Browsing Tag

Artist Interview

Ju-Lion The Voice Interview: The Boy, The Gift and the Spiritual Fire Behind ‘The Boy & The Voice’

Ju-Lion The Voice rooted his latest album, The Boy & The Voice, in calling, faith, growth, and the deeper meaning behind a gift that has followed him since childhood. In this interview, he opens up about the spiritual weight behind the title, the connection between the boy and the voice, and how music became a vessel for purpose rather than surface-level attention. He also reflects on family, military life, fatherhood, ministry, early influences from Michael Jackson, Phil Collins and Wu-Tang Clan, and the moment he realised his voice could command a room with more than melody.

Welcome to A&R Factory, Ju-Lion The Voice, we’re hyped to have you here and to open up the world behind The Boy & The Voice.

There’s a whole world of spiritual weight behind the title The Boy & The Voice Who is “the boy”, who is “the voice”, and what part of you did this album finally give language to?

Great Question,  it is definitely a lot of spiritual weight as the album highlights the manifested growth of the gift I was given and how I changed perspectively over time with it….so the “Boy” is me but it’s also anyone from small who was given the ability, the gift to do something great….and so, the voice is that gift. That talent. That one thing you have been blessed beyond measure to do. Mine happened to revolve around my voice. So this album acknowledges that and speaks to that developed understanding.

Before we step into the album, who is Ju-Lion The Voice at the core, away from the releases, the visuals, the studio, and the public-facing version of the artist?

So, this might sound crazy, especially in today’s industry….but who you see and hear is the same person. In fact, Ju-Lion is my spiritual name. I actually get called that in everyday life. So I am that old school, positive-minded, spiritual person. There is no split personality; we are one and the same. The added parts if anything is apart from music, I’m a husband, a dad, an older sibling, a pastor, a podcaster and a military vet lol.

What first pulled you towards music, and when did you realise your voice could carry something heavier than melody alone?

I’ve been drawn to music since birth…mom would play it….family was musically inclined…dj’s…some knowing people in the industry….so I was always around music…but the bug to make it?…that was influenced by legends like Michael Jackson, Phil Collins, Wu Tang Clan from across many genres…I always loved to sing and write, but knowing when my voice carried more weight. School showed signs, and even when I started working. I would always have a way of when I spoke, people listened….and not just those my age but all ages. The military was where it clicked when I spoke and 500 people got quiet…and just listened. Intently.

You’ve said the album is about a calling placed on you, using your voice to send a message. What brought this project into focus, and was there a specific moment when you knew this had to become a full body of work?

Where I’m at in my music career and life in general has brought that focus. I’m always imparting a word to someone, having a conversation. Spiritually engaging with a person. So at first this project was supposed to be a prequel to an album I was doing…and as it pieced together it got bigger, it spoke louder to me and I realized. I never told this story, I never revealed this truth about me. People have always talked about my voice but don’t know the true background behind it. So I finally, stopped and felt in my heart. In my soul. This is the story I want to share.

The album encourages others to trust the calling or purpose they have been spiritually gifted with. How do you personally separate fear from guidance when you’re trying to move in alignment with that purpose?

By understanding the God doesn’t make you operate from a place of fear, and the guidance fulfills the purpose. The alignment is confirmation of that purpose. So as long as I move according to my spirit, I will be driven by the right factors and ultimately achieve what I was called to do. That has never failed. The fear creeps in from distractions and things that have no purpose. Like how much money can I make from this album? Will everyone like it? Am I following the same strategy as everyone else to ensure this album is successful?  All those things is not the point. They can be an outcome. Like this album could resonate with a lot of people. Does it have to? No and I’m perfectly OK with that, I’m at peace with it.

For listeners coming to The Boy & The Voice after hearing your previous releases, what makes this album feel different in its writing, sound, message, or emotional temperature?

Everything in my music originates from my first songs in the Mike files. It focused on growth, pain, discovery and so forth…but lately, EP’s like “I Bet You Won’t Listen” or “A Way Foward” have been pulling even further in a conversational direction. Pulling more from inward and really exposing it out to people in a ….do you ever feel like this? kind of way….The Boy & The Voice fully taps into to that…two conversations playing parallel to each other. My story of growth with a gift I didn’t understand at first, and my encouragement to those still trying to figure out how to tap into theirs. Which has really pushed my writing on this album, along with the Musicality and my overall thought process. It has been a deep experience. Deeper than I have ever gone. Which is why it’s core is incredibly spiritual.

Looking across your discography so far, which earlier song or project feels like it planted the first seed for this album, even if you only recognised that connection later?

You could say the in the deepend album series planted it…but honestly, the songs that really had a hand was “After your gone” from in the deepend 3 and “One Day” on the EP “I Bet You Won’t Listen ” ….they built the question of what do I truly want the music to do? What do I want to impact? What is the impact? And that led to thinking about my gift…the chain reaction led to this album.

When people read this, what do you hope people understand about you, your faith, your purpose, and your music after spending time with The Boy & The Voice?

Music always has been unbalanced lately and you can see the effect…I’m not trying to eradicate other forms of music…but damn, I just want to offer people a music alternative you can relate to….that speaks to you, and resonates more with everyday life. Music you can use for all kinds of occasions,  that doesn’t grow stale and the meaning of how it applies to your life changes with you bringing a fresh perspective everytime. To know my faith is real, now superficial…this isn’t religion. I live this…my purpose is feeding people with music that heals and fuels, not adds to the struggle life already brings. Be an example for my kids as well as other youths…and finally, when this album drops…and you hear it…I hope it drives you to know that no matter where you are in life, you have the ability to make a difference.

Discover Ju-Lion The Voice on all major platforms via this link. 

Interview by Amelia Vandergast

Interview: WIKIMAN – Identity, Reality, and the Future of Music

With his latest LP, Sentir, WIKIMAN presents himself as far more than a Latin pop artist chasing attention. This interview reveals an independent musician deeply invested in truth, protection, and purpose. He opened up about the real-life stories behind Sentir, including regret, missed love, devotion, and emotional closure, while reflecting on how this album sharpened the narrative focus that was still taking shape on Sueño.

There is a strong sense of reverence running through his answers to his listeners and a respect and responsibility to the people whose experiences inspired these songs. For anyone curious about the human reality behind WIKIMAN’s music, this conversation offers plenty to hold onto.

What has building solid foundations for your music meant to you, and how do you handle protecting your vocal identity against AI?

Building solid foundations has been a priority to ensure that the Wikiman project has the professional weight required by the international industry. This involves not just releasing tracks and music videos to connect with my followers, but also keeping everything in order administratively and legally. Recently, I have faced the challenge of others using my voice through artificial intelligence, which has forced me to be very rigorous with my digital “fingerprint” and my copyrights. While it is a challenge, I understand it happens because my vocal tone is unique and appealing to those creators; however, my focus will always be to protect the integrity and authenticity of my sound so that listeners know what they are hearing is legitimate.

Which songs make up this new album, and what stories do they narrate?

The album SENTIR (released in March 2026) is a collection of real-life experiences transformed into music to document the human experience and accompany processes of closure. Each track is a detailed chronicle:

“Migajera”: Exposes the story of a girl in love with a guy who, in turn, is in love with his own best friend. It is a story about confusion and the weight of loving when affection is directed elsewhere.

“Te extraño papá”: Born from the request of a 49-year-old fan who sought to express his regret for not having been the son he wished to be. It is a piece about forgiveness and nostalgia.

“Faltabas tú”: A deep promise of absolute loyalty where I express that I will always be by that special person’s side.

“Llegaste sin avisar”: Documents the beginning of modern relationships, where a simple “hello” on a social network becomes the origin of a love story.

“Hubiéramos sido tú y yo”: Explores the melancholy of what could have been, remembering a February 14th that couldn’t be spent together.

