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There’s something fittingly contradictory about Rakiyah introducing herself through an ending. My Collection of Boy Tears may be her debut album, but its 15 tracks close the book on the Cosmic Love Odyssey - the expansive story she’s spent years building around her alter ego, the Cosmic Queen. And rather than treating that contradiction as a problem, Rakiyah sees it as part of the transformation. After all, one world has to end before another can fully form.

Throughout the alternative R&B album, which blends ethereal R&B, ambient production, and cinematic world-building, heartbreak is given a mythology large enough to hold everything that comes with it: anger, vengeance, desire, reflection, and eventually, healing.

The Cosmic Queen can be soft and ethereal one moment and consumed by darker impulses the next, while her tears can be collected and transformed into power. The tension between allowing pain to consume you and learning how to transform it becomes one of the project’s defining conflicts, but beneath the cinematic storytelling that takes place all throughout this album, the emotional stakes are deeply personal.

The fantasy may enlarge the story, but it never completely separates Rakiyah from the experiences underneath it. Rakiyah’s lived alongside this character and allowed the Cosmic Queen to carry parts of her own experiences while giving herself enough creative freedom to transform those experiences into a fully realized mythology of her own - and that commitment to making the story feel tangible doesn’t stop at the music.

As an independent artist, Rakiyah refused to let the scale of her imagination shrink to meet the limitations around her, creating seven music videos to accompany an album she’s long imagined as the soundtrack to a film. Now, with the Cosmic Love Odyssey reaching its conclusion, she’s stepping toward what she describes as a rebirth and carrying forward what the journey taught her while leaving behind what no longer deserves to follow.

In this World Of conversation, Rakiyah reflects on the emotional journey behind My Collection of Boy Tears, the evolution of the Cosmic Queen, and what it means to close one creative era while making space for the next.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Matilia, World Of: My Collection of Boy Tears is your debut album, but it also concludes a story you’ve been building for years. How did you approach creating a “first” that also had to carry the emotional weight of an ending?

Rakiyah: As I was creating My Collection of Boy Tears, I realized what a juxtaposition it was to create a debut album that is also the end of a trilogy and an era. But it feels right. I knew that in order to advance as an artist, it required me to evolve, so this closure of this aspect of the story provides space for a rebirth. This metamorphosis I’m experiencing as I matriculated through the Cosmic Love Odyssey emulates the journey of a caterpillar, but I’m closing that epic story out and emerging into the industry and to my fans as a butterfly.

World Of: Once you placed all 15 tracks in sequence, what did the complete album reveal about the story that you hadn’t understood while writing the individual songs?

Rakiyah: As I started sequencing the songs, the album revealed to me just how many stages of emotions I actually went through. I knew the Cosmic Queen was on a journey from heartbreak to revenge to healing, but all the songs together revealed a saga that felt like an emotional rollercoaster. I prioritized the sonic experience of the listener, but the arrangement revealed a narrative in chronological order that paralleled my life and what I had overcome and what I’m actively navigating through. From heartbreak to heartache to this evolved state of understanding and growth.

That chronological arc matters because the album isn’t simply documenting heartbreak from a distance. It follows what happens when pain is allowed to change shape - first into anger and vengeance, then into something Rakiyah can understand a little differently. Through the Cosmic Queen, she allows both possibilities to exist: a version of pain that consumes and a version that can be transformed.

World Of: What is the difference, to you, between transforming pain into power and allowing pain to become part of your identity?

Rakiyah: In this album I wanted to portray the human side of the Cosmic Queen, where the emotions and anger consume her. I allowed her to be reactive and let the pain she experienced influence her to seek revenge and override her better judgement. I allowed her to indulge in those darker human desires where the Cosmic Queen loses herself on her path of vengeance. However, the ethereal nature of the Cosmic Queen also gives her the ability to transmute her pain and the pain of others into power along her journey of collecting tears. So in this project she represents both: one consumes, one rebuilds.

World Of: The album contains revenge, desire, and dramatic reclamation, but you’ve also described the “quiet work” of becoming whole again. What did that quieter work look like, both for the Cosmic Queen and for you?

Rakiyah: Because I live through the Cosmic Queen, we experience some things simultaneously. The quieter work looks like reflection… reflection on my experiences and my decisions. This is really captured in the writing in Waiting So Long where I practically watch my life on a screen and consider how I’m going to move forward. Do I allow my trauma and pain to delay me? Do I allow things to keep me stuck? Absolutely not. I’m ready for the next iteration of myself. I’m ready for the beautiful things on the other side of this life, so the quiet work looks like giving myself grace. It looks like shedding that version of me and what I did and what I’ve been through, so I can move forward.

World Of: Because this is your most personal work, did the elaborate mythology make vulnerability feel safer, or did placing your experiences inside such a large world make them feel even more exposed?

Rakiyah: To be very candid, this world only creates the illusion of safety. However, I’m able to lean more into my creativity through my vulnerability. This method of mythology and artistic expression made this release feel so much more fun though. I also find that this creative and captivating blend that merges with my vulnerability makes the experience more entertaining and relatable for my fans too.

The mythology creates only the illusion of safety, but it also gives Rakiyah more ways to express what vulnerability can look and sound like. That duality exists clearly within the Cosmic Queen herself, whose softness never cancels out her anger, power, or capacity for destruction. Rakiyah’s voice becomes another extension of that contradiction.

World Of: You’ve previously discussed the contrast between your soft, siren-like delivery and lyrics that can be direct or aggressive. Where on this album did softness make an emotion, confession, or threat more powerful than a louder performance would have?

Rakiyah: I am naturally a soprano, which has created a siren-like vocal identity. But I love expressing aggression and sassiness in this tone because it’s unexpected. I also personally feel like this sound reflects the nature of the Cosmic Queen: ethereal, but don’t get it twisted. That’s the nature of the entire album, the nature of the Cosmic Queen: soft and beautiful but deadly. Know U Scared is truly an embodiment of that. I believe my voice reflects elegance despite intense emotion. Even though Love’s a Losing Game is louder to reflect rising intensity, there’s still something so regal about the exasperation I’m communicating through my high-pitched vocal performance.

World Of: Creating a 15-track cinematic project independently required you to balance imagination with practical limitations. What creative choice did you refuse to scale down, even when doing so would have made the process easier?

Rakiyah: I really wanted to make sure there were visuals to complement this album conceptually. This visual component was so necessary because this album is so cinematic. I was so grateful that despite being independent, I have been able to execute 7 music videos, 7 cinematic masterpieces so that the listeners can now be viewers and be fully immersed in the Cosmic Queen’s anger, witness the Cosmic Queen’s vengeance, and really feel the Cosmic Queen’s emotional and mental spiral prior to her healing.

I needed the world to witness The Cosmic Queen’s descent into madness and feel the relief that comes from indulgence, to appreciate the eventual lightness that comes with re-grounding and healing.

For 3 years, I have been dreaming of being able to release something like a short film to complement this album because this album has always been like a soundtrack to a movie in my mind. So I am so grateful that through hard work, creative budgeting, and collaboration, I was able to execute something at such a high level despite my independence that I feel like the world will truly enjoy.

For Rakiyah, making the Cosmic Love Odyssey feel real meant refusing to contain it within the limits of an album, which makes sense because the visuals allow listeners to witness the Cosmic Queen’s descent, indulgence, and eventual return to herself rather than only hearing about it. But after years spent building that world so completely, its ending leaves Rakiyah with a much more personal question: what deserves to come with her into the next one?

World Of: And now that the Cosmic Love Odyssey is complete, what are you no longer willing to let love cost you, and what does that freedom make possible in your next era?

Rakiyah: My peace. As I have gotten older, I have realized that nothing is worth the cost of losing my peace. I have so many beautiful things in my life: my friends, my family, my joy - if something comes into my life and disturbs the peace I have, I have to let it go. There are enough challenges and tribulations that come with the path I have chosen. At the very least what I have to do is protect my peace along the way. I am free to pursue myself and my creativity to the fullest extent.

That freedom feels like the natural endpoint to a story built around heartbreak, vengeance and everything that can happen when pain is allowed to take up too much space. After years of living alongside the Cosmic Queen, Rakiyah isn’t leaving the character or her experiences behind so much as allowing them to become part of a chapter she no longer has to remain inside. The Cosmic Love Odyssey ends with healing, but Rakiyah’s own story continues with something even more expansive: the freedom to protect her peace, pursue herself fully and discover who she can become when creation is no longer tethered to what hurt her.

My Collection of Boy Tears, Rakiyah’s 15-track debut album and the final chapter of the Cosmic Love Odyssey, is out now.

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Lights, Crowd, Glitter

True to His Name, Shawnie the Tsunami Creates Music That Comes in Waves

Shawnie the Tsunami makes the kind of music his name would suggest: fluid, unpredictable, and impossible to contain. While his songs often move through the R&B and soul genre, the East Saint Paul-raised artist is more interested in stretching that sound than settling neatly wit…

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19 days ago · 2 likes · Matilia

Shawnie the Tsunami’s artistic identity began with a childhood nickname, a search for the right rhyme and the desire to create something memorable enough to carry into his earliest YouTube videos. “Tsunami” eventually became more than a catchy addition to “Shawnie.” It gave him an identity he could experiment with, a visual language built around tidal waves and a name capacious enough to hold the different versions of himself that his music would later preserve.

Since then, the East Saint Paul artist has built a catalog that moves through uncertainty, self-exploration and growing confidence without losing the vulnerability woven throughout his catalog. His recent single, “Distant,” continues that evolution, while his upcoming release, “EASTSIDE.,” brings his story closer to home with a direct nod to the neighborhood where he grew up.

As Shawnie continues refining his sound and expanding the world around it, his focus remains on creating work that makes people feel something. In this edition of World Of, he discusses the origins of Shawnie the Tsunami, the experiences preserved across his projects, his approach to turning personal moments into music and the kind of artist he hopes to become.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Matilia, World Of: You’re from Saint Paul, Minnesota! Are there parts of Saint Paul that someone could hear in your music even if you never named the city directly? And how did your upbringing influence the way you approach music making?

Shawnie The Tsunami: I think Minnesota is still developing a sense of individuality when it comes to the general art scene. That allowed me to be inspired by a wide range of different styles and genres. I grew up in East Saint Paul, and similar to most of the Twin Cities, I was able to be influenced by a lot of different cultures and backgrounds. I also have a song named “EASTSIDE.” that will be released soon! So I had fun shouting out the neighborhood that I grew up in.

World Of: What is the story behind the name Shawnie the Tsunami, and what does that name allow you to express that your everyday identity may not?

Shawnie: I was nicknamed “Shawnie” by a cousin at a young age. So I took that name, and decided to add my own flare to it. At the age of 15 I began creating YouTube videos, so I wanted to find a catchy word to pair with my nickname. After trying out a variety of words that rhymed with Shawnie, I thought Tsunami would work perfectly. That has allowed me to play with my identity as an artist, and now I have incorporated tidal waves into my brand.

World Of: What kind of person were you before you started releasing music, and how has becoming an artist changed the way you understand yourself?

Shawnie: I was pretty shy as a kid, but after attending an art program in middle school, it allowed me to explore how to express myself through art. Now I’ve fully grasped my relationship with art and how it impacts my confidence.

