Rising Star 73 – where the spotlight isn’t a destination, but a beginning.

There’s a quiet power in those first few seconds—before the beat drops, before the words land, before the crowd even knows what’s coming. It’s not hype. It’s not marketing. It’s presence. And that is what Rising Star 73 captures in every breath.

This isn’t about the algorithm. It’s not about who’s trending. It’s about who’s becoming.

Rising Star 73 isn’t a showcase. It’s a threshold. A turning point for artists who have outgrown the rehearsal room and are now rewriting what it means to show up with sound that speaks—sometimes with fire, sometimes with fragility, but always with truth.

Each artist here is at a different chapter of their creative arc. Some have been clawing their way through the underground, carving authenticity into every lyric. Others are just now finding the courage to whisper into the mic and watch that whisper turn into something seismic. What binds them isn’t polish—it’s purpose.

This is the journey before the headline. The heartbeat before the beat drops.

In Rising Star 73, genres don’t cage expression—they’re detonated. There’s no formula. No one chasing the perfect chorus. Instead, you’ll hear glitch-hop dreamscapes that melt into spoken word, indie anthems that unravel like diary entries, and electronic lullabies pulsing with the ache of growing up and breaking free.

This session isn’t designed to be clean. It’s meant to be felt.

The world has enough music engineered to please everyone. Rising Star 73 is for the misfits who chose honesty over perfection. For the bold few creating not from a need to be seen—but from the need to tell a story that won’t sit still inside their chest.

Because music, at its rawest, is a mirror. And every one of these artists is holding it up—not to reflect who we’ve been, but who we’re becoming.

So tune in. Not with the expectation of discovering a chart-topper, but with the willingness to discover yourself—in a line, in a hook, in a single trembling note.

Rising Star 73 is more than a session. It’s a pulse.

And if you listen closely, you’ll hear your own heart in the rhythm.

Jess Allardice: Dreaming in Real Time with Like It’s Love

In a city renowned for its grit, guitars, and grounded talent, Jess Allardice is something of a sonic mirage—delicate yet undeniable. Her debut single Like It’s Love emerges not with a bang, but with a breath—a dreamy, lo-fi jazz-pop meditation that floats in like memory and lingers like desire. From the heart of Glasgow’s restless music scene, Jess offers an introspective portal into a romance that defies gravity, genre, and time itself.

For Jess, music isn’t just a craft—it’s a dimension. Growing up in a space where feeling too deeply was sometimes met with silence, she found escape in sound. Now, with Like It’s Love, she channels those hushed emotions into something larger than language: a sonic atmosphere that wraps around the listener like soft light. It’s not a track that demands attention—it earns it slowly, inviting you to lean in, breathe slower, and feel everything.

The song itself is an elegant contradiction: grounded in the subtle textures of lo-fi production, yet elevated by ethereal harmonies and jazz-tinged phrasing. Jess doesn’t follow genre rules so much as blur their edges. And within that blur lies her gift—creating music that doesn’t just play in your ears but drifts into your bloodstream. The romance here isn’t loud or performative. It’s weightless, yet real. Longing, but assured.

The journey to Like It’s Love wasn’t about chasing stardom—it was about chasing stillness. Jess spent months shaping the track in intimate Glasgow studios, treating the recording like a painter building soft layers of oil and light. Every beat, every chord was designed to slow the world down. The recording process itself was a quiet act of defiance against a culture that demands constant noise and motion. Instead, she gave us pause—and in that pause, poetry.

Live, Jess doesn’t just perform; she conjures. Audiences describe her sets not with applause, but with silence—the reverent kind. She creates spaces where vulnerability is celebrated, not hidden, and where connection isn’t shouted but whispered into being. With Like It’s Love, she offers that same gift to listeners everywhere: an emotional mirror, gently held up to the soul.

Jess Allardice isn’t trying to be a pop icon. She’s not chasing trends or algorithms. What she’s doing is far more radical—making music for people who feel too much and are told to feel less. For dreamers who crave honesty in a polished world. For anyone who has ever wanted to fall in love like it’s the first time and the last.

With Like It’s Love, out June 6, Jess Allardice doesn’t just introduce herself—she invites us into her universe. And once you enter, you may never want to leave.