“Amor en silencio”: A ballad that stands out for a subtle instrumentation starting with a soft guitar, narrating the constant devotion of someone who loves from the shadows.

This journey features the voices of Liz Manzo Avilés and Yestherlyth Arriaga Avilés, who add the necessary sensitivity to bring these cases to life with honesty.

If you had to mention something you didn’t manage to develop artistically in your previous LP, Sueño, what would it be?

Although Sueño (2025) was my first major professional step, in SENTIR I achieved a much more robust narrative cohesion. In this project, I was able to consolidate my decision to move away from commercial trends to focus exclusively on the storytelling of real-life cases. I feel that in this album, the production is meticulously designed to accompany the completion of emotional cycles, achieving a maturity and transparency in the narrative that was still in development during my previous stage.

For those discovering you for the first time through Sentir, what do you hope they take away after the album ends?

My greatest wish is for them to be left with the feeling that someone out there truly understands what they have felt. I want the listener to feel that their intimate experiences, however difficult or complex, are validated through my music. By narrating such human stories, I hope people find a deep connection and feel they are not alone in their process of seeking understanding and serenity. My music is a tool for each person to identify their own story and feel that their reality has been heard with integrity.

Stream the latest LP from WIKIMAN on Spotify. 

Interview by Amelia Vandergast

When Xander Corbett Tuned the Night Sky into Signal Lost, an Interview

Xander Corbett has broken his hiatus with a project that feels like a late-night broadcast sent from somewhere just beyond the atmosphere, and in this interview, he unpacks the inner world behind it. SIGNAL LOST pulls from a decade of shaping his sound, reaching back to teenage files while stepping into a new phase of self-knowledge. He reflects on using PROOF FM as a dreamy framing device, the strange comfort of transmissions, and the hazy headspace that shaped the album’s static-soaked mood. We also explore why performing new material live before the announcement feels like its own kind of thrill, how older songs found a second life, and what he hopes listeners finally catch about the man behind the synth pop haze.

You’ve teased that SIGNAL LOST plays out like a late night confessional transmitted through PROOF FM. When did the idea of framing the whole album as a radio show first spark for you, and what feeling were you chasing with that format?

Honestly, the original album title I penned when I first started this project about two years ago was ‘PROOF OF THE AFFAIR’, and as much as I liked the title, I felt as though I’d outgrown it. That’s where PROOF FM comes in. I wanted a subtle nod to what used fo be my intention with the record, but in a way that feels nostalgic and whimsical. This whole record has been set with the intention of giving listeners an escape from the chaos of the world around us. Take you into an alternate dimension, perhaps space, for a forty-six-minute journey.

You have said this record marks ten years of shaping your sound. When you reached back to those early projects you made at thirteen and sixteen, what surprised you most about the younger version of yourself hiding in those files?

I have a habit of judging my younger self. I started looking back at these older projects and thinking more critically and in depth as to what was I trying to make happen here and there and what I would do today with the more refined skill set that I have to make it happen.

There is something incredibly raw about building an album around transmissions. What does the phrase signal lost mean to you right now on a personal level, especially as you step into a new era of your career?

Signal lost itself kind of represents how I was feeling while making the record. To me, when I hear the phrase, I envision a radio floating in the ether. Just kind of there. I was so engulfed in the chaos around me, my brain felt like static at all times, and this record was my reprieve from it all.

You are holding off on announcing the album until your April show. What does performing new material live before anyone knows an album is on the horizon do for your confidence and the overall energy of the rollout?

To be fully honest, I just love to see the crowd reaction. I announced my previous record, ‘The Red Album,’ at a show in 2024 before I fully started my set, and the crowd went wild. I also just want to give them a more stripped-down sneak peek of some of the music, the acoustic versions they started as in my bedroom.

Synth pop comes with so much history and nostalgia. When you approached this record, what textures or moods shaped the late-night atmosphere you wanted listeners to feel from the first few seconds?

The intro to the record starts with flipping through channels and static on a radio. I wanted the journey to truly begin with an ease into another dimension, and I feel that the way I structured it really does well at bringing you into that with me before we kick off the first proper song.

Looking back across a decade of making music, what kept you going through the awkward years, the breakthroughs, and the inevitable moments where progress felt slow?

Truly just my love for songwriting. It became such an ingrained part of my everyday life that I had no brakes to apply to the train.

You are bringing a track from your first full album back into the spotlight. What made you decide it deserved a second life on SIGNAL LOST, and how did revisiting it change your relationship with it?

On my previous record, I’d revamped a song from the same album to make it more lively. I went into this album thinking “there has to be a section dedicated to the tender love I find myself occasionally writing about” and that song had always been a fan favorite as well as a personal favorite, so it kind of felt like an obvious choice to me.

When fans finally hear the full project on 15 May, what do you hope they understand about you that they might not have pieced together from your previous releases?

That I am a man of multitudes. And I like to get scrappy from time to time.

Stream Xander Corbett’s discography on Spotify & connect with the artist via Instagram.

Interview by Amelia Vandergast

THRESHLD Interview: Signals from the Faultline Between Flesh and Machine

THRESHLD was born to transcend the artifices of the typical musical project; it feels like a coded disturbance pushed through speakers, screens and nerve endings alike. In this interview, we speak with the Baltimore-based artist behind the transmission-driven concept about the personal rupture that set everything in motion after a pandemic-era job loss, and the influences that shaped this stark, immersive vision. From the philosophy of “signal before meaning” to the collision between mechanical force and exposed vocal intensity, THRESHLD opens up about identity, control, interference and the uneasy structures shaping modern life. The conversation also moves through the project’s visual language, hybrid live format and the discipline of building an independent world with real depth. For anyone drawn to industrial sonics, conceptual weight and art that leaves a mark before explanation arrives, this is one to read in full.

THRESHLD feels rooted in an idea as much as a sound, so where did the project first begin for you on a personal level, and what part of your life pushed you towards building something so conceptually loaded?

This project started for me during 2020, around the COVID pandemic, after being laid off from my job at the Harley-Davidson York plant. It forced a reset. Music and art had always been a huge part of my life—tattoos, painting, playing in local bands around the Baltimore area—but this was the point where it shifted from something I did into something I needed to build.

What pushed it into something more conceptually driven came from a mix of that moment and my early influences—artists like The Prodigy, Nine Inch Nails, Rammstein, Marilyn Manson—projects that weren’t just music, but full experiences. Seeing how they created something cinematic and immersive changed how I viewed everything.

THRESHLD came out of that pressure point. Not to fit into anything, but to build something that reveals instead of conforms—something that carries weight before it’s even understood.

You describe THRESHLD as a transmission-driven project rather than a traditional band. What does that structure give you emotionally, creatively and philosophically that a more conventional setup never could?

Calling it a transmission removes the limits of a traditional band structure. It keeps the project open—able to evolve, shift, and expand in multiple directions without being boxed into a single identity or genre.

Creatively, it creates space for progression. Emotionally, it feels more honest because nothing is forced into a format. Philosophically, it turns the music into something that’s received rather than just performed.

It also leaves the door open for collaboration, new themes, and development into something much broader than just music. THRESHLD isn’t a fixed form—it’s something that can grow into whatever it needs to become.

The phrase “signal before meaning” carries the potential for some pioneering sonic philosophy. What does that idea mean to you, and how does it shape the way you write, arrange and present your music?

“Signal before meaning” is more than a phrase—it’s become a core philosophy behind everything in THRESHLD.

It’s about impact before explanation. There are things you feel immediately that you can’t fully articulate, and those tend to be the most real. We approach the music as a conduit for that—letting it come through without forcing it into expectations or predefined structures.

Working this way removes the pressure of trying to make something “fit.” Writing, arranging, and presenting the music becomes less like a task and more like something natural—something that exists on its own before it’s analyzed.

There’s no missing the tension between the industrial, electronic framework of the sound and the emotional force in the vocal delivery. What draws you to that friction, and what does it allow you to express about yourself?