The confidence Shawnie describes didn’t emerge as a separate layer placed over his earlier personality. It grew from learning that art could become a language for the parts of himself he once kept quiet. That sense of ownership now extends beyond performance and into the labor of constructing a song from beginning to end.

World Of: What part of your musical journey do you think deserves to be documented more than anything else?

Shawnie: I think the times when I fully produce a song are the situations that need to be documented, and also more appreciated. I think further down the line people will realize how time consuming being a part of the entire process is. Especially because tons of artists nowadays are okay with doing the bare minimum.

World Of: Do you tend to write from inside an experience while it’s happening, or only after you have enough distance to understand it?

Shawnie: I prefer writing while I’m actively going through the experience, because it makes writing the song easier for me. I’m the type of person that needs to write down an idea or lyric immediately, or I will forget exactly what I want to say. I definitely can write when it’s further down the line, but it takes a little longer to recollect every single aspect of the situation. I think having more details is better, and for me that’s while the situation is happening.

World Of: Have there been moments when releasing a deeply personal song changed your relationship with the experience that inspired it?

Shawnie: I think I do a pretty good job in not entirely exposing a personal experience in a song. I tend to write a lot of metaphors or slightly generalize the situation so that nobody feels called out. So I think when I mention a specific situation in a song, it goes over the person’s head. Or it’s the opposite, someone thinks that I’m referring to them when I’m not. Overall, I think it helps me cope with the situation better. Otherwise, those thoughts would be stuck in my head, and it would be harder to get over those experiences.

Writing from inside an experience gives Shawnie access to its details, while metaphor gives those details somewhere to go. By softening the edges of a specific situation, he can process what happened without turning a song into a public accusation. That balance between immediacy and distance has followed him across projects that preserve some of the most distinctive stages of his life.

World Of: When you think about going, going, gone, Gold Tears, and Get Out My Way!, what version of yourself does each project preserve?

Shawnie: My first project going, going, gone helped express how I felt about getting older, and not quite being at the place that I wanted in my career. Gold Tears was a time in my life where I was exploring my identity as an artist. Lastly, Get Out My Way! exudes confidence, and it depicts my current mindset. At the moment, I am determined to achieve all of my goals, and I won’t let anyone get in the way.

World Of: Where do you hear the clearest evidence of your growth when you compare your earliest work with what you’re making now?

Shawnie: Mainly in the production of songs. I think I got a better sense of how to make my vocals sound almost comparable to bigger artists. And I think I will only get better as time goes on.

World Of: Even as your sound and perspective have evolved, what has remained unmistakably Shawnie throughout every era?

Shawnie: How vulnerable I’ve been has been very consistent throughout the years. I think my art allows me to be an open book, and I think that is the main thing people admire about my artistry.

World Of: Is there something you believed an artist had to be when you began that you have since had to unlearn?

Shawnie: I used to believe you needed a certain amount of streams or followers to be considered a true artist. I have now realized that artists come in all sizes. In fact, it can be more rewarding when you have a few loyal listeners that are easier to connect with.

The evolution across Shawnie’s catalog isn’t only technical or stylistic; it also reflects a changing definition of what makes an artist legitimate. Moving away from numbers has returned his attention to the smaller, more direct forms of connection he can actually feel, raising a more important question than how many people are listening: what does he want the people who are there to carry with them?

World Of: How do you want listeners to feel after spending time in your world, beyond simply enjoying the music?

Shawnie: I want to continue making music and writing lyrics that at least someone in the world can relate to every time. That’s why I take a specific experience and generalize it in the song. I want the listener to experience the same emotions I’m feeling at the moment.

World Of: As your audience grows, what parts of yourself and your artistry are you determined not to lose?

Shawnie: I want to continue displaying my vulnerability. I’m hoping to have a discography that covers many different experiences so that I can touch as many people as possible.

World Of: Years from now, what do you hope people understand about Shawnie the Tsunami that cannot be measured through streams, accomplishments, or popularity?

Shawnie: I want people to understand how deeply I care about entertainment and making people feel emotions through my performance art. No amount of streams or success will ever take that away.

That commitment is what continues to anchor Shawnie’s work as everything around it evolves. His sound may sharpen, his audience may grow, and each project may preserve a different version of who he is, but the purpose remains the same: to create something people can feel and recognize themselves within.

“Distant” by Shawnie the Tsunami is out now, with “EASTSIDE.” coming August 7th.

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GUS’s single, Out of Water pairs bright, full-bodied production with lyrics that are much more bitter and wounded than the song’s energy might first suggest. What begins as a piano-born reflection on comparison after a relationship becomes something bigger and louder, carried by horns, strings, and the kind of theatrical release that makes heartbreak feel like a collective experience rather than a lone one.

The song is not interested in sounding as defeated as its emotional premise might suggest. Instead, it builds toward something more animated and alive, allowing frustration to turn into release without pretending the feeling underneath is simple.

That same emotional directness also points toward GUS’s upcoming EP, First Times, a six-song project about first loves and their endings. Across the conversation, GUS talks about writing as a way to dramatize despair, process what is happening in real time, and turn difficult experiences into something satisfying, fully developed, and - in his own words - awesomesauce.

In this Creative Spotlight conversation, GUS reflects on Out of Water, the upcoming First Times EP, working with Iain Berryman, and the live performances that continue to teach him how people receive his music!

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Big Feelings, Bigger Production: The Process Behind Creating Out of Water

At the center of Out of Water is a feeling that does not stay quiet. The song begins from a painfully specific post-relationship place, where every possible future connection gets measured against the person who came before, but its sound refuses to collapse under that weight. Instead, the track grows outward, becoming bigger, brighter, and more dramatic as the emotion behind it sharpens. That contrast between an upbeat sound and cynical lyrics is the clearest place to begin.

Out of Water pairs an upbeat sound with cynical lyrics. What compelled you to make the song have that kind of contrast?

GUS: That was a choice we made because this feeling I wrote about (the feeling that no one else would be as good for me as my ex) was so all-consuming, frustrating, and scary that I felt like yelling about it. The song grows with my contempt.

What does your songwriting process usually look like, and do you think about genre at all when you’re creating, or does that come after the fact?

GUS: My process is almost always me sitting at my piano at home and mumbling about things that are on my mind. I started playing the piano part you hear at the beginning of the song, and the rest all came out after I landed on the lyric “you’re why people don’t excite me anymore”. I never really think about genre because when it’s only me and my piano, they’re all kind of just...songs.

Do you tend to write from a place of reflection, or are your songs usually capturing emotions in real time?

GUS: It’s very much a mix of real-time and retrospective. Out of Water was the former.

And you worked with Iain Berryman on this track. What did he bring to it that changed the way you originally imagined it?

GUS: This was my first session with Iain, whose work I am a big fan of, and it was an exceedingly painless and enjoyable process. He brought an energy and life to the song, which was, before, a sad piano thing I wrote. When he went in, adding the horns and strings in the post-chorus, I was just sitting back in awe of how big and beautiful this song was becoming.

First Loves, Endings, and First Times

Because Out of Water was written from the middle of the feeling rather than at a safe distance from it, the song carries the intensity of a thought that has not fully settled yet. That immediacy connects naturally to the larger emotional world of First Times, which is a project built around first loves, their endings, and the growth that comes from having to make sense of both. But before getting into the EP itself, it was worth asking whether writing these songs helps GUS move on or keeps him inside that post-relationship world a little longer.

Gus’s response to the question?

“Writing about any kind of despair in your life helps so much because you kind of have to dramatize it for the sake of the song. You also have to decide exactly how you actually feel so you can pull from it, and that makes you process whatever is going on. Plus, when you write a song that you love, no matter what it's about, there's this immense satisfaction that comes from having turned it into something awesomesauce.”

That answer shows the exact emotional function of a song like Out of Water. The despair doesn’t just sit there untouched; it gets heightened, dramatized, and eventually turned into something GUS can understand differently because he made art out of it. That process feels especially important considering Out of Water is not just a standalone release, but part of a larger project where each song seems to hold a different piece of love, loss, and first emotional impact.

You’re currently rolling out toward an upcoming EP. How would you say these singles fit into the larger story or emotional arc of that project?

GUS: This EP is about my first loves and their endings. Every song is a different part of the story.

Without revealing too much, what feels different about this EP compared to your previous releases?

GUS: In the past, my bodies of work were very much focused on me. They were evidence of growing pains and asked a lot of questions about my place in the world. This project is also about growing, but it’s specifically about my first experiences of love.

And is there anything else you can or would like to reveal about your upcoming project?

GUS: I can excitedly share the title, which I have been wrestling with for a long time. The Project is called First Times and will be 6 songs about my first loves and their endings.

Live Performance and What the Crowd Reveals

While First Times is rooted in endings, the songs are not meant to stay frozen in the private world where they were written; they also have to survive the shift from personal memory into shared experience!

If the songs begin at the piano, they take on another life once they reach a room full of people. For GUS, performance is not just a way to present the work after it’s finished, but also a way to understand what is actually landing. The live space becomes its own kind of feedback loop, where the energy of the performer and the response of the crowd start shaping each other in real time. That makes the live show one of the clearest places to see how people connect with GUS’s music.

You’ve built a strong reputation as a live performer! What do you notice about how people connect with your music in a live space?

GUS: Playing live is my favourite thing on the entire planet. It has been such a valuable experience for me as an artist to be able to see firsthand how people receive the songs. I notice that people are really sensitive to the energy coming from the performers. If I am moved by the music, they will be too.

With that being said, is there a song that you’ve come to appreciate even more since performing it live?

GUS: What an amazing question! Yes, yes, yes, I am always surprised by which songs people gravitate to, and it shows me that I know nothing of what the people want. My song ‘Slips Away’ has this ability to capture a crowd in a way I haven’t seen in other songs in the set. I love when I am playing in a room of people who are not familiar with my music and watch the sea of bodies sync up when we play that song. Everyone starts swaying together, it’s amazing.

There is something so fitting about that image! A room of unfamiliar listeners slowly syncing up to a song together, when, across this conversation, GUS describes songwriting as something intimate and private, often beginning alone at the piano, but also as something that becomes bigger once it leaves that first space.

Out of Water may have started as a “sad piano thing,” but through collaboration, performance, and the emotional arc of First Times, it becomes part of a larger story about love, endings, growth, and the strange satisfaction of turning despair into something alive.

That is what makes this era feel so compelling. GUS is not writing from a place where everything has been neatly resolved. He is writing from the middle of the feeling, then letting the songs become the place where that feeling can stretch, dramatize itself, and finally crystallize.

Out of Water by GUS is out now, with the six-song EP First Times on the way.

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Koko Love’s debut album, The Cost of Freedom, is an indie alt-pop and alt-rock project that also happens to be loose, bright, impulsive, and alive - but underneath all that movement is a constant sense of questioning: what freedom actually means, what it costs, and what it feels like to keep choosing yourself when certainty would be easier.

The project seamlessly moves through anxiety, chaos, spirituality, resilience, self-reflection, and the messy euphoria of being alive - and the songs do not try to smooth those contradictions into something clean and digestible. Instead, The Cost of Freedom allows them to exist all at once, colliding rather than settling into one pre-established box.