The Bateleurs: Walking the Line Between Light and Shadow

There’s something unmistakably cinematic about The Bateleurs. Their latest single, A Price For My Soul, opens not with fanfare, but with a slide guitar that seems to groan under the weight of memory. This is no accident. The Lisbon-based blues-rock quartet has always understood mood as much as melody. With this new track—an ominous yet soulful blues dirge—they pull us into a familiar myth: the traveler at the crossroads, soul hanging in the balance, unsure of what the next step might cost. And with it, they offer a haunting preview of their upcoming album A Light In The Darkness, due out October 1st via Spain’s Discos Macarras Records.

But the mythology is more than metaphor. The Bateleurs’ story mirrors the music they make: raw, uncertain, determined. Formed in Portugal but shaped by transnational echoes of British and American blues-rock, the band debuted in 2018 with The Immanent Fire, a digital EP that introduced their fusion of vintage tones and regional bite. Yet it wasn’t until their 2022 full-length The Sun in the Tenth House, mastered in Nashville by David Gardner (Rival Sons, Chris Stapleton), that they truly stepped into their own sonic skin. The record felt like a baptism by fire—smoke-wrapped riffs, defiant vocals, and a spirit of longing that never quite settled.

Then came the silence. Like many artists, The Bateleurs met the pandemic with resistance—and reinvention. Sequestered in Lisbon, they transformed confinement into creation with The 2020 VC Sessions, a raw multimedia live recording at the historic Valentim de Carvalho Studios. Where some bands crumbled under the weight of isolation, The Bateleurs dug deeper. Those sessions became more than just a placeholder—they became a catalyst.

Which brings us to A Price For My Soul. It’s a stripped-down blues narrative, built on fuzz and feeling, that signals a shift in their musical direction. Gone are the ornate layers and psychedelic escapism of earlier work; in their place is something more elemental. The song feels like a reckoning. And in the tradition of the great blues storytellers, it doesn’t shy away from darkness—it walks through it, guided by slide guitar and the gravel of lived experience.

There’s a vulnerability in the band’s new material, but also clarity. The vocals don’t demand attention; they earn it. The instrumentation doesn’t compete for space; it breathes. You can hear the years of touring Spain, the nights chasing inspiration, the grind of building a sound across borders and budgets. These are musicians who have seen the price of artistic freedom—and paid it gladly.

Their connection with audiences lies not in spectacle but in sincerity. Whether on stage or in the studio, The Bateleurs invite listeners into something intimate and unpolished. Theirs is a music that doesn’t posture. It testifies. And with each release, they seem less interested in chasing trends and more devoted to crafting moments of resonance—where listeners can see themselves reflected in the heartbreak, the grit, the flickering light.

As A Light In The Darkness approaches, The Bateleurs aren’t just offering an album—they’re offering an invitation. To step away from the noise, to meet them at the crossroads, and to wrestle—together—with what it means to move forward when everything inside you says stay.

Mystic Wolf: Soundtracking the Spirit of Liberation

There’s a fire in Mystic Wolf’s voice that doesn’t burn—it heals. His latest EP, Collective Liberation, is not simply a collection of songs; it’s a sonic ceremony that weaves ancestral memory with modern resistance. Rooted in the belief that healing ourselves and our communities is inextricably linked to healing the planet, Mystic Wolf invites listeners to move beyond passive awareness into embodied activism. With drums that echo through generations and lyrics that confront systems of domination, Collective Liberation is a bold, beautiful act of reclamation—of land, identity, and spirit.

The artist’s journey has never followed a conventional arc. Born of mixed Indigenous and settler lineage, Mystic Wolf has long walked the tightrope between worlds—navigating urban life while staying tethered to ancestral ways. It was in the forests of Bahia, Brazil, and through long nights of ceremony with the Huni Kuin and Yawanawa, that his music began to deepen into prayer. This wasn't about performance anymore—it became about presence, about purpose. Now, with Collective Liberation, he returns not just with music, but with medicine.

Each track on the EP pulses with intentionality. From the visceral chants invoking Land Back sovereignty to ambient textures that feel like sunrise after protest, the soundscape is both grounding and galvanizing. The project partners directly with the Guarani people of southern Brazil, who are courageously reclaiming land in the face of industry violence. Mystic Wolf’s alignment with Agami Records' SEEDS of Light Campaign ensures that this isn’t just spiritual solidarity—it’s material support. Listeners aren’t just hearing stories of resistance; they’re contributing to them.