That contrast is intentional. The industrial and electronic elements represent structure—something mechanical, controlled—while the vocals sit against that as something raw and human.

That tension reflects something bigger. It mirrors the duality in human systems—social, political, psychological—where control and chaos are constantly pushing against each other.

It allows me to express a deeper level of discontent while still existing inside the machine itself. You’re both inside it and aware of it at the same time. That friction is where most of the emotion comes from.

A lot of your themes circle identity, control, hidden signals and interference. Were those ideas born from specific experiences, thought patterns, or wider observations about the world you’re moving through?

These themes come from a wide range of sources. Psychology and sociology studies, books, films—especially sci-fi, horror, philosophy, religion—all of it feeds into the thematic layer of THRESHLD.

But a big part of it is personal. There’s a growing awareness that a lot of what we see—identity, behavior, even thought—is shaped or filtered in ways people don’t fully recognize.

Mental health being such a major focus now has made that even more visible. People are starting to realize things aren’t as stable or understood as they once thought.

THRESHLD sits in that space—between what’s presented and what’s actually there. It’s not about defining it. It’s about exposing it.

The visual identity of THRESHLD feels inseparable from the music. What role does imagery play in the project, and how consciously do you build the aesthetic language around each release?

The visual side is inseparable from the music. It’s part of the same signal.

Every release is built with a visual language that reinforces the atmosphere of the sound. Whether it’s distortion, glitch textures, or symbolic elements, it all contributes to the same world.

It’s not about repeating imagery—it’s about maintaining a consistent feeling. The music creates movement, the visuals give it form.

Your hybrid DJ and live performance approach gives the project a different kind of presence. What shifts for you when you perform in that format, and how do you want the audience to feel inside that environment?

Live, everything becomes more immediate. There’s less separation between the sound and the audience.

The structure is controlled through backing elements, but the delivery is fluid. It shifts depending on the moment, the energy, the environment.

The goal isn’t just to perform songs—it’s to create something physical. Something people feel through the low end, the pacing, the tension. If it’s working, it doesn’t feel like a performance—it feels like something happening to them.

You’re building THRESHLD independently, with a strong sense of world-building around it. What have you learnt about yourself through that process, and where do you see the project heading next in terms of releases, performance and expansion?

Building this independently forces clarity. There’s no buffer—you see what connects and what doesn’t in real time. It sharpens the direction and removes anything that isn’t necessary.

Right now, the focus is on expanding reach while pushing the identity deeper—more releases, more refined live execution, and stronger integration between sound and visuals.

The goal isn’t just growth. It’s immersion.

Making each release, each performance, feel like stepping further into something—not just hearing it.

Connect with THRESHLD and stream their sound on all major platforms via this link. 

Interview by Amelia Vandergast

Dominyka Mauliute Interview: Hazy Guitar Constellations and Philosophical Echoes in Conversation

Dominyka Mauliute moves through music with the quiet confidence of someone who’s already rewritten her own script. From becoming the first woman to graduate from her region’s academic jazz guitar department to sculpting self-produced indie pop that drifts somewhere between cosmic introspection and lo-fi intimacy, she’s refused to be boxed in by tradition. In this interview, she speaks candidly about shedding perfectionism, finding liberation in imperfection, and letting philosophy creep into her lyrics. We talk Mazzy Star tribute shows that reshaped her voice, songs born in airport security queues, and the thrill of building an EP entirely on her own terms. If you’re drawn to artists who treat music as both diary and existential inquiry, this one will stay with you.

You’ve moved from being the first woman to graduate from your region’s academic jazz guitar department to crafting hazy indie pop on your own terms. When did you first feel that pull towards a sound that wasn’t polished in the traditional jazz sense?

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve listened to various genres of music: alternative, psychedelic, rock, country, as well as jazz. I remember that as a kid I used to sing Beatles, Everly Brothers, Marilyn Monroe songs at home every day and put on mini concerts for my family, dreaming that one day I’d be up on a big stage singing to thousands of people.

When I was 12, I started creating my first songs. Though they weren’t that good, I was always trying new sounds and new genres, and I kept improving. I remember that the first original track I released was an instrumental called “Teorema.” The title was inspired by Pier Paolo Pasolini’s film of the same name. I felt so proud to have finally put something out at the age of 16 that was actually good. It was at that moment that I realized I should share my craft by releasing more original music, and I’ve been on that wagon ever since.

As I finally grew more confident in my singing—which I think coincided with becoming a singer in a Mazzy Star tribute—I started creating vocal songs. My first one was “Changes.” There’s actually a fun story: I created it without expecting to release it. You know those videos on YouTube where someone tries to make a song in the style of a certain artist in an hour, sets a timer, and films the whole process? That’s basically what I expected “Changes” to be. I just decided to have fun with a new song and try to write something in the style of Mazzy Star. Then it slowly built into something more, which is the version you hear now.

I think being a jazz student has shaped the way I experience music. It’s given me a wider lens—I don’t just hear a song as a whole anymore, I notice the tiny details: the space between phrases, the tension in a chord, the subtle shifts in rhythm. That training didn’t box me in, it actually gave me more freedom: now I can create simple music as well as more sophisticated whenever I want—it’s completely my choice. I am also grateful to be the first woman to graduate from my city’s academic jazz guitar department, and I hope to be an inspiration to other girls as well.

You’re producing your upcoming EP yourself, shaping everything from the songwriting to the sonic atmosphere. What part of wearing all these hats feels the most electric for you at the moment?

Usually, a song comes to me suddenly, almost fully formed, with all its parts already there. The part I love most about recording my own songs is the unpredictability of how they’ll actually sound once they’re recorded. In my mind, they often feel very different from what they become in reality. You can never really know what genre a song will take on until it’s finished.

I already have songs that lean into alternative, indie, punk, electronic, and psychedelic styles. I don’t like staying in one style for too long — I’m drawn to diversity. Even though most of my favorite music comes from the 1960s, I intentionally try not to stay there creatively. I want to make music that feels modern and interesting — something that doesn’t belong to just one genre, but blends several into its own unique sound.

Another thing I love about doing everything myself is the freedom of spontaneous creativity. There’s no “right” sound or correct song structure, and there are no bandmates playing on the tracks, so there’s no pressure or obligation to meet anyone else’s expectations. In the end, you’re creating to satisfy yourself — not to appeal to others.

As someone who studies philosophy at Vilnius University, how often do your academic thoughts wander into your lyrics, and do you ever catch yourself writing songs that feel like philosophical questions in disguise?

I’ve noticed that over time my lyrics have changed both semantically and syntactically. It’s become much easier for me to write rhyming lyrics while still preserving depth of meaning, something I found very difficult a few years ago.

Now I’m drawn to writing more oblique lyrics, branching into unknown territories. It happens almost subconsciously. I might start writing a song about love, thinking it’s about something romantic, and then it slowly transforms into something broader and more spiritual — sometimes even into a kind of love for the universe itself. I think my lyric-writing process is heavily inspired by Cocteau Twins. If you know their story, they never officially released many of their lyrics, and fans have often had to guess what words are actually being sung. You can’t always clearly hear the phrases, because it feels like they’re singing in a kind of poetic, dreamlike language that isn’t entirely literal or easily decipherable. Sometimes the emotion of the sound carries more weight than the exact words themselves.

I don’t think it’s just my philosophy studies that have allowed me to grow in this way. Moving from one city to another has also expanded my perspective — new friends, different environments, unfamiliar experiences. I feel like I’ve changed a lot as a person, and that transformation has definitely shaped the way I write music. Most importantly, I have gained confidence to try out new things, in this case – singing.

