Rising Star #71

Welcome to Rising Star 71 – where sound becomes story, and tomorrow’s icons step into the spotlight.

This latest edition of Rising Star isn't just an event—it’s an experience. One that brings together bold creativity, fresh energy, and the unfiltered voices shaping the future of music. From genre-defying sounds to soul-stirring performances, Rising Star 71 invites audiences into a world where passion meets purpose and every beat carries meaning.

At the heart of this event lies a powerful showcase of emerging artists, each with something real to say. Whether it’s an anthem of resilience or a tender confession set to melody, every performance offers a glimpse into a new wave of artistry that refuses to be boxed in.

The stage becomes more than a platform—it’s a space where raw talent meets vision. Where melodies paint moments and rhythm builds bridges. With every act, Rising Star 71 honors the spirit of innovation and the universal connection music brings to our lives.

Celebrating diversity, discovery, and the beauty of untold stories, this edition spotlights artists who are not just rising—but redefining what’s next.

So, are you ready to discover your new favorite artist?

Step into the sound. The future of music is calling—and it’s louder, bolder, and more brilliant than ever.

Bains – Death’s Exile

There are songs that merely echo through your headphones—and then there are songs like Death’s Exile by Bains, which move like a memory you never had but suddenly recognize. This is not just a track; it’s a reckoning. A retelling of life on the edge, where existence itself feels optional.

Bains wrote Death’s Exile while reflecting on a string of seizures that nearly claimed her life—not once, but five times. The haunting part? She kept coming back. At just sixteen, stuck between unbearable pain, brutal medication, and a longing for peace, she found herself in a strange, suspended state. Neither heaven, nor hell, nor purgatory wanted her, she says. She was, in her words, "exiled from the realm of death."

And that feeling—of being sent back to suffer, survive, and somehow make sense of it—runs like a current through every second of the track. From the first notes, there’s a heavy stillness. Then, like breath returning to lungs, light seeps in. Bains doesn’t dramatize her experience—she documents it, with vocals that feel unfiltered and close, like she’s whispering the truth in your ear before anyone else hears it.

Musically, Death’s Exile shifts with intention. There are moments of chaos that mimic the seizure state itself, followed by delicate, near-spiritual calm. The song builds from grief and confusion into something resembling release, maybe even clarity—but never comfort. That’s not what she’s offering.

What’s remarkable is how unafraid Bains is of being misunderstood. She doesn’t sanitize her story, nor does she wrap it in hope to make it easier to swallow. Instead, she invites the listener into the raw, liminal space she occupied between life and death. And if you’re willing to sit with that discomfort, what you’ll find is something uniquely human: the sound of someone learning to live again, not by choice—but because something kept pulling her back.

This isn’t just a song. It’s a return.

Tone Walk – Maintaining

Tone Walk’s Maintaining isn’t just a record—it’s a quiet storm. Recorded deep in the heart of Los Angeles, this self-produced single pulses with West Coast DNA, fusing the soul of hip-hop’s golden era with the sharp introspection of modern-day survival. There’s no smoke and mirrors here—just raw craft, lived experience, and a sonic fingerprint that’s unmistakably Tone Walk.

A student of legends like Souls of Mischief, The Pharcyde, and Snoop Dogg, Tone Walk grew up with Public Enemy blaring through his speakers and a notebook full of rhymes by age 15. That early immersion into hip-hop’s rich tapestry is everywhere on Maintaining. His delivery is laid-back but surgical, sliding through the track with intricate rhyme schemes and a voice that commands without shouting. It’s a rare quality—one that harks back to a time when tone, pacing, and message meant everything.

From the jump, Maintaining feels like a mission statement. Tone Walk isn't chasing trends—he’s documenting his life. Balancing fatherhood, work, music, and leadership, the track plays like a diary entry for anyone trying to keep it all together. There’s a quote from Tone that sticks long after the beat fades: “Every step you take and move you make has to be calculated and precise. You decide your own destiny.” It’s more than a mantra—it’s the ethos of the record itself.

What makes this track stand out isn’t just the lyricism (though it’s sharp), or the flow (which is clean and confident). It’s the production. Every layer of Maintaining was handled by Tone himself, from the beat to the final mix. That DIY spirit gives the song a cohesive, undiluted vibe—it’s the kind of sound that couldn’t have come from anyone else. There’s an intimacy to it, like you're riding shotgun through LA with Tone narrating the ride.

Maintaining isn’t a single built for clout or TikTok virality. It’s built to last. It’s for those who grew up rewinding bars to catch every word, who crave that West Coast warmth fused with real stakes. Tone Walk doesn't just carry the torch for classic hip-hop—he reshapes it for today’s grind. For curators and heads alike, this track is proof that real still recognizes real.