What makes Mystic Wolf unique isn’t just his sound—it’s his stance. He sees music not as escapism, but as embodiment. Collective Liberation doesn’t shy away from the brutality of colonization, capitalism, and white supremacy. Instead, it leans in, offering rhythm and ritual as counterweights to oppression. In a world quick to commodify culture, Mystic Wolf moves differently. His commitment to Indigenous sovereignty, cultural biodiversity, and spiritual integrity make him a vessel, not just a voice.

The EP is also a love letter to community—transcending borders and time zones. From Aotearoa to Palestine, Turtle Island to Abya Yala, the project stitches a transnational quilt of resistance. But it’s not just about global liberation; it’s also about inner transformation. As Mystic Wolf often says, “The revolution must begin in the heart.” That means confronting one’s own conditioning, deconstructing inherited beliefs, and choosing empathy as action. And that’s the heartbeat of the album: music as mirror, music as movement.

Mystic Wolf’s partnership with Agami Records feels destined rather than designed. A label grounded in cultural regeneration and sacred activism, Agami is the rare platform where art and impact are indistinguishable. For Mystic Wolf, this collaboration isn’t just a professional milestone—it’s a spiritual alignment. Having found home in Brazil once before, the artist speaks of returning, of continuing to build with the communities that have shaped his sound and soul.

In Collective Liberation, Mystic Wolf offers more than music. He offers a map—a blueprint for how we might live differently, relate differently, and build a future rooted in reciprocity rather than extraction. With each note, he reminds us that we are not separate from the Earth or each other. And in that remembering, we find a kind of liberation that no system can steal.

Under the Swedish Moonlight: Sophia Bolinder’s Love Letter to R&B with “Under The Stars”

Some songs don’t just play; they unfold like stories whispered late at night, full of longing and shimmer. “Under The Stars,” the upcoming single by Malmö-born Sophia Bolinder featuring John Soul, is one of those rare tracks—a sultry, stardust-laced R&B duet that reaches into the listener's chest and gently, rhythmically, reminds them what love sounds like. Set for release on May 16, 2025, the song doesn’t shout for attention; it seduces you with a nostalgic ease that feels both modern and timeless.

For Bolinder, this isn’t just a collaboration—it’s a continuation of chemistry. It’s her second duet with John Soul, and like their first, it hinges on the tension and tenderness between two voices that seem made for each other. The structure is simple but emotionally loaded: John initiates the story, Sophia responds. Together, they dance through the verses like lovers meeting under moonlight, navigating distance, destiny, and devotion. It’s a sonic romance steeped in the era that shaped them—those golden years of late-’90s and early-2000s R&B when love songs had depth, slow burns, and purpose.

At the heart of “Under The Stars” is a universal longing—to believe in a love so deep that time and place mean nothing. The track captures that rare certainty, the moment you just know someone is the one, no matter the geography. Sophia’s vocals glide with warmth and velvet restraint, while John Soul brings a richness that anchors the track. Their interplay is more than vocal—it’s emotional storytelling, pulling the listener into a shared memory that might not even be their own.

The production, recorded in Falkenberg, Sweden, is where the magic quietly simmers. Sophia and John didn’t chase trends; instead, they chased a feeling. The intro is intentionally soft, layered with a stardust effect that returns in the outro like the shimmer of a finished dream. Every element—from the silky keys to the pulsing baseline—echoes their vision of a sexy, chill vibe. It’s less about flashy hooks and more about atmosphere, intimacy, and elegance.

Bolinder’s influences are worn like a badge of honor. She doesn’t shy away from citing icons like Toni Braxton and Usher, but what makes her stand out is how she distills those references into something unmistakably her own. There’s a Scandinavian subtlety to her approach—a clean, uncluttered confidence that allows her voice to breathe and her emotions to land. She’s not imitating; she’s curating a vibe that nods to the past while sounding perfectly at home in today’s alt-R&B revival.

“Under The Stars” also feels like a quiet act of rebellion in a loud digital world. It resists instant gratification and demands you slow down. It’s the kind of track you play when the night is still young but your heart is already in deep—when the room is dim, the air is warm, and someone across the table is looking at you like they already know. Sophia and John aren’t just singing about love; they’re casting it, like a spell.