I love traveling. I seem to get most of my energy from exploring new cities. A fun fact is that my song “Robert” came to me in its entirety while I was standing at security check on my way to London. I suddenly heard it in my head — the melody and the lyrics were already there. Of course, after I returned from the trip, I refined the lyrics and adjusted the chords slightly, but in that moment, the song already existed. I guess I was just so excited and energetically charged that the song couldn’t help but come to me in a rush. This often happens after any outgoing experience — for example, after a joyful evening with friends, I’ll suddenly start hearing a new song in my head while I’m on my way home.

I guess I’m the kind of person who loves transforming meaningful experiences into something physical, in my case – songs.

You’ve spoken about loosening the grip of perfectionism after years of jazz training. What have been the biggest surprises in letting things be a bit more imperfect, raw, or instinctive?

I’m such a big-picture person, so obsessing over tiny details has always been irritating for me — which makes perfectionism even more exhausting. I think one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is how much more you can actually create when you allow yourself to let things go and leave space for the unexpected.

When I think about it, I always go back to my first songs and how afraid I was to release them. I had this idea that a “real” song had to be recorded in a professional studio with a world-renowned producer, and that the vocals had to be done by a full-time, professionally trained singer. That kind of society-imposed perfectionism really delayed me from releasing my own music. I was simply scared that I wasn’t good enough.

I remember how long it took me to release my first original track, “Teorema.” The song was fully finished in about three months, but it took me almost one year to actually put it out. I kept thinking it had to be better and better, so I just kept polishing it. And honestly? I don’t even think it sounds that different from the first demo. I could have used that time to create more music instead.

Over the years, I’ve realized that absolute perfection doesn’t exist. Even artists like Alex Turner have spoken about how sometimes the vocals on a home-recorded demo have a magic that disappears when you try to re-record them in a professional studio. Sometimes the first take just has a feeling you can’t recreate.

The biggest surprise for me has been how natural and easy creating songs has started to feel. I no longer obsess over tiny, meaningless tweaks — like adjusting a guitar tone for hours. If I like how something sounds, that’s enough. I go with it instead of asking whether I could make it “better.” And the less perfection I chase, the more I create. If I had kept sitting on every song for years, I probably would have released only five songs by the time I turned 30.

Your Mazzy Star tribute concerts are on the horizon, and you’ve cited the influence of Mazzy Star and Hope Sandoval. What elements of their work have seeped into your new creative direction, especially as you step further into dreamier territory?

Being a singer in our Mazzy Star tribute has honestly been life-changing for me. It shaped my vocals in a way no formal training ever could. I first discovered Mazzy Star when I was 13, and I remember singing their songs alone in my room, dreaming that one day I’d perform them on stage with a band. I still have those old demo recordings of myself singing their songs back then — and believe me, they’re terrible. But over the years my voice has grown so much. Now, being able to sing their music live and even resemble Hope Sandoval’s voice at times feels incredibly special. I’m truly grateful for that opportunity.

I also feel a deep emotional connection to tribute bands in general, because music entered my life through one. When I was eight years old, I saw a Beatles tribute show, and that experience completely changed me. Hearing those songs live sparked something instant and powerful — I knew I wanted to play music too. It was the reason I started music school in the first place. So whenever I perform in this tribute, I sometimes think, what if someone in the audience feels that same spark because of me?The idea that I could ignite that kind of passion in someone else is incredibly touching to me.

What I love most about Mazzy Star and Hope Sandoval’s work is the dreamlike atmosphere and the lyrical depth. Yes, many of their songs are melancholic, but they don’t feel limited to personal sadness. They feel universal — almost cosmic. My favorite Mazzy Star track is “So Tonight That I Might See.” I love the way the words flow and rhyme. Even when the lyrics seem abstract or elusive, you can still feel exactly what they mean. To me, it feels almost apocalyptic in its beauty — like something poetic and timeless, reminiscent of T. S. Eliot.

I’m drawn to introspective music — songs about the self, the universe, what matters and what doesn’t. Those influences naturally seep into my own writing. In songs like “Changes” or “Dorothy,” you can definitely hear that dreamy atmosphere reflected in my own way.

When you’re preparing for live shows, how do you balance the atmospheric, almost weightless quality of your recordings with the more grounded energy of being on stage?

Just like The Doors, I believe that improvisation and never playing a track the same way twice is the key to performing live. Just as you can’t truly recreate a live recording in a studio track, you also can’t recreate a studio recording on stage. They’re two completely different experiences, and I love that.

Some parts of my songs get a different treatment live. For example, certain vocal lines might be taken over by the guitar, and I love including extended drum solos or spoken poetry that don’t even exist in the recorded versions. Those moments make the performance feel alive and unrepeatable. That’s what excites me about playing live — the unpredictability and the sense that anything can happen in that space.

It’s also very interesting to move on stage. I’ve noticed that every movement you make creates a different effect on the audience. Even something very subtle can completely shift the energy in the room. Sometimes you can simply stand still with your eyes closed, and the audience still feels mesmerized by the power of the song and the vocal delivery. Other times, a small gesture or a step forward can intensify the connection. I find that fascinating — how physical presence and music interact, and how even silence or stillness can be incredibly powerful on stage.

You’re moving into a phase where your vocals, guitar work, and production choices all sit in conversation with each other. How do you keep each element feeling authentic rather than competing for space?

I think I learned a lot about this philosophy during my jazz studies. We had band training lessons where we would gather in a circle with our teacher and each band member while soloing would play the simplest possible phrases for a few bars. It wasn’t about showing off — it was about listening.

That’s where I really understood the concept of a “soundscape” and how important it is when playing in a band. Every musician has to leave space for the others. You can’t just fill every moment with multiple notes or loud drum fills to prove how skilled you are. When you’re playing together, everyone is equal. The music only works if there’s balance and awareness. Our teacher used to quote Miles Davis and say “it’s not the notes you play – it’s the notes you don’t play”.

I carry that same mindset into my own songs. I don’t let any instrument stand out more than it needs to. Each element should shine only as much as the song asks it to. The focus isn’t on the individual parts — it’s on the overall atmosphere and emotional impact.

With touring plans forming around your new material, what kind of emotional world do you want audiences to step into when they come to see you perform these songs live?

I want them to step into something mysterious and immersive. I absolutely love the 1960s era, so I’d love for my audience to feel free and joyful when they come to see me live. Ideally, my concerts would feel like a full celebration of existence — filled with as many lights as possible, strobe effects, boho clothes, and that sense of freedom and openness that defined that time.

At the same time, I want it to feel personal. I’m genuinely grateful for the people who come to listen to my music, and I’m always happy to meet them after the show. I love talking with people, hearing their stories, and connecting beyond the stage. For me, it’s not just about performing — it’s about creating a shared experience that lingers even after the lights go down.

Stream Dominyka Mauliute’s latest releases on Spotify. 

Interview by Amelia Vandergast

Course of Ruin Step Back into the Fire: An Interview

Course of Ruin return with a record shaped by years that pushed its creator to the edge and then demanded he sing his way back. In this interview, circumstances that pulled old songs from a forgotten hard drive into the harsh light of a hospital room, where a guitar became both a distraction and a lifeline, are laid out. The artist speaks openly about writing through treatment, confronting the subjects he once avoided and reigniting a connection with the bandmates who still feel like brothers after twenty five years. The Stonington Project carries the weight of survival and unfinished business, and this conversation hints at the deeper emotional charge running through every track.

The Stonington Project feels charged with emotional voltage from the first few seconds of Beneath a Burning Sky. When you finally revisited those half-written songs from 2006, what shifted in you musically and personally that made finishing them feel non-negotiable this time?


The main thing would have to be the cancer diagnosis. I’ve been battling this since 2015 and this was the fourth time that it had come back and it came back with a vengeance. I wasn’t sure how much time I had left and since the majority of the cancer was in my lungs, I wasn’t sure how much longer I would be able to sing so it was important for me to get these songs finished up quickly in case things went sideways.

You’ve spoken openly about writing much of the EP while undergoing TIL therapy in the hospital. When you were stuck in that room with a guitar and a pretty terrifying prognosis, what role did sound itself play for you? Was it distraction, defiance, or something far more visceral?