That’s what makes the album feel so exhilarating! Well, that and the lyricism.

Koko’s writing often sits between surrender and self-awareness, embracing impulse while still trying to understand what it reveals. Songs like Jump Head First in the Fire and 24 carry that feeling directly, balancing humor, chaos, gratitude, existential reflection, and a real sense of…aliveness, all at once.

In this eighth Creative Spotlight conversation, Koko Love reflects on the freedom inside chaos, the cost of independence, and why The Cost of Freedom was ultimately made to feel like a breath of fresh air.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Chaos, Duality, and the Cost of Freedom

Part of what makes The Cost of Freedom feel so alive is the way it refuses to separate emotional uncertainty from sonic freedom. The album moves quickly and openly, as if the songs are constantly deciding what they are in real time. That looseness is not just aesthetic; it becomes part of the emotional language of the record, especially in how Koko connects anxiety, chaos, and possibility.

Your album feels really loose and alive sonically, but underneath that, there’s a lot of anxiety, uncertainty, and questioning of self. Do you intentionally like to use sound to soften what you’re actually saying, or did this end up happening naturally as you were making the album?

KL: Funny enough, I don’t know if anyone will relate to this, but it’s often in times of deep anxiety or chaos that I feel the most free. Chaos has a negative connotation at its core, but really, chaos means anything is possible. Chaos means the status quo can be rewritten. So I think the sound of the album is just a pure representation of that.

A lot of the album feels impulsive and almost chaotic - acting first, thinking later. Do you see that energy as something you’re embracing, or something you’re trying to understand or outgrow?

KL: Definitely something I’m embracing. And I would say: act now, edit later. Creating a separation between the creative mind and the analytical mind. I’m still perfecting this way of doing things. It’s an ongoing learning process.

That relationship to chaos also gives the album its spiritual tension. On Jump Head First in the Fire, Koko writes from a place where gratitude, guilt, bad decisions, protection, and blessing all seem to exist at once. The song does not treat goodness as simple or freedom as easy, which makes its reflections on duality feel central to the larger world of The Cost of Freedom.

For this song, the lyrics “All those good things in my life, God is be conspiring for me to have a good time and now I’m wondering, how’s my karmic debt going cause I keep blundering but she keeps blessing me,” are really sensational! Would you like to explain more about the idea behind them?

KL: This song is about the balance of good and evil. It’s about duality, which is only real in the material and mental world. Beyond that, in the spiritual, there is no such thing as good and evil, I believe. God is ever forgiving. Unconditional love. Although down here on earth, it is very real. There are good and evil forces at stake. And I believe you’re not truly good if you’ve never had to choose. This song is about my reflections on the subject, and simply the duality of good and evil, I would say.

And I love “24” What would you say was the main thing that inspired this song?

KL: I’m from Montréal (Canada), where it’s cold as fuck most of the year. Anybody who lives here is a bit crazy because this weather could literally drive anyone insane. But on the flip side, I think it also builds character. Canadians are some of the strongest, most resilient people I know. And we have the blessing of seasons. Real. Distinct. Seasons. Not some LA bullshit. And I think that’s a blessing.

That kind of relationship to place - loving the harshness as much as the beauty of it -feels very on-brand, considering how important of a part duality plays in the album’s larger emotional world. 24 turns Montréal’s cold, seasonal intensity into something almost character-building, where discomfort becomes part of the atmosphere rather than something to escape. And in that way, the song also begins to touch on one of the album’s bigger questions: what it actually means to feel free when freedom itself can be difficult, demanding, and uncertain.

What does “freedom” mean to you at this point in your life, and what do you feel like it’s cost you?

KL: It’s being able to do whatever I want with the least amount of friction possible, whether it’s a project or simply going about my day. But like everything, freedom has a cost. Because freedom can be overwhelming. Freedom can paralyze. And it demands sacrifice. You usually have to give up certainty and comfort. At least that’s my experience of it, but I’m sure a lot can relate.

Live Energy and What Listeners Are Meant to Feel

For an album that carries so much internal tension, performance gives the songs another way to move. What feels reflective or anxious on record can shift into something more physical when shared in person. In that setting, the songs are no longer only about what Koko was processing while making them; they become something that changes depending on the room, the band, and the people hearing them out loud.

The songs carry a lot of internal tension, but I imagine live, they take on a completely different energy. How does performing them change the way they feel for you?

KL: It’s different every time. Whenever I have the privilege of playing with my band, it’s a totally different energy than when I perform solo, you feel me? But obviously, either way, it always feels great to share these songs with people in real life.

Despite the love of live performance, Koko’s favorite part of the process comes back to writing and collaboration. The album was made through a close creative chemistry with Soran, in a space described less like a studio and more like something sacred. That intimacy matters because even when the final record feels expansive, its foundation is still rooted in trust, instinct, and the act of making something with someone who understands the world you are trying to build.

What would you say was your favorite part of the album-making process, and why?

KL: Definitely the writing part. We wrote most of it at my best friend and producer on this record, Soran’s house. It’s our Shangri-La. It’s a sacred space. And our chemistry is very special.

And now that the album is out in the world, do you feel any closer to understanding yourself, or has it just opened up more questions?

KL: More questions, and so is the nature of life.

If you made this album again right now, what do you think would be different?

KL: I don’t know. Probably more cohesive sonically. My biggest critique of this record is that it’s a bit all over the place in terms of genre and influences. I would probably try to paint a clearer picture of who I am without overcomplicating the sound, you know? A lot of my favorite artists are really good at sticking to what they do best, and that’s something I really admire.

Interestingly, I admire Koko’s ability to make “all over the place” feel alive and energetic rather than unfocused! The album’s shifts in genre and influence feel connected to the same restlessness that runs through the lyrics: the desire to understand yourself, chase freedom, make mistakes, and still find something honest in the middle of it. That openness is part of what makes The Cost of Freedom feel so personal, and it also speaks to the kind of experience Koko hopes listeners have when they enter the album for the first time.

When someone listens to this album for the first time, what kind of experience do you want them to have? What do you want them to feel, know, or take from it?

KL: I want it to feel like a breath of fresh air. I want it to make them feel young again. Nostalgic. Existential even. Free.

That final answer captures the spirit of The Cost of Freedom well. The album is not trying to arrive at one clean conclusion about freedom, selfhood, or what it means to move through life with uncertainty. Instead, it leaves room for contradiction. Freedom can be joyful, while at the same time, being overwhelming. Chaos can evoke fear and simultaneously, a feeling of infinite possibility. And the journey to self-understanding can open up endless pathways to more questions.

Koko Love’s reflections make the album feel less like a finished statement and more like a living document of a particular state of becoming. It’s impulsive, searching, spiritual, messy, funny, and sincere, usually all at once. And that’s why it works.

The Cost of Freedom by Koko Love is out now.

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Heart and Mouth’s album, Heart in Mouth, is an alt-folk album with eleven tracks that resist settling into a single emotional or sonic space. Instead, the album moves between intimacy and distortion, creating something that feels both solid and unsettled at the same time.

Built through collaboration between Flynn and Soren Bryce, the album carries traces of different musical histories and approaches to songwriting, along with a willingness to let the songs evolve beyond their original form.

In this seventh Creative Spotlight conversation, Flynn reflects on the duality at the center of Heart in Mouth, the role of instinct in both writing and production, and how collaboration helped shape the project into something layered, dynamic, and ever-changing.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

At its core, Heart in Mouth exists in contrast. The project doesn’t choose between clarity and distortion, or structure and unpredictability. Instead, it holds both at once, which becomes a defining characteristic of the sound.

Heart in Mouth is described as something that sits between folk and something much harsher/more fractured. How did that duality become the foundation of the project?

FM: For me, it started from growing up playing bass in alt-rock / math-rock bands. Upon starting this project, I wrote many of the songs on acoustic guitar, which can be quite limiting sonically. During the recording process, we wanted to re-channel a lot of that initial inspiration.

That sense of duality doesn’t just define the sound of the record, but the experience of it. When asked, “What do you hope people feel after listening to your album for the first time?” Flynn’s answer is simple: “I hope that they are left in a different place within their head from before listening to the album.”

His answer is direct and straight-to-the-point in a way that contrasts with the lyrics heard across the album, which don’t always feel like they’re trying to explain something directly.

In I’ve Been, there’s a line about writing (“heavy ink from my mind”) that made me wonder: how much of your songwriting is about processing versus documenting?

FM: It really varies if I am being honest. I guess a healthy dose of both!

That looseness in approach carries into how meaning is constructed across the album. Not everything is overthought or overly structured!

And can you tell me a little about the story behind the title track?

FM: Having spent three days deep diving into the other tracks on the album, we decided to take a little break and have some fun. Soren made a beat, and I wrote some words, and we had the title track in 30 minutes!

With I Spy, the line “I feel it escaping me, and that is good” is really interesting! Would you like to break down some of the lyrics in this track?

FM: It was written whilst sitting by the window in my old flat in Shepherds Bush. I had a great view of a music venue, a pretty trendy bar, and a mosque. I didn’t think too much about the lyrics, rather, was just writing whilst people watching!

If the writing of Heart in Mouth leans into instinct, the production expands it. The album’s sound is built through layering, experimentation, and a tendency to reshape ideas long after their initial creation.

Which song’s production would you say is your favorite, and why?

FM: I would have to say I Spy. I really like all of the texture and layers; I think it really helps lift the song.

Were there any specific sounds, textures, or recording techniques that became defining elements of the album while you were working on it?

FM: Yes, a lot of the vocal textures are analog; for example, we used a radio speaker mic on a lot of tracks. DIY :-)

That focus on texture shows up again in how certain songs evolve over time, sometimes starting as something casual before becoming fully realized through production.

I’m really in love with TalkTalk’s production! Can you tell me a bit about how the song came together?

FM: After a great dinner at Middle Farm, we decided to have a jam and record it. At the time, it was fun, but we didn’t think anything of it. That is, until we were mixing, and Soren decided to reopen the file. From there, we pitched it down, recorded about 5 different layers of vocals, and the track made its way onto the record.

How did the collaboration between you and Soren come together, and what does each of you naturally bring into the sound that the other might not?

FM: We met when her band, Tummyache, needed a dep bassist for a show at the Shacklewell Arms. A friend put me forward for it, and we hit it off. After that, Soren invited me down to Middle Farm to record some of my own tracks, and the rest is history! Soren tends to handle a lot of the production, texture, and atmospheric side of things, whereas I tend to stick to the songwriting and lyric side of things. However, these lines are very blurred.

That lack of rigid boundaries carries directly into the album, where songwriting and production continuously shape each other. The result is a project that feels like it embraces uncertainty, allowing each track to exist as its own evolving piece within a larger, shifting whole.

Heart in Mouth by Heart and Mouth is out now.

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Drawing from folk traditions while bending them toward surrealism, humor, and existential reflection, August Gladstone’s album, The Golden West, was built from personal experience, literary influence, and the symbolic weight of American mythology. The album explores the tension between expectation and reality, dream and disillusionment.