In a time where much of the genre leans on gimmicks or fleeting aesthetics, Tone Walk reminds us what authenticity sounds like. Maintaining is the sound of an artist rooted in purpose, pushing forward with precision, and refusing to let go of the craft that shaped him.

Dreaming of a Sea of Time – Martin Kuiper

In a world where debuting young is often the norm, Martin Kuiper flips the script with courage and clarity. After launching his musical journey at 49 with To Feel Is To Believe, a deeply introspective debut that bore the weight of decades of lived experience, Kuiper now returns with Dreaming of a Sea of Time — an EP that expands his sonic and emotional range while continuing the vulnerable honesty that defined his first release.

Where his debut album dwelled in warm, guitar-laced pop-rock and vocal harmonies reminiscent of classic singer-songwriters, Dreaming of a Sea of Time dips into more atmospheric territory. Synth textures gently ripple through the new EP like currents beneath the surface — subtle but significant. There’s a dreamlike quality to the entire collection, as if Kuiper has traded the terrestrial for the aquatic, embracing a sense of floating in time and memory.

It’s an apt metaphor for where Kuiper finds himself. Having spent years documenting the voices of others through his platform FaceCulture, with nearly 15,000 interviews to his name, he now turns the camera inward. But unlike a novice stepping tentatively into the spotlight, Kuiper writes like someone who’s studied not only songwriting, but life itself. He knows the weight of waiting, the ache of ambition deferred, the soft bloom of belief finally blooming — and now, with this new EP, he also seems to know what it feels like to exhale.

While To Feel Is To Believe mapped emotional territory with themes of heartbreak, fear, and longing, Dreaming of a Sea of Time finds its footing in reflection. These songs don’t just ask questions; they offer space for them to echo. The production, shaped again by Ruud Tijs and featuring the instrumental talents of Erik Neimeijer and Jim Zwinselman, creates room for both intimacy and atmosphere. There’s a fluidity to this record — not only in its sonic palette, but in its pacing. Nothing feels rushed. The EP allows silence, texture, and emotion to breathe.

It’s hard not to read this work autobiographically, especially given the context of his late-blooming musical career. Tracks here seem to stretch between moments of regret and redemption, between time lost and time reclaimed. They don’t posture or preach. They drift — like thoughts at 3 a.m. or waves washing over sand — each one smoothing out the edges of a complicated past.

In Dreaming of a Sea of Time, Martin Kuiper offers a portrait not of youthful rebellion, but of seasoned reflection — an artist who’s finally allowed himself to be the subject after a lifetime behind the scenes. It’s a quiet triumph: understated, unhurried, and utterly human.

For listeners who value music as a space for honesty over polish, and feeling over flash, Martin Kuiper continues to be a voice worth pausing for. He proves, once again, that it’s never too late to speak your truth — and more importantly, that truth doesn’t age.

—

Recommended if you like: Peter Gabriel’s introspection, the textural depth of Roxy Music, or the elegant melancholy of modern indie-pop with an old soul.

ÉTATS D’ÂME – “My Best Friend”

With their new track “My Best Friend,” French act ÉTATS D’ÂME dives into the intimate gray zone of friendship between opposite sexes—one that’s often misunderstood, misjudged, and mythologized. Carried by the delicate pen of songwriter José Brignoli, the song unfolds like a confessional letter never sent, full of longing, comfort, and quiet defiance.

ÉTATS D’ÂME, known for their emotionally nuanced work, leans into their signature style once again—cinematic soundscapes woven with sincere storytelling. “My Best Friend” plays like a soft-focus montage of shared laughs, late-night talks, and unspoken truths. You can hear the years of camaraderie in every note, but also the quiet storm it creates in the eyes of outsiders—lovers who mistake closeness for competition, society that confuses emotional intimacy with romantic intent.

What makes the song resonate is its vulnerability. There’s no need for overblown drama—just an honest portrayal of a bond that doesn’t quite fit into any box. ÉTATS D’ÂME doesn’t answer the question “Can men and women really be just friends?”—they simply tell a story that proves it’s possible, complicated, and beautiful all at once.

Musically, it leans on smooth arrangements and emotive textures, reinforcing the tender tone of the lyrics. It’s not just a love letter to a friend—it’s a defense of friendship itself, in a world that too often mistrusts what it doesn’t fully understand.

In “My Best Friend,” ÉTATS D’ÂME isn’t just making music—they’re making a statement. And like the best friendships, it’s one that lingers long after the last note fades.