At first it was more about having a distraction and something to pass the time. The first week of treatment was 6 hours a day of chemotherapy, then a week of TIL therapy and 3 weeks of monitoring, so you’re kind of stuck in bed for 5 weeks and you start to go stir crazy. You can only watch so may episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm or Family Guy before even that gets boring. So I asked my sister-in-law Hannah if she could bring one of my guitars with her when she brought my kids to visit. This would at least give me something to noodle around on during the infusions.

I quickly started to realize that I needed an outlet to process what I was going through. It seemed like every time the doctor entered the room, it was to let us know that the situation was getting worse and they were finding more cancer with every scan. Because of that I started to go into a pretty deep depression at the time and for months afterward so this was sort of my “therapy” so to speak. It gave me something different to focus on and channel that energy into something that had been laying dormant for the past 17 years.

How did you navigate writing the lyrics on death, fear and letting go that you once avoided, especially when they came from such a vulnerable and physically brutal chapter of your life?

In the past, lyrics were always just thrown together at the last minute and not really given the focus and attention that they should have. It was more about the riffs and guitar solos, so that was something that I really wanted to avoid this time around.

The lyrics for these songs were definitely a lot more vulnerable. Throughout the years I’ve been pretty selective about who I would share information with on what I had been going through. My wife Jenni and I didn’t want to constantly be viewed with pity, so we didn’t want to make it too public.

The lyrics/vocals for this record really had me putting myself and my story “out there” so to speak and because of that, I was a little nervous about how they were going to be received. Some of the darker songs were actually pretty difficult to get through during the recording process. It was really hard to not get emotional when tracking them and I would have to stop, take a break and collect myself so I could get through the session and have a take that I was happy with. I think because of that, the raw emotion really came through.

After a twenty-five-year hiatus, stepping into a studio again must have been surreal. Did it feel like slipping back into old skin or more like meeting a new version of Course of Ruin that had been hibernating in the background all this time?

It kind of just clicked. I had been a producer and engineer for years after the band stopped playing so being in a studio was just kind of second nature for me. The great thing this time around is that the studio is in my guest bedroom (The Guest Room of Doom). I used to own a studio just outside of Las Vegas, NV and that’s where the drums were tracked back in 2006. Those tracks had just been sitting on a hard drive in a cardboard box down in my basement along with some scratch guitar tracks for the past 17 years.

I recently produced and engineered a record for my friends son’s band Corvus last year before I went into the hospital and because of that, I had converted the guest bedroom of my house into a control room. So everything just kind of fell into place for me to finally finish up this project.

Since this has been a passion project for me for so long, it was a little different doing everything by myself. Writing, performing, engineering, mixing/mastering. I had to wear a lot of hats but I think it was what was needed to pull me out of this downward spiral that I was in. It left very little room in my head to dwell on the uncertainty of my situation because I was so consumed with trying to get this project finished.

That’s the exciting part about everybody getting back involved and the ability to start collaborating and being able to share the load of the writing process. You don’t realize how difficult it is to write/perform everything on your own until you’re in the thick of it. Even though these songs were my own brainchild, I did still get help from the guys by sending them roughs and getting feedback. Chris even helped me come up with the vocal melody for the verses of “Landslides” since I was hitting a bit of a writers block and I think that’s really what stoked the fire in all of us to start writing again. Sometimes you don’t realize how much you miss doing something until you experience a small piece of it and then that tiny morsel creates a full blown hunger to get back at it.

The EP is absolutely possessed with purpose. How did it feel to hear the finished version? 

Honestly, it felt great. I think this is the first project that I have been completely happy with. I’m typically pretty hard on myself and I’ll always find things that I wished I had done better. I’ve always hated the sound of my own voice but with this project I’m able to sit back, listen and say to myself, “ I guess it’s not THAT bad”.

Back in the late-90s you were sharing stages with acts who shaped entire pockets of punk history. How did those early years of chaotic Orange County nights and post-hardcore sweatboxes inform the energy you tapped into for this EP?

I think that the late-90s energy will always be a part of everything that we write. The Orange County scene is what shaped us and continues to shape us. When we weren’t playing shows, we were at shows supporting our friends or attending shows of bands that we looked up to/were fans of. Even with this record being a bit slower and more emotive, you’ll still hear references of our Orange County Punk early influences.

You’ve described the band’s return as unfinished business rather than nostalgia. What exactly feels unfinished to you, and how does that hunger shape the material you are already writing beyond The Stonington Project?

I think what we mean by that is that we still have more to give. Even since we stopped playing, Jacob, Dave and Chris are still my closest friends (more like brothers) and we kept in touch and talk all of the time. We’ve had conversations about looking back at what we did and how when you are young, you really take for granted the opportunities that you had and don’t take the time to step back and just really let it sink in that you are jamming, touring, and having fun with your 3 best friends.

The Stonington Project was a unique record because it was more about me getting to scratch my creative itch and to help me cope with everything that is/was going on. The new material that we are working on is kind of going back to our OC Punk roots but still having a more mature spin on it since we’re not 18 years old anymore. I think in the past 25 years, we’re learned more of what to do and more importantly what NOT to do in the song writing process. I’m really excited to see where the new material is headed.

You’ve been handed a second chance at life and, in a lot of ways, a second chance at the band. How does that renewed sense of urgency and gratitude filter into the way you approach rehearsals, writing sessions and even band relationships now?

It really sparked a fire in all of us to start writing and creating music again. The writing sessions are interesting since we all live in different parts of the country. Dave and Jacob are in the Dallas, TX area, Chis is still in Orange County, CA and I’m in Stonington, CT so we’ve been sending riffs back and forth to start writing some new material together. When you’re younger, you really try to write songs that sound like the bands that you love so for me it was all about trying to sound like Strung Out, Lagwagon, Good Riddance, etc. Now it’s just about writing songs that feel good to me and then collaborating with the other guys to refine them and get a unique finished product.

Stream Course of Ruin’s latest release on Spotify. 

Interview

Robert Larrabee Interview: Experience, Instinct, and Letting Music Speak First

After more than four decades of performance, Robert Larrabee speaks about music with the calm certainty of someone who has lived inside it rather than circling it from a distance. In this interview, he reflects on knowing when a song has reached its natural conclusion, the quiet instinct that tells him it is ready to be released, and how emotion often dictates the musical direction long before genre enters the picture. He discusses writing shaped by love, loss, faith, and everyday human pressure, alongside the responsibility he feels toward listeners who bring their own lives to his work. From early years on the performance circuit to his latest festive single, Larrabee opens up about intention, connection, and why creating music remains an act of service rather than ambition. It is a thoughtful conversation about feeling, purpose, and letting songs find their people.

You’ve got new releases on the horizon. How do you know when a song is ready to leave your hands and head out into the world, especially after living with music for as long as you have?

Yes! I actually have a new release on all internet music stores. It dropped on December 24th at 8 a.m. The single “Hav’n A Rock & Roll Christmas” has been described as: A high-energy holiday rocker built for dance floors, family parties, and anyone who thinks Christmas should come with a little more guitar and a lot more groove.
I live with my tunes throughout the entire writing process—from chord structure to finding the melody, recording, and mastering. By the time it’s all done, the song and I are one. I mean, it’s all I’ve thought, sang, and dreamed about for weeks. So it’s like one of your kids: you just know when you’ve done all you can and it’s time to send them out into the world.

With blues, gospel, country, pop and rock all sitting comfortably in your wheelhouse, what decides the direction of an upcoming release, mood, message, or simply where your voice feels most at home that day?

The direction of a song comes from where my heart and mind have been lately. Sometimes it comes from world events and stories that have impacted me in a big way, such as “Nothing Great Comes From Hate.” But I can be in a loving, romantic mood and write, or on more of a spiritual plane. Whatever the mood, there are usually lyrics in my mind. If I’m feeling sadness, it’s probably going to be a blues tune, perhaps fused with country. If I’m feeling connected to my higher self, then Gospel. And so on. I really do like melding genres together to find the perfect expression of what I have in mind.