With this release, Sophia Bolinder continues her slow-burn rise, not by chasing algorithms but by nurturing art. She’s crafting soundscapes for grown feelings, for real stories, for moments that linger. “Under The Stars” isn’t just a song—it’s a reminder of what R&B once was, and what it still can be when left in the hands of those who truly love it.

lizardream: When the Night Speaks Back

The story of lizardream doesn’t begin on a big stage or in a studio—it begins in the quiet, vulnerable moments of connection, where music first forms as a feeling rather than a sound. Their latest single, Remember the Night, crystallizes that intimacy. When Boaz, the band’s bassist, brought the opening line to rehearsal, it wasn’t just another idea. “It hit something in all of us,” recalls vocalist Adi Schmidek Barer. “Each of us saw our own night in it.” That one line sparked a shared memory—one they hadn’t lived together, but one they all knew. And from that shared emotion, the song took flight.

There’s a striking honesty that runs through Remember the Night, wrapped in a sound that’s both unfiltered and intricately crafted. The track unfolds with the warmth of folk and the grounding power of indie rock, evoking artists like Big Thief or early Fleet Foxes, but holding its own in tone and texture. lizardream doesn’t aim for polish as much as presence.

This is the band’s third single, and each release has felt like a slow dive into deeper water. Rather than rushing toward an album or riding viral momentum, lizardream builds with care, song by song, like stepping stones in a river. Their fans—growing steadily both in Israel and abroad—have responded to that pace, tuning into the band’s emotional resonance, not just their rhythm.

That ethos is perhaps best felt live. lizardream’s performances aren’t spectacles; they’re stories, each song offered like a letter sealed in melody. Their onstage energy mirrors their offstage dynamic: a chosen family bound by shared purpose and creative joy.

Visually, the band favors grounded, cinematic imagery—soft tones, real light, and movement that mirrors memory. Their videos feel like fragments of a dream you’re not sure you had, but you miss anyway. There’s a deliberate refusal to perform artifice. Even in their press photos, the band appears as they are: honest, scruffy, present. That transparency extends into their lyrics—never abstract for abstraction’s sake, but rooted in real emotion, sharpened by craft.

There’s a subtle hero’s arc here—not in lizardream as individuals, but in the collective journey of finding one’s voice in harmony with others. They didn’t come together chasing stardom; they came together because something needed to be said, and it sounded truer when said together. That journey—from solitary emotion to shared creation—is the quiet triumph beneath Remember the Night.

As lizardream continues to evolve, they remain grounded in what brought them together: the belief that music is not just something you make, but something you live through—together.

“Brian Fire’s ‘Let Go’ Burns Bright in the Glow of Becoming”

In the low hum of change and the quiet corners of self-reflection, Brian Fire emerges — not as a sudden spark, but a slow-burning flame built from years of inner friction. Born Brian Garcia, the Southern California native has long lived in a tug-of-war between identity and aspiration. Now, on the cusp of relocating to New York City, he releases “Let Go,” a song that crystallizes the bittersweet beauty of personal transformation. This isn’t just music — it’s the sonic document of someone finally stepping out from the background into their own light.

“Let Go” sounds like a farewell whispered into a mirror, then shouted on a dancefloor. It’s indie pop with a pulse — sharp synth stabs, a hypnotic kick, and lyrics that ache with honesty. The song dances at the edge of collapse, but never tips over. Instead, it thrives in contradiction: euphoric and defeated, restless and resigned. It’s the perfect soundtrack for those who laugh at the edge of tears, who’ve stopped hoping for a perfect ending and started dancing anyway.

Brian’s musical language was forged in many dialects: classical scores, early 2000s alt rock angst, the rhythmic precision of marching bands, and the nocturnal grooves of house music. These influences don’t clash — they converge. His songwriting is a patchwork of eras and emotions, sketched out on long walks via voice memos, and refined in the solitude of apartments and cafés. The result is a sound that feels organic, human — like something grown rather than built.