In this Creative Spotlight conversation, August reflects on writing between tradition and modernity, building a world through imagery and metaphor, and exploring the deeper tensions at the heart of The Golden West.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Between Tradition and Personal Voice, Myth and Disillusionment

August Gladstone’s work exists in a space that constantly shifts between the inherited and the invented. His songwriting draws from tradition, but never feels confined by it, instead using it as something to reshape, question, and move beyond.

Your work is rooted in older folk traditions, but also very surreal and modern. How do you balance your music existing in that space between past and present?

AG: Folk music carries a human core - a lineage of tradition, cultural memory - regardless of how you express it. At the same time, an artist's work is to recontextualize their lived experience - the traditions they've internalized. I love folk music because it allows for the recontextualization of cultural experience through personal ones. For my work, which is grounded in its lyricism, I twist folktales towards modernism without losing their core. I'm deeply inspired by the folk revival, the psychedelic revolution, and the history of wandering troubadours (from Texas to medieval Europe). I try to land somewhere between tradition, absurdity, and perspective.

You’ve written for other artists as well, so how does writing for others compare to writing something as personal and stylized as your own work?

AG: It’s a balancing act. I try to bring my personal style to everything I write (I imagine that’s what makes folks want me to write for them) and intertwine it with their style, their melody, their ideas. I love collaborating with other artists; it’s a privilege and a joy to build something in tandem. Ensuring a line of communication is paramount so that everyone gets what they want out of the partnership and the project is the best that it can be.

When I’m writing lyrics for someone else, I focus on the building blocks - language use and internal rhyme schemes that are transmissible across songs. When I’m writing for myself, I’m able to get a bit more lyrically experimental. I delve into stranger creative corners and embrace more cinematic, imagistic language within said poetic structure.

Across The Golden West, mythology is not treated as something distant or romanticized, but as something active and deeply tied to personal experience. The album uses familiar imagery to question the very narratives it comes from.

The Golden West pulls heavily from Western imagery and mythology. What drew you to that world as the foundation for this album?

AG: The Golden West arrived via a few avenues. A core concept of the album grew from my post-college exodus. I sojourned West following a dream and quickly learned, through a protracted existential crisis, how fragile those are. The West is an anglerfish luring seekers into its jaws with promises of riches, fame, happiness - everything golden. How can there be darkness in the golden land? How do we live meaningful lives in that hungry crucible? It’s a story of existentialism, of how dreams and expectations both serve and disrupt one’s life. The traditional Western myth is a perfect embodiment of that dissonance. You’ve got square-jawed heroes driven by manifest destiny, implacably thirsting for adventure, immune to failure, draped over a lawless, violent, unfair setting. We’re supposed to ignore the vulgarity of the world by holding faithful to these mythical idols.

On a less metaphorical level, I did a solo road trip through the badlands of several Western states last year, pulling off to enjoy massive, solitary swaths of deserts, mountains, and plains. I was incredibly inspired by America’s majesty, the ancient stories steaming off the Earth like a fog of ghosts. I was tearing through pulp Western novels from the 60s and listening to a ton of Townes Van Zandt, really sinking into his musical poetry. I wrote like a fiend on that trip, building those experiences and inspirations into The Golden West.

The Golden West also seems to question the stories we tell about America. What do you think those myths give people, and what do they obscure?

AG: There’s never been a more important time to question the myth of America. These myths have given the country carte blanche to enact a terrible history of bloodshed, one that’s ongoing. Historical American myths are so often rooted in power fantasy, in divine/moral right, and the assurance that we are the good guys. It circles all the way back to the Western tales I mentioned. This country is a golden-plated shadow. These stories give people comfort, security, and a strong self-belief, but in so doing, they obscure the violence, the inhumanity, and the truth behind it all. As America slips deeper and deeper into fascism, as our culture becomes one of instant gratification and mental dissolution, interrogating our ingrained beliefs is of paramount importance. It’s a major reason why I made The Golden West.

Playing With Language, Imagery, and Expression

At the center of August’s work is a love of playing with language, which is reflected in his lyrics and how they rarely describe something directly; instead, they build images that invite interpretation, creating a space where meaning is fluid instead of fixed.

You’re also releasing a companion poetry book. How do the written and musical versions of your work differ or allow you to express yourself differently?

AG: Yes! The big difference, to me, is in their ownership. The lyrics, when read, are open to one’s own interpretation, one’s own tone. Poetry is very intimate for that reason. The writer’s voice is tangled up with the reader’s in a kind of linguistic courting ritual. The musical versions are mine. August’s definitive expression of the words. Both are valuable and serve the work differently. One version offers the words, the other presents them. They’re born from the same place, but they have different effects. The book is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press in 2027!

And speaking of lyrics, what inspired the structure for Prayer for the Traveler, and would you like to break down the lyrics?

AG: If I remember correctly, I wrote the lyrics for Prayer on a Stairmaster in the Beverly Hills LA Fitness. It was written as a poem long before I had designs to turn it musical. Its repetitive structure invokes the feeling of a liturgical chant. I’m fascinated with how faith informs storytelling. Offering up a prayer for these mismatched archetypal characters is meant to bond us together, to inspire love, understanding, and equality on all levels, for the true great challenge in life, for everyone, is living it. I really like what we did sonically. The chant-like structure lulls you into comfort, with the keys and harmonica slowly building anticipation before the hellfire breakdown at the end makes it all explode.

And Talkin’ Wild West mixes humor, chaos, and critique of the American myth. How much of that song is rooted in personal perspective vs. cultural commentary?

AG: It’s a mix of both. It’s the most “modern” song on the album in subject matter. Structurally, it follows the path of the road trip I mentioned earlier, drawn from my notes. The song both embraces and critiques the cowboy aesthetic as well as the tall-tale braggadocio of Western myths. It implies the death of the cowboy at the hands of modernity while also searching for the core of that lifestyle and how it can be reformed to fit today’s world. I’m not a “real” cowboy. I’m a poet from New York. But in that admission, I feel myself get a lot closer to that cowboy truth than someone who’d wrap you up, try to sell you, on their fraudulent branded identity.

Your lyrics often feel surreal and almost dreamlike, especially in songs like Silverstrike. I love the vivid imagery you used here! How do you usually approach building that kind of visual/cinematic language in your lyrics?

AG: I never want to be grounded in reality. I loathe reality. Getting the chance to be absurd and strange in my writing provides a great escape from it. Starting my career in screenwriting, coupled with a lifelong fantasy/folklore obsession, led to imagery being my favorite literary device. I like exploring altered states of perception. I don’t really mean drugs by that; I mean spiritualism, fantastical encounters, the ancient motifs that appear in cultures across the world. It’s all such an exciting mystery. I want to touch that unknowability in my work. I strive for my images and metaphors to be multilayered. It’s one thing to present a startling image; it’s a whole other level to give that image symbolic meaning. I hope listeners have their own encounters with making meaning from my words. That, to me, makes an impactful, unforgettable song. It gives a listener agency to construct their own reality.

The Here and Now of Live Performance

Beyond the writing itself, the songs continue to evolve in performance, where structure loosens even further and something more contemporary takes over.

How does your music change in a live setting compared to the recorded versions?

AG: I live for live shows. My shows lean into raconteurism, plenty of banter and bits. I find interweaving stories and comedy amplifies the music. I experiment vocally during live performances, it makes every show different. When I’m playing with my band, The Maniac Orchestra, the songs take on a different energy. They start rockin’. It brings us to a really exciting level. We get to experiment with a retro, jam/psych rock sound alongside the folk lyricism. We always shoot to thrill. I dig what I’ve been discovering about the songs through that lens.

When someone comes to see you perform, what do you want them to leave thinking or feeling?

AG: I want them to leave feeling like they’ve seen something new, something different, something risky. I love performing so much, I get infected by the energy, I hope my audience gets wrapped up in it as well. The beauty of live performance is its imperfection, its unrepeatability. I want every show to be different. I want to discover something alongside the audience. I want my work to cut through commercialism; I don’t want it to be pop. I want it to be weird, warty, and human. I want the audience to feel more alive because of my show.

I also want them to think I’m handsome, charming, and talented. And I want them to Venmo me.

(I think that’s valid. You also don’t have to attend a live show to think August is handsome, charming, and talented, or to Venmo him. You could do all that now, you know. Venmo: @August-Gladstone)

Is there anything else you’d like to add?

AG: Thank you for these thoughtful questions! I’ve appreciated the chance to dig deeper into my work. You can listen to The Golden West on all streaming platforms. To get a comprehensive view of my work, visit my website, www.AugustGladstone.com. You can follow me on Instagram @NormalAugust for updates on shows and releases, and TikTok @AugustGladstone for live clips and works in progress. I’ll have a book coming out early 2027, some Golden West vinyls this year, and another album on the way... thanks for your time!

And there we have it.

What makes The Golden West compelling isn’t just its imagery, but the way it holds contradiction without trying to resolve it. August Gladstone moves between tradition and reinvention, sincerity and absurdity, myth and real-time, lived experience, allowing each element to exist without forcing it into something simpler or more digestible. The result is a striking, uniquely creative, and thought-provoking project that invites listeners to sit within the tension over the course of several full listens.

The Golden West by August Gladstone is out now across all major streaming platforms.

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Dram Fools’ Whisky River is not an album that settles into a single identity. Instead, it stretches outward across genres, textures, and emotional registers, pulling from jazz, R&B, American Songbook traditions, and Celtic influence without needing to belong to one space. What holds it together isn’t categorization, but intention: a shared commitment to letting each song become the fullest version of itself.

Formed during the pandemic, Dram Fools - Bob and Gavin - built their creative foundation through long stretches of writing and collaboration. Over time, those sessions evolved into something more ambitious: a 17-track album shaped by years of refinement and the contributions of over twenty musicians. What began as songwriting became something expansive, layered, and deeply considered.

In this Creative Spotlight conversation, Dram Fools reflect on their genre-fluid approach, the role of time and trust in shaping their work, and how Whisky River became a project defined by growth, detail, and creative partnership.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

A Sound Built Without Boundaries

Dram Fools don’t begin with genre; they begin with instinct. Their sound is shaped by influence, curiosity, and a willingness to let each song dictate its own direction. That openness carries directly into how they think about classification, collaboration, and identity as a band.

You’ve described your sound as hard to pin down, with jazz, R&B, American Songbook, and Celtic influences prevalent. Do you actively resist genre labels, or is that just a byproduct of how you create?

Dram Fools (Gavin): Genre confusion seems to be a byproduct of how we create! Neither of us resists genre labels, but both Bob and I have diverse musical influences that seem to influence the songs that we write. With Whisky River, our goal was certainly to showcase our breadth of songwriting, but also to include songs that belonged together, and that typified the vocal-centric “Dram Fools” sound throughout. Hopefully, we achieved that. I think so.

Dram Fools (Bob): Agreed. We don’t go out of our way to avoid genres. We just have eclectic tastes, and the music comes out how it comes out. The question of how to categorize it is not really an issue for us. People often ask what genre we are, but “Dram Fools” is as good an answer as I’ve come up with.

With 21 musicians featured across these 17 songs, collaborating with other people was obviously a big part of the album-making process. How important is working with other artists to you, and what overall impact did these collaborations have on the album?