After decades of playing bar rooms, dinner theatre and travelling shows, how have those early, often gritty environments shaped the way you write and record music now?

Yes, after 40 years now of performing—mostly in dinner show settings and bars in the first five or six years—I’ve experienced so much love through performance. I’ve seen people cry over an Elvis tune or a Roy Orbison rendition of mine, and I’ve learned that what Elvis once said is true: “Music heals.” So I write from the heart with the listener in mind. I want the song to be like being at my show. I want it to reach out and touch them.

When people listen to your new material, what part of your life or outlook do you quietly hope they pick up on, even if they cannot quite put it into words?

When people listen to my music, I hope they pick up on the intention, which is always about bettering our world, appreciating what we have, helping someone else, and accepting all people. Or, as I like to condense it down to: Love. Just loving ourselves and others. I know darkness, and I know light. I choose to operate in the light, share it, and go to it.

You’ve clearly lived inside music rather than standing at arm’s length from it, how does that lived experience show up in your upcoming songs, lyrically or emotionally?

I think lived experience shows up in my songs through what every person goes through: struggle, doors shut in our face, heartbreak, loss, success, laughter—all the emotions a human being feels. The difference is I always sit down and write about whatever I’m feeling, and then it turns into music. Music heals my heart, or it extends the joy. It’s a gift to someone else that brings happiness to someone I may never meet. So that’s giving without expectation, and it’s the most fulfilling feeling I can get.

Do you still feel that same spark when starting a new record as you did earlier in your career, or has excitement changed shape over the years?

I still feel the same excitement and profound satisfaction creating music as I ever did. I think a lot more now, as I have a much better understanding of how to get my idea across and turn it into music.

Vocally, you move comfortably across multiple styles, when working on your next releases, do you think about serving the song first or letting your voice lead the way?

When I was younger, I had a big, strong voice—mid to tenor—voice and I loved showing it off. But now I’m pretty happy being a mid to high baritone. Yes, these days it’s more about the music first, then finding my part in it.

Looking ahead, what feels most important to you right now with these forthcoming releases, reaching new listeners, saying something honest, or simply enjoying the act of making music at this stage of your life?

Looking ahead, what feels important is just writing music that supports people and touches them. I mean real art. I’m not interested in writing music for the sake of getting famous or charting, or trying to sound a certain way that the algorithms might like. I just want to get what’s in this heart out. I know the people that like my music enjoy it when I’m taking them on an emotional journey.

Stream Robert Larrabee’s latest releases on Spotify. 

Interview by Amelia Vandergast

L.O.W Tha Rider Interview: Tuning into the Unseen Frequencies

Some artists make music to fill the silence; L.O.W Tha Rider crafts sound to channel the energies most people ignore. In this conversation, the artist opens up about the spiritual forces that influence creativity, the balance between chaos and escapism in music, and the unseen origins of inspiration. With an unwavering commitment to authenticity, L.O.W Tha Rider discusses the industry’s expectations, the power of frequencies, and the weight of meaningful expression. For those who believe music is more than entertainment—this is a discussion worth absorbing.

L.O.W Tha Rider, welcome to A&R Factory! It’s great to have you with us. Let’s get straight into some questions that will give our readers a deeper insight into your world, your music, and the ideas that drive you. Do you think there’s a connection between sound and the unseen forces of the world?

There’s a connection to everything. So, yeah, the spiritual realm can touch us. Such as demons we can’t see, or angels we can’t see, but if we talking music, it’s all in what energy you fester and give…

There’s a lot of chaos in the world, but some people find a strange kind of order within it. Do you think music should reflect that unrest, or offer an escape from it?

I think both, talking for both spectrums, artists should feel free to express no matter what. To single them out, if an artist wants to reflect that of unrest, it’s excellent because that shows struggle in their art and a possibility how to solve it ….. To offer an escape is to release, but also, it’s running away, but both are excellent forms of music that we need.

If we stripped everything back—no instruments, no technology—what do you think would be left at the core of your creativity?

The mindset and free spirit, also the willingness to gain understanding music sometimes distracts from what is around

Some artists say their best ideas come from a place beyond their own understanding. Do you ever feel like your music is coming through you rather than from you?

Yes, sometimes, the gods and goddesses, angels grant me insight rather in the form of an idea or a dream. Like when I’m making a beat or writing, I go with what my soul feels. So, whether it comes from them speaking through me or my own intention, it’s amazing to listen back and be like I created this… Sometimes, I ask how.

You’ve probably heard people say that certain frequencies can alter consciousness. Do you think there’s truth in that, and do you ever play with that idea in your own work?

I never heard of that. That’s dope (lol), but frequencies can alter consciousness if you let it, meaning what kind of sounds you listen to. For instance, if you are listening to low vibrating frequencies, you vibrate low; if it’s high in love and happiness and also peacefulness, then so much can happen to bring it down but will you let it? it’s kinda revolving.

The world is full of voices competing to be heard. As an artist, do you feel an obligation to say something meaningful, or is the act of creating its own kind of statement?

Everyone is competing to be heard, yet what are they fighting for and what people have the heart and mind to listen….. I’m always obligated to say something meaningful cause it’s on my heart …. When it comes to music, whether it’s a beat or a song, it speaks for itself.

If music had the power to erase one thing from human nature—fear, greed, hate—what would you choose, and how do you think it would change the world?

Greed because the mindset for money would be eliminated, and more people who made it big would be giving. Thus eliminating the room for hate and fear, possibly meaning with greed out the way more will be willing to share the road and journey, also the possibility of buying things that will help move along people to being at ease. Knowing this world. will they create more love after that happens or just take it for granted?

If you could play one song to an audience who had never heard music before, which track would you choose and why?

Endless possibilities -sonic unleashed [OST]… reason why to show the youth and adults, that there are no limits in life as humans we make our own limits so with that being said kick open those doors to grasp understanding also to free the mind also heart.

The industry can often be a machine that expects artists to follow certain trends. Have you ever felt pressure to compromise your authenticity, or is that something you refuse to entertain?

Yeah, I have been clowned a lot of times but never gave in, and my mindset is to be a person of love and freedom cause we are not free in this world right now life yes but the world no ….  I would never entertain, that’s for people who music is not free, condemned and soulless you can tell the difference.

Stream L.O.W Tha Rider on Spotify or connect with the artist on Instagram.

Interview by Amelia Vandergast

Igniting the Creative Flame: An Insightful Dialogue with the multi-faceted innovator, Nikhail

This week, we sat down with Nikhail, an artist whose work traverses the realms of filmmaking, acting, music, and more. A&R Factory explored the sparks that ignited his multifaceted creativity. Nikhail shares his evolution from a budding writer to a versatile creator, discussing how phases of his life, from unrequited love to personal challenges, have fuelled his artistic expression. This interview delves into how his experiences and the transformative power of art have shaped his career, revealing the depth behind his pursuit of understanding and expression through the arts.

Nikhail, welcome to A&R Factory! Thank you for the opportunity to sit down with you and discuss your uniquely expansive career, which spans multiple creative fields including acting, filmmaking, light painting, and music. Is there one spark that ignites all of your creative modes of expression?