SeTa Dj – “Dancing Night”: A Heartbeat of Love, Loss, and Latin Fusion

There’s something unmistakably genuine about “Dancing Night,” the latest single by SeTa Dj — a sonic tribute to a love story that never quite found its happy ending. Rooted in the rhythms of salsa and pulsing with the energy of reggaeton, this track moves with both elegance and heartbreak. It’s a fusion not just of styles, but of emotion and memory.

The song feels like a throwback to the golden era of Latin ballads, wrapped in a modern pulse. Fans of Marc Anthony will feel right at home here — and not by coincidence. SeTa Dj has long admired Anthony’s emotional clarity and bold orchestration, and that influence comes through loud and clear. But SeTa isn’t simply copying a legend; he’s channeling him, reinterpreting that spirit with his own flavor, his own story.

At the heart of “Dancing Night” is SeTa’s collaboration with the long-standing Argentine group Rider Music. With friendships that span over 25 years, the chemistry is undeniable. Hugo Martinez, whose velvety vocals give the track its soul, brings out every ounce of longing in the lyrics. Meanwhile, Martin Cuervo’s instrumentation — including real guitar, drums, and wind sections — gives the production a warm, organic texture that sets it apart from the typical digital-heavy mixes flooding the genre.

Recorded in Argentina, SeTa’s birthplace, the track carries the spirit of his homeland. There’s a deep sense of pride in the arrangement — not only in the use of live musicians, but in the care with which each element was blended. From the swelling horns to the intimate guitar lines, every layer feels lived-in, like it’s telling its own part of the story.

What’s especially striking about “Dancing Night” is how human it feels. The sorrow in the lyrics is softened by a voice that’s gentle, almost comforting — a contrast that amplifies the emotional punch. It’s no surprise the song is gaining traction on streamings, racking up likes and warm reactions from listeners moved by its honesty.

Though SeTa Dj is currently recovering from a motorcycle accident and not performing live, the passion he poured into this track speaks volumes on its own. As one curator put it: “A sweet voice and beautiful sound — it shines because of how real it feels.”

With “Dancing Night,” SeTa Dj isn’t just making music. He’s inviting us into a moment — a memory of love, of loss, and of rhythm — that resonates far beyond the dancefloor.

The Burbs — “There’s No Time For Presents”

In their latest offering, There’s No Time For Presents, The Burbs rip the wrapping paper off the festive season—and then slice through it with a pocketknife. The Bells Beach trio, known for their grunge-soaked pop rock and brooding lyrical edge, have returned with a track that’s as emotionally raw as it is sonically sharp. And once again, they make it clear: they’re not here to play it safe.

Following up on the momentum of their acclaimed demo album Sunlight Spills Across The Swimming Pool and singles Ladder To The Moon and Skin And Bones, The Burbs channel their now-signature contrast of infectious energy and emotional weight into this hauntingly compelling single.

Recorded at Sing Sing Studios with producer Aaron Dobos, “There’s No Time For Presents” feels like a slow bleed—melancholic yet pulsing with life. Muted guitars and a rhythm section that smolders rather than explodes form the backdrop for Brook Mckeon’s unforgettable vocal delivery: ghostly, cracked, and almost too intimate to handle.

The lyrics are a masterclass in quiet devastation. “What a nice weight to get off your chest / All it took was a pocketknife and a press” isn’t just a poetic gut punch—it’s a dagger twisted slowly. It’s a line that doesn’t leave once it’s entered your head, and it perfectly encapsulates the emotional atmosphere of the track: delicate, dangerous, and painfully honest.

There’s also a sonic maturity at play here. The verses and choruses are both catchy, but they’re not chasing pop appeal—they’re crafted with care. Each note serves the narrative. A well-placed guitar solo near the two-thirds mark lets the song breathe before tightening the emotional grip again. The production is restrained, smart, and never overbearing, allowing the vulnerability to remain front and center.

What’s remarkable about The Burbs is their refusal to dilute their truth. Their sound might pull you in with accessible melodies, but their lyrics—and the intention behind them—cut far deeper. Like all great rock bands before them, they balance beauty and brutality, light and shadow.

“There’s No Time For Presents” might be the most affecting track they’ve released yet—and it’s the kind of song that makes you pause, rewind, and sit with yourself for a moment. In a world of disposable singles, The Burbs have crafted something with weight and staying power.

One thing’s for sure: there may be no time for presents, but The Burbs are the gift that keeps on giving.

For fans of: Phoebe Bridgers, Silversun Pickups, early Smashing Pumpkins, and emotionally intelligent alt-rock that hits like a wave.