Dram Fools (Bob): Gavin and I both wanted to record the best possible iterations of our songs that we could, and we heard in our heads what we imagined it could be. We were lucky to have brought in some really talented people. We both gave them clear ideas of what we were going for and also let their talent shine through. The talent of the musicians flowing and interacting with each other really elevated the project. Also, Gavin is talented enough to be able to score for the many instruments featured on the album and write specific parts that really brought our songs to new heights. We couldn’t play all the instruments we wanted to hear, and were delighted with our collaborations with all those talented people we brought in.

Dram Fools (Gavin): For a few years in the late 90s, I worked at a CTS Studios, a world-class orchestral recording facility in London, UK. This was both a blessing (I’m very comfortable with the recording process) and a curse (every time I record, I try to make it as polished and professional as we could in that place!). So when Bob said we should record the very best version of our music that we could, I was thinking, “Challenge accepted! Does he know what he’s just let himself in for?” But that meant we had long discussions about what instruments we were hearing on the different songs. I got busy arranging, we brought in the best local musicians we could find - we were super-prepared for the recording sessions. I did a bunch of editing, and the mixing nearly drove our engineer, Ron, crazy! But the result was everything we had hoped for. These songs could not have become what they are without the strings, brass, percussion, bagpipes, and everything else.

As a two-person band, how do your individual perspectives shape the final version of a song?

Dram Fools (Bob): Dram Fools is a collaboration, and there is always a back-and-forth process. We have been lucky to have largely shared the same vision for our songs, and any varied ideas about direction in a song have been aided by mutual trust and respect. All ideas are discussed, tried, and weighed with the mutual decisions arrived at with the goal of what works best for the song. Our egos have never been an issue.

Dram Fools (Gavin): I entirely agree. We’re very lucky that our close friendship has only got closer through the making of this album. But we’re also lucky that our skills are complementary. Bob is an incredible lyricist. He can write songs that I never could. But I am stronger in finding interesting chord progressions and arranging the music. From there, we both work in tandem to make the final result as good as it can be, and if I suggest tweaking some words or Bob has different ideas about the musical feel of a bridge, we work together. It has never been a problem.

You both come from very different musical and personal backgrounds. How does that show up in your work?

Dram Fools (Bob): I believe our different backgrounds have been a plus in working together. The Venn diagram of our skills have some overlap, but I believe our strength comes as much from the complimentary nature of our abilities and sensibilities as the similarities. We both bring different things to the table, and it really seems to work.

Dram Fools (Gavin): True. Though I will add that it causes Bob’s girlfriend Diane quite some amusement that we sing with such different accents. Here we are trading lines back and forth, but Bob’s from inner-city Buffalo while I’m from rural southern England. Tomayto, tomahto!

That contrast doesn’t just exist in their backgrounds, but in how the songs themselves evolve! Different instincts, different perspectives, and even different sensibilities are constantly being negotiated and reshaped over time.

You mentioned writing across the pandemic and then refining the material later. How did that time gap change the way you saw the songs?

Dram Fools (Gavin): I love this question. I think we quite regularly amazed ourselves that we kept finding ways to sculpt the songs over time that incrementally made them better and better. Given that we had been working on some of them for close to five years by the time we were in the recording studio, that’s a lot of tweaking! And often it was small stuff – change one word, harmonize one line where we previously hadn’t, that kind of thing. So the result was actually that the songs continued to feel alive and fresh for me, and I think that was really important when arranging them for recording. If we were not constantly motivated by our own material it would likely have come off as flat and uninspired.

Dram Fools (Bob): Yes. The process of time passing from the origins of our songs has benefitted them, and improvements and changes have occurred naturally and organically. There have been mutations that occur that just make sense, and changing things that weren’t necessarily immediately apparent enhanced the songs.

Letting the Songs Lead

Rather than forcing a singular tone or message, Dram Fools allows each track to develop on its own terms. That freedom creates a wide emotional range, where warmth, regret, humor, and reflection can coexist without needing resolution.

Across Whisky River, there’s a wide emotional range from love and warmth to regret and self-destruction. Was that contrast intentional when crafting the album, or did it naturally emerge from the songs?

Dram Fools (Bob): Good point in noticing that there is a range of emotional themes on the album. We let each song try to become the best version of itself, and the spectrum of feelings and themes was just a natural process of trying to be true to each song as it emerged and developed. There was never a master plan, other than trying to record the best possible iteration of each song.

Dram Fools (Gavin): “Write what you know” is extremely good advice. Most of the songs on the album tell a story that one or both of us have lived, and certainly that we can understand. So the content is real. For my part, Darkness into Light is the one song on the album where I wrote all the lyrics; it tells the story of the end of my marriage some years earlier. I knew for a long time that I needed to write that song, but it took years for me to do so. But it finally flowed when I was mentally ready. Contrast that with the irreverence and humor of I’m So Mad! So emotionally different, but still a real story.

That willingness to follow the truth of each song rather than impose a single emotional lens continued to shape how the album revealed itself over time.

Looking back now that the album is finished, do any songs feel different to you than when you first wrote them?

Dram Fools (Bob): Yes, and much of that comes from the terrific jobs that the talented musicians we worked with brought to the table. For example, the beautiful tenor sax/fiddle back and forth in Whisky River or the flugelhorn/clarinet conversations in November Song were revelations that happened in the studio. Also, the ability to add background vocals and sculpt the songs in post-production was transformative in sometimes subtle but important ways. The recording process was a revelation, as was turning the recordings into the finished product.

Dram Fools (Gavin): Bob’s answer is so gracious. What he meant to say was that the mixing process felt never-ending! But seriously, he’s right. While I had a very clear idea of what I was hoping for in the studio, I was blown away by what the musicians delivered. Probably the best example of a song ending up very different from how it was initially written is Morning, Noon, and Night. Bob actually wrote it many years ago, had the melody solid, and a pretty clear idea of what he wanted it to sound like in his head. But it took a LOT of work (and some straight-up mind-reading) for me to find the chords that he was imagining. If we ever got close to falling out about anything, that was probably the time! But after all that work, I knew it would have to be something special when we recorded it. So that’s the song where I scored 18 different parts to give it that orchestral sound. So much fun!

The Life Inside the Songs

If Whisky River is shaped by instinct and evolution, it’s ultimately defined by its details. Each song holds its own story and its own emotional logic - something that becomes clearer the deeper you listen!

Can you tell me a little about the story behind your name, Dram Fools, and behind your song, Whisky River?

Dram Fools (Bob): Our playing together and deciding to become a band occurred in the pandemic as a product of my girlfriend Diane and I both isolating, Gavin also isolating, and so the three of us deciding to “bubble.” We would get together on Saturdays, have dinner, play cards and board games, then around midnight Gavin and I would play music and drink Scotch until daybreak. Whisky was an element in our origin, and the drams (single servings of whisky) we consumed were a major factor in our process; thus, “Dram Fools.” The song Whisky River came out as it did without a moral in mind. I guess it does read as an ode to whisky as well as a cautionary tale, but without a pre-planned agenda.

Dram Fools (Gavin): It’s true. A terrible sleep pattern and copious Scotch whisky almost every Saturday night for five years might not sound like a recipe for success to everyone, but for us it worked! It didn’t hurt that Bob and Diane are both excellent cooks, so I’ve been eating extremely well every weekend, and continue to, to this day. After the pandemic I found myself in a new relationship, but fortunately my partner Donna, who is also a musician (she played the flute and piccolo for us on the album) took to our “Dram Foolery” like a duck to water. So the pattern continues, except now there are four of us, which gives us more options for card games!

That mix of sincerity and dry humor runs quietly through the project, showing up not just in the stories behind the songs, but in how they talk about them now.

What are each of your favorite songs from the album, and why?

Dram Fools (Bob): Damn! This is a really tough question. I love them all. Narrowing it to favorites, I would say Love Found Me (which I wrote for my girlfriend) because I love the feel and groove of it. I love Morning, Noon, and Night because it began as just a piano/vocal piece, but Gavin had the crazy vision of orchestrating it, as he mentioned earlier. I wrote the song while walking my dog one evening, and when I heard the first rough draft of what he had written, fully orchestrated, my eyes welled up, thinking of its humble beginnings and its transformation to the, in my opinion, sublime. Also Not Our Time. It started with me coming into the room at 3 a.m. and hearing Gavin playing this beautiful melody and asking what it was. He said, “Just some chords.” That was a major understatement! We recorded it on our phones, and I wrote some couplets that seemed to fit the feeling of the music, and I realized that the couplets had a story arc. I think it is one of the best examples of our musical chemistry at work and one of our best songs.

Dram Fools (Gavin): You may have noticed that Bob picks favorites like he picks whiskies—all of them! I feel his pain though. But to pinpoint one favorite with one clear reason, I will say Wait for the Sun. This one’s unique on the record because my mother Cindy, who lives thousands of miles away in the UK, wrote the lyrics. She sent them to me one day, saying, “Gavin, I think I’ve written a song, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing some music for it?” This wasn’t anything to do with Dram Fools, it was just a request out of the blue. Anyway, the music and words ended up coming together really well, so Bob and I started performing it together, and before we knew it, it was one of our stronger songs that we just knew had to be on the album. So I love how it came out with the string arrangement, but most of all, I love it because it’s a collaboration with my mother.

Is there a song that has the lyrics that you’re most proud of?

Dram Fools (Gavin): I already mentioned Darkness into Light, so this one’s all you, Bob.

Dram Fools (Bob): That’s also a tough question. I think maybe All We’ll Never Know might be a favorite, because of how it came together. Gavin wrote that haunting melody, and when I heard it, I had the image of a guy with his collar raised, walking in the cold. That image was the starting point, and I wrote that character’s story in about half an hour, and that was it. It was done, and seemed perfect. And Gavin’s vocal performance is amazing. I also think Writhe and Moan is kind of a sleeper. It’s an ode to sexuality and does exactly what I was trying to accomplish.

The Construction of Songs

If the emotional core of Whisky River comes from instinct and experience, the execution is just as intentional. Beneath the surface, the album is built through careful decisions, technical challenges, and a willingness to push songs further than they initially seem to allow.

Which songs were easiest versus most difficult to produce, and why?

Dram Fools (Bob): Because of its stark simplicity, All We’ll Never Know was easily the simplest. The most difficult was ABSOLUTELY The Legend of Dram Fools. We weren’t sure it was even going to be recordable, due to its incorporation of bagpipes, which are not exactly key-friendly, and the acceleration of tempo, which was no small challenge. Also, the crazed section of howling at the moon was an accomplishment. This self-mythologizing song was a lot to take on, but somehow, against all reason, it came together.

Dram Fools (Gavin): Absolutely. Legend (as we call it) was definitely the most complex. We debated for quite some time whether or not to even try using real bagpipes on the recording, or to just stick with the sound on my keyboard. But I had never arranged for or recorded pipes before, so it seemed like a fun endeavor! Unfortunately I had written the song in a key that the bagpipe drone doesn’t do. So first we tuned everyone else up to be in tune with the piper, had her (the bagpiper) mute the drone and play just the chanter for the melody line. Once that was done, I asked her to stand and just drone for six minutes on a separate track. Dolly was so sweet, but to that request she said, “Are you shitting me?” Well, she did it, we took that and pitch-changed it down roughly a minor third, and when we heard the tracks together for the first time, I knew that we would be able to make the whole song work. What a trip!