It’s sort of been an evolution I would say. Initially – when I started being creative, I was a writer and I spent many years, until now, writing feature after feature, though I was stuck in this inspiration box where my life and work were being turned into some very acclaimed movies, and a lot of that in the beginning was finding my voice. I remember when I started, I would try to develop a style similar to films I liked, which were older films when I was younger, and as I developed through my twenties, I felt a little stiff with my work but I was always told I had a knack for good ideas. A lot of that was because of the environment, because of the long-term experience of gaslighting, and my own immaturity. Then when I got to grad school, I started to dig much deeper and process these old and at the time current feelings of unrequited love. And that became my creative spark for a while. ‘Something Round’, my short, is the classic example of that. And a lot of the time, it wasn’t this feeling of just sad helplessness. I mean, in shorts I made, people might’ve assumed that, but if you were to read the features, there was a lot more, you could say, angry creative protest at mistreatment. There’s something about thinking about love at school, as opposed to in a working life situation. At school, you have the chance to be creative and there’s a lot more play you could say and there’s more time to think and explore emotions and such — so it was an environment that fed into creativity and I guess I had not much choice but to continue this artistic play environment even after finishing grad school for years after — till now. It is unfortunate that this unrequited love aspect — was a starting spark — because it was a situation of being gaslit, misled, and manipulated, and other negative things by people online — and I used to blame myself a lot for that — but I realize now so much of the neglect I’ve had played into me being quite naive when I was in more of a community setting — but it did ignite this start for music, I made my first song ‘One Way Road’ in grad school about the pain of my journey, feeling like this one-way road, and along the way having experienced a lot of struggle and at times trauma that I didn’t see any of the other people in society around me experience at all. It was a very cathartic expression of the loneliness and isolation I felt in my journey as an artist and how people didn’t seem to care which made it harder. And it was kind of like the unrequited love caused me to want to express in whatever manner — what I had been through in the hope of gaining some understanding.

Eventually, I grew up a little more, and I started expressing different variations in films and such — of gaslighting because that was what I was experiencing but I didn’t even know what it was — it’s funny for example like in ‘My Boyfriend the Boogeyman’, I’m holding a lighter and I didn’t even think about how that was a metaphor, I was just trying to express how this toxic relationship resulted in me sort of hurting/burning in a way.

So for a large time a lot of my music, light paintings, writing, films were sparked in response to how I was experiencing the world, like how people were treating me, and my response to that, and how I was trying to protest it or explain myself, always feeling this slight guilt knowing there was something wrong with many situations but not quite understanding why, and then expressing the feelings in my creativity allowed me to understand what was wrong.

As we move through life, our creative spark changes, and after some difficult experiences in LA, a mixture between for me extremely disheartening but also embarrassing – I would create out of ways to manifest I guess. Hoping the art was like a way of me pushing into the world some desire for change or for help and just putting out there my feelings of things not being right and along with that came some protest art as well regarding my personal situation with love and creative exploitation and being stuck in this box etc. There was a lot of sadness given my situation and many times that also ignited into cool work. It pushed me at times for this desire for connection and while I had this doublespeak connection with many celebs, it reached a point where I was like I’m just going to reach out and I made my voicemail feature the Invite as a result.

Then much later again – I encountered another phase of heightened emotion which inspired a bunch of music and made me want to be creative again. Heightened emotion throughout the past year, in positive and negative ways. Usually, there’s definitely more negative instances unfortunately than positive ones – but I moved on from this artistic drive of being inspired by feelings for a person, into being inspired by my story, and what I want and how I feel more so. I learnt from experiences with guys that I didn’t want to make art where a person would get this greater esteem out of their exploitation of me in a sense. So I started to focus on myself instead. And even, then yeah, still love tends to be the strongest drive, though it also is the most embarrassing and scary and can be painful and the one thing I’m still learning to be much more chill about. But I always catch myself falling into that bad cycle like in the past, then I stop and I’m like okay — you’re a pro now — you need to express your story and things you want and your perspective and what is more personal to you. At least that’s how I feel for now – and in the past year all of my work has been about — attempting to be a hero or anti-hero in one’s life and trying to make sense of difficulty and stand up to injustice at times. So recently most of my art has not been about unrequited love at all – it’s been about you could say self-love but not in that I’m super confident etc. way, self-love in the sense of this is who I am, this is what I want to do, this is what I’m good at, this is me, and this is my soul. And as I developed a stronger sense of myself, not saying I won’t be inspired by things in love again, but when I started focusing on me, my work started teaching me how expansive and non-limited I could be as an artist – though it has been much more draining and lonely in a sense – but it also taught me vital lessons in independence and now it’s not even like one spark will ignite my expression – it’s become a way of nature where – I can just get to it and create – if I wasn’t taking it a little slow now because of being tired with the exploitation and an unexpected situation in my mom’s house, where my helper left because of cancer so I’ve been allowing the dog to sleep on the floor of my room, and it keeps me up all night so it’s a bit of a stressful time.

Another small thing that ignites my creativity – is I guess kind of a strange odd thing – which is circles – I guess since being isolated for so long and just having dealt with many stresses emotionally and psychologically and as a human so forth being in this ‘box’ I started to get obsessed with circles as a theme in a lot of my creativity, and I’m not really sure how to stop it but it’s become a part of my brand and I call it spotting, and ‘Something Round’ was a large moon and about unrequited love and in the end spotting I guess is really this question you ask – what ignites your creativity – and for me, I’d ask — what do you spot? To spot is to be creative, what is that thing that makes you go out of your way to be creative, that gets you obsessed, right.

Having transitioned from being ‘put in a box’ to directing your own films and shows, how do you ensure your unique voice and vision remain intact when navigating the commercial pressures of the industry?

I wouldn’t say I’ve transitioned from being in a box, I’m definitely still in it – however, it is a little different than it used to be. I’m no longer, that I know of, medically gaslit as much, at the same time I am experiencing the most isolation and silence that I ever have and because of the injustice, I do complain a lot, and the box is so much bigger than before it takes places in various cities that I travel to.

But — going back to your question, regarding directing, because I’m still in this box, I can’t ensure my voice and vision remain intact – navigating the commercial pressures is not something I’m quite dealing with — its as if big artists that take from me etc., are the ones that navigating the commercial pressure, and they use my work or style or whatever and I don’t have a say to how my voice or vision is done, I will see some art taken from my life or work and it will look so so cool, and other times it may not, and there is a varying level, obviously depending on the artist, the really great artists we all love always do amazing work. At the same time — I’m trying to get out of this box, and I’m using right now my one-man shows as a way to keep fighting and holding on for hope and not turning into a vegetable, but I am extremely exhausted, not at the work but at the futility of how everything feels. But I do desperately want to get out this box and navigate these commercial pressures myself. When my work is remade or used or whatever – firstly I don’t receive money or credit directly in my name, I’ll see credits in similar names to mine, and that does bother me a lot as I do struggle and suffer — and that is a huge pressure on me as an artist in terms of survival and my existence and my career and my future and my being as a human. And at times, when you see for example a film remade of mine or a song influencing another, making a ton of money or being critically acclaimed, there is a small part of me that does get this vicarious success at the same time the commercial pressure is for the others to deal with and in a sense, I’m protected from that. But I definitely want to get my freedom and I know it’s weird to say I want to deal with this pressure, but I want to make great things and I want to have more control over my voice and vision and I want to work with others in a proper collaborative space and a more in the real world artistic life. Also adding to this, as a writer/director, with my own films I’ve always had autonomy over most of the project so I’ve never had to worry about my voice so much with that — there was a big script I was writing a while back ‘Boogeyman: The Crossing’ and working with the studio for that — was a challenge and yeah there were times I would have disagreements regarding my voice and such — they wanted me to write a line with a person using a diaphragm for example and I was like no one uses a diaphragm these days! And it can be frustrating — I think in the end from what I’ve heard it depends on the studio you work with and a unique, fresh and exciting creative voice will always stand out.

In your film ‘The Foal’, what personal experiences did you draw from, and how did these influence the narrative and thematic elements of the movie?