This human thread runs deep through Brian’s work. There’s no persona to hide behind. His music isn’t filtered through irony or overproduction — it’s raw, layered with the vulnerable grit of someone who’s finally given themselves permission to be seen. “I’ve always known I was an artist at heart,” he reflects. “But it took me years to cross the line from wanting to make music to becoming someone who makes it.” That shift — from dreaming to doing — reverberates through every note of “Let Go.”

Visually and emotionally, Brian Fire isn’t marketing a mood; he’s telling a story. One of a young man caught in the churn of reinvention, learning to carry both memory and momentum. His upcoming move to New York symbolizes more than geography — it’s a leap toward becoming, toward risking permanence in the impermanence of a song. Like the best coming-of-age tales, this one is still in motion, and “Let Go” plays like its opening chapter.

What makes Brian Fire’s music feel magnetic isn’t just the production polish or his knack for melody — it’s the sense that he’s right there with you. That when he sings about uncertainty, about love in liminal spaces, he’s not recalling a past version of himself — he is that version, right now, recording the transformation in real time. The result is intimacy, not performance.

“Let Go” is not a cry for help. It’s a hand extended mid-fall, an anthem for the in-between. It invites listeners to mourn and move, to feel the heaviness and still choose movement. Brian Fire isn’t offering escape — he’s offering presence. And in a world spinning ever faster, that kind of grounded honesty might just be revolutionary.

LiMaVii: Singing the Frequency of Sacred Memory

Some artists write songs. Others receive them. For LiMaVii, The Union of Souls was not composed—it was remembered. This stirring collaboration with producer and artist LAIOUNG emerged not from charts or trends, but from a vision: two souls meeting beyond the veils of time, drawn together by something ancient and unspoken. It’s not a love song in the traditional sense. It’s a sonic prayer—sensual, luminous, and reverent—whispered into being by a voice that seems to carry more than just melody. It carries light.

LiMaVii—born Lidia Magdalena Wiktoria Pozańska—is not just a vocalist, but a healer. In every breath, she channels the energy of Luminaria, her multidimensional artistic and spiritual persona. Through this lens, music becomes a vessel for memory, a way to reconnect us with something we already know but have forgotten. “I sing to awaken what’s already within you,” she says. And when she sings, there’s a strange, stirring familiarity—as if your own soul is nodding in recognition.

The Union of Souls emerged as a sacred co-creation with LAIOUNG (Giuseppe Bockarie Consoli), himself no stranger to fusing purpose with production. What began as a musical exchange quickly transformed into a deeper alignment—of vibration, of intention, of inner truths. There’s a weightlessness to the track, a softness that doesn’t dilute its power. From its opening tones, it doesn’t just play in your ears—it moves through your body, wraps around your heart, and asks you to be still enough to feel it.

Beneath the surface, the song pulses with archetypal forces. The Divine Feminine, the journey of soul recognition, the mysticism of sacred union—it’s all here, expressed not in doctrine but in frequency. You don’t need to understand the language of healing to be moved by it. LiMaVii’s vocals are more sensation than statement, flowing like water through LAIOUNG’s soundscapes. Together, they’ve crafted something that feels timeless—like an echo from before we were born, reminding us why we came.

At the center of LiMaVii’s work is an unwavering devotion—to beauty, to truth, to love as a living energy. Her presence is not performative; it’s intentional. Whether on stage or in the studio, she is holding space, not just for herself, but for everyone listening. In a world flooded with noise, she offers silence wrapped in sound. Her art does not seek applause—it seeks resonance. And in that resonance, there is healing.

There’s a moment in The Union of Souls when everything drops away—beat, words, even melody—and what remains is pure presence. That moment captures the essence of LiMaVii’s mission: to return us to ourselves, one note at a time. For her, this isn’t a performance. It’s a remembrance. It’s what happens when sound meets spirit, when artist becomes oracle.

And so, through voice, vision, and vibration, LiMaVii continues to offer her songs as offerings—gentle, sacred reminders that even in the chaos, there is still softness. Even in separation, there is still union. And even in silence, the soul still sings.

The Spur, the Spark, the Stardust: MERE RITZ Rides Again with “Rodeo Clown”

In a world where algorithms shape soundscapes and authenticity can feel like a relic, MERE RITZ gallops in from the outer cosmos with a mission: to remind us what it means to feel. Her new single, “Rodeo Clown” — released June 6, 2025 — isn’t just a song, it’s a rally cry wrapped in rhinestones, heartbreak, and horsepower. Blending the dusty ache of country ballads with futuristic pop production, the track bridges nostalgia and tomorrow with rare emotional clarity. For MERE RITZ, pain isn’t the end of the story — it’s the saddle you climb back into.

