’t overperform for the camera. She holds eye contact just a second too long, almost daring you to flinch first. It’s not about choreographed perfection, it’s about presence. That’s rarer than people think, and maybe why millions of views came naturally to her work. People believe her because she doesn’t seem to be trying to sell you anything other than herself.

I’ll admit—I didn’t expect to get hooked on “Tired of Fixing a Broken Heart.” The title feels like something you’ve heard a dozen times, but the delivery? Different story. There’s one line in there (you’ll know it when you hear it) where she doesn’t quite mask the break in her voice, and that’s the moment I stopped multitasking and just listened. That’s when it hit me: she’s not staging heartbreak, she’s cataloging it.

And that’s why Mathea-Mari feels like someone worth paying attention to again. Not because of her résumé—though hers is stacked—but because she’s writing like she’s got nothing left to lose, and singing like she might. That kind of urgency is what makes pop artists cut through the noise. Where she takes it from here is anyone’s guess, but if these new singles are the reintroduction, then this next chapter is looking less like a comeback and more like a takeover.

"Piper Connolly's 'Warning' Comes With Real Teeth"

The first thing you notice about Piper Connolly’s new single “warning” isn’t just the punch of the guitars—it’s the confidence in her delivery. At 13, she sings like someone who’s already lived through the highs and lows she’s writing about. The track slides in with that jittery early-2000s pop-punk energy, the kind you’d hear blasting from a burnt CD in the back of a friend’s car, windows down, lyrics scribbled on a notebook margin.

Piper has been building toward this. She’s not some accidental talent who stumbled into a good chorus. Her earlier singles—“twisted play,” “muse,” “kiss like me,” “welcome back girl”—showed a knack for storytelling and hooks, but “warning” feels like the first time she’s really swinging for the fences. Produced with Marvin Fockens, the song captures both the rush and the self-awareness of falling for someone who’s clearly bad news. That contradiction is what makes it believable. You know she’s not preaching—she’s lived it in her own way.

When Piper talks about the song, she doesn’t romanticize it. She admits she wrote it in the middle of chaos, that feeling of knowing you should run but staying anyway. That’s the kind of detail most artists don’t give away, especially this early in their career. But it’s also what makes her stand out. She’s not afraid of showing the messy parts, which is probably why her lyrics cut through in a way you don’t expect from someone barely in their teens.

Her background makes sense here. Before music, Piper was acting—on sets, memorizing lines, figuring out how to hold an audience’s attention. That training bleeds into her performances. Onstage she’s not just singing; she’s creating a moment. Fans talk about how her shows feel like being let into a secret club—welcoming, chaotic, a little unpredictable. She’s not trying to be perfect, and that’s exactly why people connect.

Musically, she doesn’t sit still. One track leans into ska influences, another nods to ‘90s grunge, then she’ll sneak in an R&B phrasing mid-chorus. It could sound scattered, but with her, it works. She’s pulling from everywhere—old rock ‘n’ roll, pop, punk, alternative—and smashing it into something that feels current. Honestly, it reminds me of that first wave of artists who broke the rules not because it was cool but because they didn’t know the rules yet.

And here’s the wild part: Piper’s audience is already rallying around her. Teenage fans see someone their age who’s not afraid to be weird or loud or contradictory, and they show up for that. There’s a spark of community in her music and performances—like she’s creating space for everyone to feel both seen and a little unhinged in the best way.

“warning” isn’t just another teenage heartbreak song—it’s proof Piper Connolly is already carving her lane. She’s not waiting to grow into her voice or her vision; she’s already running with it. Where it goes next is anyone’s guess, but if this is the kind of music she’s putting out before she’s even old enough to drive, it’s worth keeping your eyes on the rearview. Something big is coming up fast.

"Slavena Tiger Storms In With 'American Pie'"

Slavena Tiger doesn’t tiptoe into a track—she storms in, claws out, daring you to look away. “American Pie” isn’t just a nostalgic nod; it’s her spin, sharp-edged and unapologetic. Her voice—part velvet, part razorblade—cuts across a beat that feels both retro and modern, impossible to box into one genre.

What’s wild about Slavena is how she leans into contradiction. She’s glamorous but not polished, stylish yet deliberately unpredictable. The visuals for “American Pie” are a chaotic blend of early-2000s MTV energy and contemporary irony—you catch yourself rewinding just to figure out if she’s winking at the camera or at you. Probably both.