But even in their most technically demanding moments, the focus never drifts too far from the emotional center of the songs themselves - something that becomes especially clear in the more intimate tracks.

Halfway Home has some of the most beautiful lyrics! And it feels grounded in partnership and rebuilding, like finding stability in someone else. How did you approach writing a song that feels so steady and reassuring compared to some of the heavier themes on the album?

Dram Fools (Gavin): Definitely one for you, Bob!

Dram Fools (Bob): Thanks! That was a song I wrote initially with our talented bass player, Taylor Ricks, and his wife, Lauren, in mind. They perform as a duo, and I thought it might be something they would do. They never did, but Gavin asked if he might do a reimagining of it, which I was thrilled about, and I love the new melody and his arrangement of it. Sometimes, we’re lucky enough to find someone we can believe in and trust when we’ve been knocked down emotionally, and I think this song is an honest take on love and regaining ourselves.

And Love Found Me - In this song, love feels like something that happens to you rather than something you choose. Do you see love in this song as fate, coincidence, or something more?

Dram Fools (Gavin): Definitely another one for you, Bob, you old romantic!

Dram Fools (Bob): Interesting question. I absolutely feel that love is something that is beyond choice. You can’t manufacture it. It just happens. Whatever the ineffable process is, when it comes, love kicks your door down, and we can acknowledge it, but can’t make it happen. I don’t presume to know what is or isn’t fated, and coincidences may be involved. But it seems to be a mystical occurrence that we encounter, if we’re lucky enough to have it happen.

Now, Not Our Time, which is my favorite song on the album! It feels very final, but also conflicted, as if knowing something is over while still questioning it. How do you approach writing endings that don’t feel clean or resolved?

Dram Fools (Bob): It may sound weird, but my process of songwriting is more about trying to figure out what the song wants to be, rather than having a preconceived idea that the song conforms to. In Not Our Time there is a lack of resolution, but if it feels right for the song, then so be it. I love that song too, and there is a sense of the narrator both being conflicted and trying to go forward knowing there is a tough road ahead that can’t be ignored or avoided. You can’t always put a tidy bow on something, because songs, like life, sometimes lack a clear resolution.

Dram Fools (Gavin): I’m delighted that this is your favorite song on the album! It is absolutely one of my favorites, too, both to play and to listen to. As one of the first songs that we wrote together from scratch, I feel like it captures the essence of the Dram Fools writing and musical style, and I’m so happy with how the vocal harmonies came out in it. It came together relatively quickly, but we found very early on that it didn’t want to resolve back to the tonic. That would have undermined the whole emotion. So instead, we hang on that last chord for a moment, then launch right into Hold On which—though quite different in energy—is the sibling of Not Our Time. They have been performed together ever since! We like the contrast of the emotions like yin and yang: the end of a relationship that cannot work, followed by the energy and hope of a vibrant new one. And it’s a reminder that whatever happens, the future is ahead of us and there’s always more to live for.

What Remains

For all its detail, range, and complexity, Whisky River ultimately invites something simple: time. It’s an album built to be lived with, not just heard once.

So, what do you hope listeners take away from the album after sitting with it front to back?

Dram Fools (Bob): I hope enjoyment is the big takeaway, but also I hope that the eclectic range of songs, the varied vibes and emotions - but all having a common center - give a sense of the love, creativity, and care for the quality of the music that went into creating the final product. Seventeen songs are a lot to take in, but hopefully the journey through the album is full of pleasant surprises for our listeners and rewards a close listen.

Dram Fools (Gavin): Mostly, I hope that listeners are pleasantly surprised and impressed by the album, and that they find a favorite song among the collection. It always fascinates me that so many people pick a different song as their favorite. A few months ago, we wanted to enter one song from the album into a local music competition, so we asked our listeners what their favorite cut on the album was to see if there was a clear winner. Nope. The votes were literally all over the place!

And what’s the first impression you’d like a new listener to have of your music?

Dram Fools (Gavin): I’d like the first impression to be, “Oh nice! Vocal-centered well-written songs!” But because I know how much thought and effort went into each song, I want the second impression to be, “Oh, I didn’t notice that before.” And the third to be, “And I didn’t notice that either…” and so on. If this album can continue to be a journey of discovery long after the first couple of plays, that would be a big success for me. One quick example: listen to Halfway Home. Did you notice the flute and bass having a conversation near the end? A good set of headphones helps bring out those nuances.

(I did, in fact, notice! It’s clear how much care Dram Fools pour into every detail within their songs, even when hearing the album for the first time!)

Dram Fools (Bob): I want the first impression to be that there is a variety of musical experiences and pleasure to be had here, and a lot to take in and enjoy. Much thought and feeling went into this, and hopefully, it rewards the listener who dives in.

I certainly think it does. What makes Whisky River compelling isn’t just its range, but the intention behind it. Dram Fools don’t force cohesion; they allow it to emerge, shaped by time, collaboration, and a willingness to let each song take the lead in deciding what it needs to be.

The result is an album that feels expansive and detailed without becoming overwhelming, and deeply human in the way it embraces both structure and unpredictability.

It’s an album I’ll be revisiting again and again, which is why I’m grateful for the kindness of Dram Fools in gifting it to me! I can’t wait to give it a play in my mom’s favorite old CD player, which I think is exactly the kind of listening experience this project invites!

Whisky River by Dram Fools is out now across all major streaming platforms.

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Tummyache, a band led by Soren Bryce, is as raw and unfiltered as ever as their latest single, Interstate Dr, marks the beginning of a new chapter: a record shaped by grief and the aftereffects of loss.

The project doesn’t shy away from difficult emotional territory, instead leaning directly into it. Written in response to the passing of Soren’s father, the song is dense with imagery - objects, actions, fragments - that feel both grounded and surreal. There’s a sense of movement throughout it, but also a looping, cyclical quality that mirrors the emotional experience it’s drawn from.

In this Creative Spotlight conversation, Soren reflects on the writing behind Interstate Dr, how grief reshaped her relationship to creating, and why community and connection remain at the core of everything Tummyache stands for.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Interstate Dr: Exploring The Striking Imagery, Language, and Emotional Meaning Behind the Lyrics

The writing in Interstate Dr feels both direct and disorienting. Grounded in specific lines while still leaving space for interpretation. Much of that comes from the way Soren uses language: flipping familiar phrases, leaning into contradiction, and allowing imagery to carry emotional weight. Objects become anchors, phrases become tools, and meaning often sits somewhere just beneath the surface, waiting to be pulled apart and reassembled.

There’s a sense of accusation in lines like “you’re a thief and a liar.” Was this written toward a specific person or more of a feeling/state?

The whole record deals a lot with the grief of losing my dad two years ago. I suppose this line is directed at him, not in the sense of his actual being a thief or a liar, but to impose this idea that life was meant to be a ‘certain way’ and with him disappearing suddenly it was taken in an instant. Thieving me of the time I thought I had.

“Every free act and deed just goes over my head” suggests a loss of control or clarity. What were you exploring there?

Again, because this is mostly to do with my dad, this line is directed at how everything him or my parents did for me growing up without needing recognition or credit just went over my head, and I couldn’t appreciate it until it was too late.

“You will never crawl out from the kindness you killed” is a really striking line! Can you explain what it means, the idea behind it, and what “kindness” represents in this context?

I really like extended word play in lyrics, I think they can be quite a fun tool and I love putting words together that are usually used together in other situations. For example, ‘kill them with kindness’ is a pretty well known phrase. So taking that and flipping it on its head was really my intention here, exploring what that means to have the role reversed.

It’s this kind of reversal that makes the writing feel so layered! Language isn’t fixed; it’s something to be tested, stretched, and turned inside out. That same approach shows up again in one of the song’s more biting lines.

The line “eat the losers for breakfast, it all tastes the same” also stands out, and it feels very critical. Would you like to explain this one as well? What were you feeling or responding to when writing that?

I feel like this line is mostly directed at me, my false sense of bravado and hard exterior toward the external world, using cynicism and judgement as a coping mechanism to not have to interface with others or be vulnerable. “It all tastes the same” just evoking the idea that whether you’re negative or positive, the outcome is the same, so why are you really doing it the hard way round?

The line “there is a light at the end of it” could be interpreted differently, depending on who you ask. Is that line meant to be hopeful, or more uncertain?

I find that this line came very naturally in recording, as it wasn’t initially written to have any words in the outro. I feel like they are meant to elicit hope and the idea that there are other things to look forward to.

Even if it isn’t true, the idea that there is a light at the end helps you to keep moving forward.

The song seems to move between anger and numbness, so how do you navigate those emotional shifts when writing?

I find my writing reflects my general temperament as a person. I suppose the lyrics just reflect however I was feeling at the time.

That emotional fluidity carries into the way the song is constructed as well. The shifts aren’t just happening in feeling, but in how those feelings are expressed: moving from internal states into something more concrete and visual.

The imagery is incredibly vivid and feels very tactile but also surreal (needle, bread, train, etc.) Do you think in images more often than not when you write?

I would say I do think very visually when writing. I like to use objects as a tool of place and memory, and I feel that objects are very powerful reference points that everyone can picture or relate to. Everyone has their own relationship with different objects, and I think that’s a very interesting way of approaching lyric writing.

Grief, Creation, and the Upcoming Album

The upcoming record exists as a response rather than a plan - something that emerged out of necessity rather than intention. Instead of trying to define grief, it allows that experience to remain open yet deeply personal, and ever-evolving. Somewhere within that in-between space, creating becomes less about structure and more about expression. The music doesn’t attempt to resolve anything; it simply holds what’s there.

Your upcoming album explores the aftereffects of grief, so what felt most important to capture about that phase specifically?

I didn’t set out to capture it for any sort of sense or purpose; it was just the only way I was able to cope with what I was feeling at the time, and ultimately, a record came out of it.

There’s a sense that grief reshapes everything around it. How has it changed your relationship to creating?

I think the way it’s changed things is that it is just going to inevitably be part of everything I do or create. My dad was my number one supporter, and the idea that he won’t even be able to hear these things I’m so proud of creating now is quite hard, and changes the relationship to it once it’s released.

What do you hope listeners understand about grief after hearing this project?

I’m hoping they just have something that they can relate to and find some comfort in, knowing they aren’t the only ones feeling the way they are in their grief period.

With you as the central force behind Tummyache, but with rotating collaborators, how did that fluid structure influence the sound and identity of you guys’ upcoming album?

I would say the upcoming album is quite an anomaly because it was a lot less collaborative due to the nature of the subject matter. I really needed an insular space that felt small enough for me to explore and navigate these difficult emotions without too much external interference. However, overall, the amount of lovely people that have been involved with tummyache is such a blessing, and I feel super grateful to everyone who has ever lent me their talents and time.

Live Energy, Community, and Reimagining Connection

Beyond the recordings, Tummyache exists as a shared space that extends into live shows, community, and collective experience. While the songs may begin in isolation, they don’t stay there for long. What emerges live is something different: cathartic, communal, and rooted in connection.