The Los Angeles-based artist’s identity is as captivating as her music: an Earth-obsessed lady alien crafting soundtracks for the emotionally evolved. Beneath that cosmic concept is a human story marked by vulnerability and reinvention. “Rodeo Clown” was born from heartbreak — but instead of wallowing, MERE RITZ turned grief into grit. “It’s about getting knocked down but not knocked out,” she shares. The track uses the spur — the small but sharp rider’s tool — as a metaphor for forward motion. It’s motivation through discomfort, defiance forged in the fire of rejection.

There’s theatricality in her music — yes — but never at the expense of sincerity. “Rodeo Clown” mixes fiddle flourishes with hoofbeats and horse whinnies, conjuring rodeo arenas and line-dance saloons before swerving into laser synths and an EDM drop that feels lifted straight from a cyber-disco dream. This genre-jumping is intentional: it mirrors the emotional rollercoaster of heartbreak, recovery, and radical self-acceptance. Think Shania Twain on Mars, or Daft Punk crashing a Nashville fairground — and you’re only halfway there.

MERE RITZ’s creative direction leans heavily into the Y2K aesthetic: bold colors, glam futurism, and the unapologetic weirdness of the early internet era. But rather than simple nostalgia, her visuals evoke a future informed by the past — glittered in heartbreak, but armor-plated in resilience. It’s a sharp contrast to the sleek perfectionism of AI-generated content. Her defiant humanness is a feature, not a flaw — a heartbeat pulsing through the pixelation.

Her story resonates with fans because it's theirs, too. MERE RITZ doesn’t offer easy answers; she offers solidarity. Whether you’re dancing out your sadness or staring down the metaphorical bull that threw you off, “Rodeo Clown” insists you’ve still got the reins. The song’s inclusion in Grimy Goods’ best-of-June playlist — alongside names like Lykke Li and Clairo — is a testament to its rising relevance. But more than accolades, it’s the emotional imprint that lingers: a song that leaves you stronger than it found you.

For those following her trajectory, this is just the beginning. “Hump Day,” her next release, promises a Freudian alt-pop fever dream dropping July 2nd. If “Rodeo Clown” was the soundtrack to getting back up, “Hump Day” might be the anthem for asking, “Now what?” With each release, MERE RITZ builds a mythos — not of perfection, but persistence.

In the age of filters and flawless feeds, MERE RITZ is a glorious glitch in the system — reminding us that sometimes the most futuristic thing you can do is feel deeply, break loudly, and ride on anyway.

MiQael & Anniê – A Love Story Stronger Than Death

There’s a quiet bravery in baring your heart through song—and Swedish artist MiQael knows this all too well. His latest EP Love & Death isn’t just a collaboration with Brazilian vocalist Anniê; it’s a testament to the kind of love that claws its way through shadows. Released on June 6, 2025, the four-track journey invites listeners into a cinematic soundscape where devotion battles destiny, and where even death can't silence the longing to hold on.

MiQael is no stranger to emotional honesty. His work has always carried a spiritual undercurrent, blending Nordic melancholy with a soulful fire. But with Love & Death, there’s something deeper. The EP unfolds like a tragic fairytale, wrapped in aching guitar riffs, restrained but powerful drums, and Anniê’s voice—tender, urgent, alive. It’s a duet in the truest sense: two artists from opposite sides of the world singing the same story in one heartbeat.

Opening with Two Becoming One, the EP sets the tone with a slow-burning intensity. MiQael’s guitar work is gentle but unrelenting, a metaphor for the emotional labor of love. Then comes Pull You Through, where Anniê’s voice glows with resolve, as if she’s reaching across time and space to pull someone out of the dark. It’s the sound of love refusing to let go, even when everything else says it should.

Forever shifts into a more reflective tone, capturing the fragility of hope. The lyrics read like a vow whispered in a hospital room or at a graveside—bittersweet and soul-stretching. You feel the weight of every word because MiQael writes with precision. He doesn’t chase perfection. He chases truth. And it shows.