Her story reads like a Hero’s Journey. From small gigs and uncertain nights to tracks like “American Pie,” she’s been doubling down on her identity instead of smoothing over the edges. That tension—between ambition and vulnerability—is what makes her catalog compelling.

The track itself is messy in the best way. Pop hooks collide with punk sneer and electronic grit, creating a sound that sticks in your head long after it’s over. That chorus? It sneaks back at 3 a.m., the kind of line that makes you hit replay without thinking.

Fans respond to that energy. They’re not just streaming “American Pie”—they’re quoting it, dressing like her, turning her persona into a movement. Slavena’s music feels like an invitation, not just to listen, but to belong.

And yet, she’s not untouchable. In interviews, she talks about doubts, overthinking, and nights when the music feels heavier than usual. That vulnerability gives her catalog depth, making tracks like “American Pie” feel less like an anthem and more like a diary page you can peek into.

Slavena Tiger is restless, unpredictable, and impossible to pin down. Whether it’s “American Pie” or her newer work, she’s the kind of artist who keeps you watching, curious, and ready for whatever comes next.

"The Human Pulse: Nikita Lev's Fast Rise Stays Grounded"

If you haven’t stumbled across Nikita Lev yet, it might be time to hit play. Her new single, We All Die Anyway, isn’t just a title that grabs attention—it’s a glimpse into a mind that’s unafraid of sitting with loneliness. From the first few notes, you can tell she’s a songwriter who lives inside her music, with piano and guitar lines that feel both carefully composed and somehow immediate, like she’s writing it in the moment you’re listening.

What’s striking about Nikita is how quickly she’s grown. She started seriously sharing music only in 2023, but already her catalog boasts over 200 compositions. Six singles released in just over a year isn’t just prolific—it’s a statement. She’s clearly not interested in pacing herself for some industry-defined timeline. And it shows: her debut, Elegance, already racked up half a million Spotify streams and earned praise from SiriusXM and MTV Latin America. That’s a lot of noise in a short period, yet her music still manages to feel intimate, like a conversation you weren’t expecting to overhear.

Her sound sits comfortably in indie rock but refuses to be boxed in. There’s a melancholy to We All Die Anyway that hits differently depending on where you’re listening—on headphones walking through a city at night versus blasting it on a car stereo with the windows down. Nikita’s melodies are deceptively simple, but they carry this weight that pulls you into her orbit. And then there’s her lyricism: she doesn’t over-explain, but somehow, you feel the tension of pushing people away, the irony of wanting connection while retreating from it.

The video for Now I Think of You Unspeakably, directed by Michael Rees, feels like a natural extension of her music. There are these long, still shots of abandoned rooms that almost seem to breathe, then cut to snowy landscapes that make you want to both shiver and linger. Rees, known for work with Charlie XCX and The Kid LARoi, has a way of amplifying the quiet drama already present in her songs without stealing the spotlight. Watching it, you don’t just see the music—you see Nikita thinking, hesitating, wrestling with herself.

Live, she’s proving she can translate that studio intimacy onto a stage. Shows like We Found New Music and Saturdays at Seven aren’t casual gigs; they’re platforms where attention matters, and she’s held it. There’s something slightly contradictory about her performances—they’re polished enough to show skill but still carry a sense of spontaneity, a reminder that the songs came from somewhere personal, not just a recording booth.

Part of what makes Nikita Lev compelling is how grounded she feels despite the momentum. Her journey from piano-practicing teen to a featured indie talent could have been packaged as a meteoric rise story, but she keeps it unpolished in a way that’s refreshing. There’s a clarity in how she approaches her music: write first, polish later, let the emotions lead. For a lot of emerging artists, that’s a rare combination of discipline and freedom.

Looking ahead, Nikita doesn’t feel like someone chasing trends. She’s quietly building her world—music, visuals, and audience all intertwined. We All Die Anyway and Now I Think of You Unspeakably are just the beginning of what seems like a deliberately thoughtful rollout, and if the past year is any indication, she’ll keep surprising you. Her career is moving fast, but she’s keeping the human pulse front and center, and that’s why it’s impossible not to pay attention.