You have a packed run of shows coming up. How does performing these songs live differ from recording them?

It’s really fun taking things out on the road because it’s quite cathartic, and it’s nice to see the response, especially to the more emotional ones, though sometimes it can be hard to relive the memories each day behind songs.

Your shows are described as spaces built around accessibility and mutual respect. What is the main thing you want people to feel when they’re in that environment?

I suppose I want everyone to feel that they are a part of something bigger than themselves and also just bigger than Tummyache. I really value community, and its power to heal a lot of things wrong with the world, so if all we can be is a vessel to create space for that to blossom, that would mean so much to me. We’ve managed to connect with a lot of like-minded beautiful people through playing music, and I hope it continues.

You emphasize community, care, and creative freedom over commercial goals. What does that look like in practice for you?

Well, to be blunt, it looks like being broke quite a lot of the time! But I do genuinely believe that these pillars are way more important than money. I just want us all to be on the right side of history and feel like we moved the wheel even slightly on making things more equal and fair for not just artists but any oppressed minority. DIY is a wonderful tool, but it can become quite tainted by insular, white, male-only bands, and it’s important for all of us to keep checks on that.

Soren isn’t sitting idly by, waiting for someone else to create a safe space for artists and minorities to connect, either. She’s taken the initiative to create a space for creatives to gather and build a future for art that doesn’t rely on digital spaces!

The Unplugged Artist Collective came from frustration with social media. What kind of space or connection were you missing that you wanted to create instead?

I am hoping to create a thought-movement that encourages people to question what they consume and start to step away from social media. I truly believe it is not beneficial to humanity as a whole, and we need to move more toward small, group-focused communities again. It’s not good for our mental health or our social health. Artists are particularly getting the short end of the stick, as they’ve become more and more commodified and less respected as important parts of an overall culture.

What do you think makes it possible for art and music to still exist meaningfully outside of digital spaces today?

I can only speak from my own personal lens, but I just do think that we all need that basic level of human-ness in the things we consume, otherwise we aren’t feeling our empathy or compassion. I feel that there is a strong desire for this within ourselves, even just subconsciously.

Through Interstate Dr, and the record it introduces, Soren Bryce offers something that feels both deeply personal and widely resonant: a reminder that even in isolation, connection is still possible through sound and through the spaces we choose to build together. That reminder is what makes the project so worth tuning into.

Interstate Dr by Tummyache is out now, with their fourth album Repeat in Reverse set to release in October 2026.

“I hope to catch anyone on tour and connect. Thank you so much for reading and listening.” - Soren

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Outer World’s music feels like something assembled rather than written - a collage of sound, texture, and influence that comes together in unexpected yet creatively genius ways. Built by Tracy Wilson and Kenneth Close, the project draws from decades of recorded music, blending cinematic soundtracks, global rhythms, analog textures, and experimental production into something that feels both nostalgic and completely new all at once. With Wilson’s long-standing history in indie music (including projects like Dahlia Seed and Positive No), that depth of influence feels totally natural.

Their latest single, La Dimora, released in collaboration with K Records and Courtesy Desk, leans fully into that sensibility. Sitting somewhere between psychedelic pop, experimental indie, and cinematic soundtrack, the track moves with the drama and tension of a vintage spy film, pulling from the lineage of artists like Ennio Morricone while still maintaining a distinctly modern edge. It’s playful and stylized, but beneath that surface is something more layered: a song that reveals itself gradually, piece by piece.

Across Outer World’s work, songwriting doesn’t begin with a fixed structure. It starts as fragments composed of different sounds, textures, and ideas that slowly take shape through experimentation. The result is music that feels alive in the way it resists being pinned down.

In this Creative Spotlight conversation, Outer World reflects on how La Dimora came together, their collage-based approach to songwriting, and what it means to create a space where sound can exist without rules or boundaries.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Building La Dimora

Outer World’s music doesn’t come from a single place. It feels assembled, layered - and there’s a sense that each sound carries a history with it, and that those histories are allowed to exist together rather than be smoothed into something uniform.

That approach is especially clear in La Dimora, a track that pulls from cinematic references, global sounds, and unexpected sonic textures to create something that feels both nostalgic and completely new. What starts as inspiration quickly becomes something more fluid, shaped by experimentation and the willingness to follow wherever the song wants to go.

The press release leans into spy-film imagery. Was that concept present during the writing, or did it come later?

TW: We are huge fans of film soundtracks, especially those that lean into the spy & detective world. We even have a whole section in our record collection dedicated to that specific niche for no other reason other than we have brought so many home over the years that they really needed their own space. For “La Dimora” there was an Ennio Morricone song that inspired the bass line, and the song came together quickly after that. Some songs reveal themselves to you along the writing process, and by the end, the things that all sounded the most interesting with the bass line all mirrored the general spirit of a ‘60s spy movie theme. When it came time to create a video, it seemed natural to lean into that idea and bring that James Bond energy to life.

Your RIYL list is very eclectic! How do you actually translate such wide influences into something cohesive?

TW: That is a great question, and to be honest, it is hard to say whether we accomplished something that is, in fact, cohesive LOL. Both Kenny and I have voracious appetites for so many kinds of music from around the world. When we formed Outer World, it really changed how we listen to music, as there are so many layers in our songs. We stepped away from writing music on traditional rock band instruments and allowed ourselves the freedom to literally use anything we wanted to sculpt into a song. This means it could be a sound of something we captured on our phone, or the noise the needle makes at the end of a record when it is stuck in a groove. We write songs in a collage form, so it is a puzzle being put together without us knowing how or if the various pieces we have layered together will work. A lot of times our ideas don’t mesh, and we have to start all over again, but then sometimes there will be a magnificent accident, and a drum beat we liked from an Ethiopian funk record from the ‘70s blends perfectly with an Italian horror fuzzed-out guitar line. It has been so freeing to have no rules and to let our songwriting start as a shapeless mood board that slowly comes to life as we layer tracks and add instruments to the textural sounds, samples, and effects.

Collaboration, Expansion, and What Comes Next

Behind the sound of Outer World is not just experimentation, but history. Long-standing relationships, creative overlap, and a shared understanding that extends beyond a single project. Collaboration here doesn’t feel transactional, but instead, it feels cumulative, built over years of proximity, shared spaces, and mutual respect.

That same spirit carries into how the band approaches releases. La Dimora is not just a standalone track, but a glimpse into something larger, positioned between past influences and the future work that is still taking shape.

How did the collaboration between Outer World, K Records, and Courtesy Desk come about?

TW: There are so many layers to this story that span decades. I have known Calvin through the music industry since the mid ‘90s. I am a huge Beat Happening fan, love the catalog of music K has released over the years, have worked with the label through various music jobs, and we have remained in each other’s orbit all these years. Courtesy Desk started as an online record store I was running that was born from my new music newsletter, which I have been doing for the past 6 years. I closed my store this year due to tariffs making import records prohibitively expensive, but I continue to write about new music on Substack. When Outer World played with Velocity Girl a year ago, we created a limited flexi single, and this was the first Courtesy Desk release as our band’s own record label. We stayed in touch with Calvin throughout our recording process and are so honored he liked it enough to consider working with us. In the modern age, K tends to work with artists more in a collaborative spirit than in a straight record-label signing, so this is how Courtesy Desk came to join forces with K.

And what about future Courtesy Desk releases? Does La Dimora connect to a larger project (EP/album/era), or is it meant to stand alone?

TW: La Dimora is the first single from our upcoming new record, which will be announced in a few months. We really wanted new music to coincide with our Providence Popfest set this month, so we decided to release the song as a standalone track and a teaser to what is coming later in the year.

Performance and the Meaning of Outer World

Outer World exists as more than a sound. It’s also a space that can shift depending on how it’s experienced, whether through recording or performance. The same song can take on entirely different forms, expanding or contracting depending on how many people are involved, how it’s arranged, and how it’s felt in the moment.

That flexibility mirrors the Outer World project itself. Outer World is not just about music, but about escape, connection, and the possibility of stepping outside of yourself - even briefly - and into something freer and more expansive.

What does the name Outer World represent to you now, after building it over several years?

TW: I think for a lot of musicians, when you are performing a song, you are both at one with your body - tapping into your center, but also stepping out of the prison of your headspace where you are no longer an age, gender, race, and so on. I know I am my happiest and most at peace when I am singing and disconnected from all of the static and oppression that comes with being a human on this planet. Being Outer World allows me a safe space and escape that allows me to do and be anything I want with my love, best friend, and creative partner. I am so grateful to have a means of expression with my partner, where we can communicate without using words and just play with sounds. Outer World takes us out of this ridiculous state of affairs America is currently experiencing. As factions of the people close themselves off to other cultures out of fear and hate, we are fighting back against that mindset by weaving together, with love, diverse multicultural musical threads to find harmony and joy.

What do you want listeners to feel the first time they hear La Dimora?

TW: I love pop songs that, from a first listen, seem like a compact punch of drama and melody, but under the microscope, have a lot more going on. Sure, “La Dimora” is a nod to spy films and Italian soundtrack masters like Morricone, Piccioni, and Nicolai, but I am sure the first thread most listeners will pull on is the B-52s, who had many of the same campy influences as we do, and who also applied those Technicolor sounds to punk. I hope it is one of those songs people immediately feel drawn to because of its moody charisma, but with more listens, discover there is a lot more happening between the lyrics and non-lexical vocables that expresses big emotions without words. There are words of encouragement and guidance for those who feel helpless and voiceless, but the music tricks you into listening elsewhere, so we have buried the lead to a much more serious message tucked within it.

And finally, you have some shows coming up. How do you think this track translates differently live versus recorded?

TW: Our band performs in a few different kinds of line-ups, so sometimes there are 6 of us. We will be moving forward as a 4-piece for now, and lately Kenny and I have been performing as a 2-piece. With a full band, the song has so much energy and sounds huge - almost ominous. As a smaller group, its power is more fine-tuned and elastic. We are in an unusual position to be able to play live in different forms that each carry a different personality, spanning from bombastic to more of an intimate, strictly electronic-focused set.

That fluidity carries beyond the recording itself. The idea that a song can shift, expand, and take on entirely new forms depending on how it’s experienced feels central to what Outer World is building. It’s not just about how La Dimora sounds, but how it lives across different spaces, lineups, and listeners alike. In that way, the project becomes less about a fixed identity and more about possibility, where sound, influence, and expression are constantly evolving into something new.

La Dimora by Outer World is out now via K Records in collaboration with Courtesy Desk.

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A Shadow, A Dream feels like it was written in the space left behind after someone disappears – in the long, quiet aftermath where memory starts reshaping itself into something stranger and more permanent.

Released in March 2026, Hudson McVay’s debut LP is a haunting folk record filled with dreamlike imagery and deeply personal reflections on grief, love, and memory. Across the album, McVay blends intimate acoustic songwriting with ambient, atmospheric production that feels suspended somewhere between waking life and dreams.

The project explores the idea that the people we lose never fully leave us as long as they continue existing in our memories, songs, and inner worlds.

McVay first began sharing acoustic covers online before developing the “dream folk” sound that would define his own work. His debut album, which took over two years to complete, allows feelings to unfold slowly through recurring imagery and atmosphere rather than a strict narrative more often than not.