The title track, Love & Death, brings the narrative full circle. There’s no melodrama here—only honesty. With MiQael’s raw guitar lines and Anniê’s soaring, sorrow-tinged vocals, it’s a moment of surrender. Not to death, but to love’s impossible persistence. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the strongest love stories are the ones that never got their happy ending, but refused to die anyway.

Beyond the music, what’s striking is how Love & Death feels universal. You don’t need to know the backstory to feel it. MiQael and Anniê give you just enough room to insert your own heartbreak, your own memory of the person you’d cross galaxies—or lifetimes—for. It’s grief and beauty woven into a language that transcends borders.

Love & Death isn’t just an EP. It’s a question we’ve all asked in our darkest hours: What would you give to be with the one you love, even if they’re gone? And MiQael, through his writing, his guitar, and this haunting collaboration with Anniê, dares to answer: everything.

The Longest Light: Jorge Natalin and the Solstice of Sound

There’s a certain kind of artist who doesn’t just create—they remember. They gather moments, people, and grief into something textured and alive, something you can’t quite shake. Jorge Natalin, the quietly prolific musical alias of Dutch artist Arno Tijnagel, does exactly this with De Zonnewende EP, his ninth extended play and perhaps his most soul-baring yet. It’s a tribute, yes, but more than that—it’s a reckoning. Released on June 20th, 2025, the EP carries the weight of personal lament and global injustice, offering remembrance to the late Mazen al-Hamada, a Syrian activist and torture survivor who vanished into silence under the Assad regime. In a poetic echo of the summer solstice—when the sun appears to pause before turning back—the EP embodies a spiritual turning point, both musically and thematically.

Natalin’s career has always threaded the intimate with the expansive. From his early days wielding rhythm guitar in the enigmatic rock outfit Kayanda, to later collaborations with artists like Thomas Midfield and DJ Rombout (as part of the project Souvenirs), his path has been a mosaic of genres and moods. Yet throughout the fluidity, one thing remains constant: a searching quality in his guitar work—delicate but unafraid, melodic but edged with unease. On De Zonnewende EP, this searching reaches new depths, channeled through ambient textures, post-rock atmospheres, and aching six-string phrases that feel less like compositions and more like conversations with the dead.

Structurally, the EP follows a quiet arc—reminiscent of the Hero’s Journey, if the hero never returns. There is no triumphant ending here, only a kind of fragile peace. The opening track shimmers with slow-building synths and reverb-drenched guitar, casting long shadows across the sonic landscape. By the time we arrive at the closing track, we’ve passed through corridors of loss, defiance, and spiritual release. It’s a journey that doesn’t ask for understanding so much as presence. As a listener, you’re not watching from the outside—you’re inside the experience, witnessing the sun turn.

This immersive effect isn’t accidental. Natalin’s dual life as a photographer and visual artist bleeds into every corner of his sound design. Each track feels like a frame from an experimental film—grainy, slow-motion, emotionally ambiguous. His previous work on the original soundtracks for Sunset from a Rooftop and Finnemans clearly honed this skill. Here, music and image blur until you can almost see what you’re hearing. It’s cinematic, but not in the traditional sense. It's more like memory itself: nonlinear, flickering, saturated with feeling.

What’s perhaps most striking about Jorge Natalin isn’t just his musical breadth—13 albums, 71 singles, and counting—but his quiet refusal to chase attention. There’s no persona here, no inflated mystique. Just a man from Amsterdam, reflecting. Even in his online presence, there’s a refreshing absence of gloss. He offers listeners the Complete Jorge Natalin in Chronological Order playlist like an open journal, inviting you to walk alongside his artistic evolution. There’s humility in that—an old-school approach in a hyper-polished age.

And yet, this humility is paired with profound purpose. De Zonnewende EP doesn’t just mourn Mazen al-Hamada—it challenges the listener to remember. It asks uncomfortable questions: What do we do with the freedoms we’re given? How do we honor the voices that were silenced? In this way, the EP becomes more than music. It becomes ritual. A modern requiem not only for one man, but for the many whose stories remain unspoken.

As the sun leans away from its apex and the days begin to shorten, Jorge Natalin’s music lingers like the last light of evening—soft, resolute, and quietly eternal.