What makes A Shadow, A Dream especially affecting is how unguarded it feels. Nothing about the record sounds rushed toward resolution. Instead, Hudson allows grief to remain unfinished, cyclical, and alive. Something that consistently changes shape rather than disappears.

In this second Creative Spotlight conversation, Hudson McVay reflects on the process of releasing deeply personal music, how grief changed while making the album, and why memory itself became the emotional foundation of A Shadow, A Dream.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Holding On, Letting Go, and When a Song Becomes Its Own

A Shadow, A Dream is not an album that rushes toward resolution. Throughout the record, grief isn’t treated as something to overcome, but instead, something that reshapes the way memory exists. Something that can soften, distort, and even preserve what’s been lost.

And the understanding that appears at the center of Hudson’s work – the understanding that grief doesn’t move in straight lines but instead expands, contracts, and resurfaces in unexpected ways - shapes not only the sound of the album, but the way Hudson approaches releasing something so personal into the world.

How do you know when a song about something so personal is “ready” to be released into the world?

A song never truly feels ready in the pursuit of perfection, and I often struggle to get it to sound like it does in my head. But they do get to a point where they grow into their own beings and don’t feel like mine to keep to myself anymore. At that point, I set deadlines and try to settle for 90% of what I was hoping for.

The idea that songs become something separate from yourself runs throughout A Shadow, A Dream. The album constantly feels caught between holding on and letting go, yet even in its most devastating moments, there’s still a tenderness to the way Hudson writes about grief, memory, and absence.

How has your understanding of grief changed while making this album?

It never ends. We just have to make it our own. And it’s so important to have someone to grieve to. A trouble shared is a trouble halved.

Writing as Process, Not Preservation

Across the album, writing feels less like documentation and more like survival. The songs don’t attempt to freeze emotions in place, but instead, they allow them to unravel and exist in their most immediate form.

That emotional immediacy shows up in the way Hudson describes his relationship to writing itself. Rather than treating it as something to refine or control, it becomes a place to land when everything else feels uncertain.

Do you find yourself writing more to process emotions or to preserve them?

Process. When emotions are high, the piano bench is a big hug. And there’s a quote from Fiona Apple that I really like:

“I only write when I’m angry or sad, because that’s when I just have to write... If I’m having a good time and I’m happy and things are going really well, why would I want to stop what I’m doing to go and write at the piano?”

How would you describe your voice as an artist at this point in your career?

I’ve never really thought about it. I’m not strategic with anything or ever trying to sound a certain way. I just enjoy creating something I can believe in and pour my heart into. I find the most fulfillment from that.

The Heart of the Record & What Remains After Loss

At its core, A Shadow, A Dream is not just about grief; it’s about what remains after it. The album repeatedly returns to the idea that memory itself can become a form of presence, something active and alive rather than something distant or fading. That belief shapes the emotional center of the record, allowing it to feel less like an ending and more like a continuation of connection, as was the goal.

If people could only take one thing away from listening to this album, what would you want that thing to be?

The idea that we keep lost loved ones alive in memory, in dreams, in song. If we’re still thinking about them, talking about them, and dreaming about them, they haven’t really left us. Each memory together is a seed they’ve sown. If you care for it, it will grow into something beautiful.

Of all the songs on the album, which would you say is the absolute closest to your heart, and why?

Chalk. Every lyric is a deeply personal reference or cherished memory. There’s a line towards the end about blowing a kiss through a doorway. It’s my last memory I have with my grandmother. She got sick a few months into the making of the album, and I flew home to see her a few days before she passed. As I left, we blew each other a kiss through her front doorway, knowing it was the last time we’d ever see each other. We were really close, living two houses down the street from each other my entire childhood. That final moment together is one of my most precious memories. The concept of the album is inspired by her. I’m always dreaming of her and sharing memories we made, and in that way, it feels like she’s still here.

And now that A Shadow, A Dream is out, how do you feel looking back on the version of yourself who created it?

I still feel like I carry that version of myself with me, but I look back feeling accomplished in how I was able to transform all of my grief into something bittersweet and beautiful. It feels like a reclamation.

The deeply human way in which Hudson approaches grief, not as something to escape, but as something to sit with, understand, and eventually transform, is refreshing.

This record doesn’t offer answers, but it does offer space to remember and hold onto what still remains when someone permanently leaves, and it becomes a reminder that connection doesn’t end, but simply changes form.

Listen to A Shadow, A Dream by Hudson McVay on streaming platforms now.

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lucky break’s world feels hand-drawn, emotionally open, and slightly strange in the best way. Her debut album, made it!, released via Fire Records, was written between the ages of nineteen and twenty-three: those years where everything is happening, nothing feels settled, and the future can feel both impossibly bright and completely overwhelming.

Across the record, lucky break - the musical project of Emma Gerson - turns early-adult uncertainty into something vivid and melodic. The songs move through fear, heartbreak, imagination, hope, escape, and the slow work of finding your own voice. The album pulls from the sounds she grew up with, blending pop, country, 90s alternative indie, and the literary emotionality of artists like Fiona Apple, Pavement, Lucinda Williams, John Prine, Joni Mitchell, and Liz Phair.

But made it! is not only an album. It is also a world! lucky break has described the project as a character, a portal, a cartoon girl with a guitar, and an ever-expanding container for the feelings that come with making art. That sense of playfulness matters because the songs are often dealing with complicated, vulnerable things. They’re sad, funny, scared, and observant - and sometimes quietly ecstatic.

In this first Creative Spotlight conversation, lucky break reflects on what it feels like to release songs written by past versions of herself, how those songs have changed meaning now that they’re out in the world, and how Elliott Woodbridge and Jessica Thompson helped bring the record into its own universe.

This interview has been edited for clarity and flow.

Also available on MQTWorld.com

Looking Back at the Girl Who Wrote made it!

Written across several years, made it! holds more than one version of lucky break inside it. It’s not a snapshot so much as a little time capsule with each age carrying its own fear, strengths, and sense of urgency. And since the album is now out in the world, that distance allows for a different kind of reflection.

Now that made it! is out, how do you feel looking back on that version of yourself who wrote these songs?

There are many versions here: my nineteen-year-old self, twenty-year-old self, twenty-one-year-old self, etc. This record just keeps reminding me that everything changes, all the time. You might be stuck in a feeling and think it’s going to last forever, but in six months, you’ll be somebody totally different. It’s freeing to look back on these songs and think, “Oh man, I was so afraid back then. Why was I so afraid?”

How has your understanding of yourself changed since writing them?

I don’t know if it’s improved my understanding of myself now, but certainly it helps me understand my past self. Is that not such a funny little trick of life? Hindsight is 20/20, but the present is always completely foreign and strange. I guess that is what I have learned: whatever is freaking me out today will be something to laugh at tomorrow.

And what feelings have come up for you after releasing something so personal?

There are days when I would like to wipe myself from the internet forever and just be invisible. There are also days when I am just so relieved that it’s out there. Sometimes I feel proud, in flashes. Mostly, I just hope people who need the songs get to hear them. That is the best thing you could hope for: that whatever you make helps others.

A World That Changes Shape

The world around made it! is full of movement: hand-drawn art, zines, stickers, tour posters, and a character that feels both separate from and deeply connected to the person making the music. That flexibility shows up in the songs, too. The album does not cling to one clean identity; instead, it allows itself to keep changing shape. So does lucky break.

When asked how separate lucky break is from Emma Gerson as a person, her answer is simple and fittingly open-ended: “Up to you.”

That feels like part of the project’s charm. lucky break can be a person, a character, a world, a drawing, a feeling, or some shifting combination of all of them. That fluidity carries into the music itself, especially in how influence and identity are handled.

Your sound pulls from a wide range of influences, including Fiona Apple, Pavement, and Lucinda Williams. How do you keep your identity clear within that?

I don’t know if I have a set identity. I think I just get inspired by certain things, like the honesty in Fiona’s voice or the beauty of Lucinda’s poetry, and then I make a song. But I like to think my inspirations change all the time, so my work never runs dry.

And while on the topic of other artists’ influence on the project, how did working with Jessica Thompson and Elliott Woodbridge shape the final sound of made it!?

Elliott handled all the production, so he brought all the musical magic. Jessica mastered, so she made the tracks sound smooth and cohesive. Both of them together brought the songs into a universe of their own, and I am so beyond honored I got to work with them both.

You’re rightfully very proud of the project - I’m sure it’s difficult to choose, but what would you say is your favorite song from the album, and why?

Big Swing! Because it’s terribly, hopelessly sad. And because I mention my family dog, Bogie, in it -- he passed a few weeks ago. So, I love that he’s here, right at the top of the album.

Secret Lakes, Red Balloons, and the Child Inside

Some of the strongest moments in lucky break’s interview come when she talks about the emotional logic behind the songs. She often explains feelings through images: a secret lake, a red balloon, the child that remains inside you. It makes sense for an album that feels whimsical without ever being shallow, and that approach carries directly into Red Balloon, where feeling is translated into something symbolic and open-ended.

This is such a beautiful song. Do you see Red Balloon as more about escape or transformation?

Thank you! I’m so glad you like it. It depends on my mood. What do you think?

I think lucky break’s ability to let the meaning of things fluctuate depending on mood or circumstance is admirable, and something we could all stand to learn from.

In Camp Song, the idea of leaving behind “sunshine” because it brings you down is interesting. What does that represent to you?

Thank you for such close listening. Have you ever experienced something so precious that you don’t want it to be tainted by the outside world? Imagine you find a beautiful, secret lake full of fresh water -- but there’s a hydroelectric power plant down the road. You can tell some of your friends about the lake, but you run the risk of the hydroelectric power plant bosses finding out. If they find out, your beautiful secret lake is going to be absolutely ruined. They’ll dig tunnels straight from the lake to the plant, and the whole place will smell like sewage. When you find something as precious as a secret, freshwater lake, in this world of profit and pollution -- you can’t afford to let another soul know. That’s what the feeling is. That it’s too good to take with me, because if I do, it’s going to get killed.

There is a tension in that song between becoming “hard” and wanting to return to being a child. How do you reconcile those two sides?

And that is what I’ve been asking! I think the answer is that the child is inside of you all the time, and the way you treat it is ultimately how you end up treating yourself. So, you should probably try to listen to it. Be kind to it. Pay attention to it. And don’t be ashamed of it.

Playing the Songs Out Loud

After so much of made it! began in private - written through fear, change, heartbreak, and self-discovery - the live show becomes another kind of transformation. The songs leave the bedroom, the notebook, and the studio, becoming something shared. That shift raises a different kind of question:

You have some shows coming up. What excites you most about playing these songs for an audience after writing them in such a personal space?

I love playing for people! I’m just so excited to play my songs to anybody who wants to listen. When I sing, I like to imagine the whole room full of golden light. I think it makes people feel good.

And what do you want people to feel when they come to one of your shows?

Whatever they need to feel.

That answer is quite on-brand.

After an album full of changing feelings and ongoing transformations, lucky break does not insist on one reaction. Instead, she leaves space for the listener to feel what they need, take what they can, and find themselves somewhere within the songs.

made it! by lucky break is out now via Fire Records.

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