So I would say ‘The Foal’ — which is about a miscarriage — was a story I developed from hearing of my mother’s experience. Honestly, I was in grad school at Chapman and I wanted to make a drama and I was torn between this miscarriage story which actually evolved from the story of a girl being afraid to go in the pool during a party because of her period, however, I didn’t have access to a pool and safety regarding equipment so the story evolved into a much smaller environment and I was deciding between that, or doing a vampire tale — and my roommate suggested combining my ideas. And with regards to that — I based this miscarriage tale off the slightly abusive relationship my parents had — and there were these really old-fashioned elements to the film such as the costumes but also combining that with a more modern sensibility of the hangover and involving the fantastic genre and the colors. I enjoy making you could say modern classic fantastic films. That kind of summarized all the films I made in grad school. And the horse was a metaphor at the same time for the child and the playfulness of that. Personally I have experienced a sort of condescending overbearing relationship with many guys, who till now, take this online boogeyman aspect and make it seem like it’s okay to take advantage of me, so there was this relationship metaphor I have experienced as well where you like someone and you don’t want to upset them, but at some point, you have to stand up for yourself, which I think is a very relatable thing for many people.

Your work in light painting is both unique and visually captivating. Could you elaborate on how this medium allows you to express themes or emotions that might be more challenging to convey through music, traditional filmmaking, or acting?

Light Painting allows me to express emotions and concepts through illustration in light with my body and my performance much quicker than the other forms. Usually, I think of a concept or theme or title that’s only a few words long and then I draw out what that means to me. An example being recently, my Reset series where I had a bunch of different characters hit a reset button as a way of my expressing how throughout this past year, I have sent A LOT of emails, complaining about A LOT, and sometimes I said things I shouldn’t have and so forth, especially if I get too drunk and get too carried away on my phone, so it was kind of like how I wish there was a button after making a mistake you could reset, right, and thinking about that for example it’s weird because I realize in the year, it seems whether or not I made these email mistakes, I don’t think anything would’ve changed with my situation as of now, I don’t know. So the light painting is a way to pose with expression, or use colors and lines in abstract ways to express a moment or thought where you don’t have 3 minutes like a song or a much longer time like a movie to explain. And I actually hope one day I can combine both my light paintings with music, and create more of an interactive experience for people at a gallery or something.

With songs like ‘Lonely Island Star’, you touch on deep personal struggles and desires. How do you balance the vulnerability of sharing such personal experiences with the public expectation of your artistic persona?

I think, I don’t know because I’m kind of isolated and a little in silence, but I think I’ve already expressed so much vulnerability that I don’t think anyone is surprised at this point. In fact, how so much of my life and work has been exposed to so much of the industry, and when I go online I see so many references to things in my life, that it’s almost as if I’m used to being overexposed, and yeah sometimes it’s not very nice and it can be embarrassing, but if you look at my films again referring to one like ‘Something Round’ or ‘Flu’ or ‘The Check In’ you see very personal aspects of me… so because of that it’s not really a balance for me regarding sharing because so much of my life has been shared without choice — and regarding the public expectation, I don’t really know what that is yet, because my social media is oppressed and there’s all the silence. I can go out in public and people may act a certain way towards me, but right now it’s all very hard to rely on or judge because this boogeyman stuff goes on if I go out on a Friday night, and I get messed with a lot, I get picked on, I’m not perfect at all but there are lots of times people take advantage of this ‘box’ situation and exaggerate or make up stories to hurt me – then I get confused and a little angry and then I don’t act the best in public such as insulting a stranger purposely cosplaying as an aspect of all this — then I hide in my room for the next few weeks. So regarding the public expectation – it seems like it’s quite a mess – and I think an artist like me can be looked at quite differently by different people, there’ll be people who seem like huge fans, and there’ll be others who will call me homophobic slurs. And without anyone talking to me or more, all I can do is what I know how to do. With songs there is an even more vulnerable aspect, because of the singing that’s required — that takes even more guts — especially without professional equipment or editing etc. And I just try to share aspects of my soul and emotion – and I tend to be a very honest person, at times it does allow me to get in trouble, but I struggle lying so if I end up for example with ‘Lonely Island Star’ being very vulnerable and honest, I will likely find other ways to compensate with either some comedic or edgy work — I think part of why I do so many facets of art is also as a way of compensating, a way of compensating of being too much or too little with one, or too emotional or too stoic – and I should probably find a way to make all the artistic aspects more complementary of each other — but I do think ironically because of this box, there is an ongoing theme with so much of my work and because of the isolation, these aspects of loneliness and love and come out in various ways – so in a way the vulnerability is sticking to theme.

Also this song — I wrote it one night – quite quickly — a person I thought was going to be my friend, ended up not, and I was sad one night and I made this song and I think it’s important when you feel a wave of inspiration to create to go with it, whether it’s too vulnerable or not, and then regarding your artistic persona or what — you can work with that later, but any moment you get a desire to create that is just like it needs to come out, you have to do it, and sometimes when that’s the case you come up with the most vulnerable stuff. Not to mention – my first song was ‘One Way Road’ and after this exploration in the arts over a few years – to return to a similarly themed song in ‘Lonely Island Star’ – it just was an ongoing of the same vulnerability I felt for so long – in a sense it rounded off so much experience and it’s weird because it does mention difficulty and struggle and it makes me think about where I was years ago and despite so many achievements where I am now – and just the injustice of this ‘box’, how I feel so helpless in life because nothing I do seems to make a difference and just that ongoing pain of inequality, and how many people have watched it and known for so long but chose to remain either silent or bystanders, and here I am just taking one step forward after another step in this direction of my life and work and it feels a little like my body is so tired and I’m dragging myself and I look around and people are watching but no one’s really doing anything, some are contributing to the narrative artistically, some are taking advantage — and I just keep going even though it’s not helping and it’s kind of hurting me at this point because I don’t know where else to go or what else to make of life when there’s no actual direction it seems I’m allowed to head towards or a destination I can see in sight because of the futility.

Having worked extensively in both the U.S. and Hong Kong, how have these diverse cultural environments influenced your creative process and storytelling techniques?

Well in terms of creative process and storytelling – it’s definitely been an interesting journey because people in different countries make art differently. After my undergrad in the States when I started writing stories, it was comedic, it was less stilted, dialogue was more important for me, and its just the culture of America, it’s more talky. It’s more witty, more liberal. However, I returned to Hong Kong after a few months at NYFA, and due to the effects of gaslighting and trauma, my writing became more stilted. However I was able to work on being more visual, I watched more films and learned more about what films I liked and I took some classes with Gordy Hoffman and he was very less is more, be more visual, and that is def. the type of work that wins more awards, but more streaming services have more a commercial line-up of films — so I spent a lot of time learning with my storytelling not to say too much, and then when I got to the States, everything became about adding more, so all my scripts became more talky, the culture of the community, at least around me, enjoyed films that were more safe, less controversial – I was told once even that a really popular script of mine ‘Ripe’ – the title in relation to fruit, that later won the Big Apple Film Festival, would never get made, because it was too edgy, however in fact there are parts of it that were remade into Babylon and Saltburn. But as I stayed longer in the states, I got more talky as well than I was in Asia because of the culture and the people, and increased freedom. And I was writing these films that had more wit. Also being in the US was exposed to such a stronger talent pool, that I improved so much with my directing, people were so much more creatively brave which is part of how I started doing so many other creative things as well – I could work with actors that were more trained, I learned a lot more about visuals so it was like everything I wanted to do but missed out in Asia because of limited opportunity and language barriers, I was able to spend time to make up for and learn when I was in the states. And it made me enjoy so many more aspects of film, from costumes to cinematography to acting. And when you enjoy what you do – the work is much better hopefully. And the states was like this huge breath of fresh air, and my creativity was like able to finally be free because in Asia I felt so oppressed and unable to properly think beyond. Then at the same time, coming back here, so a while after lots of time in the US — my storytelling changed again, obviously in ways as I’ve done many more one-man shows and I’ve had to be limited in that regard, but also I started to trust myself much more. So after a lot of mentorship, in school then for many years after, I started to storytell again and it was weird because it was as if I forgot all the lessons I learned, and I was just able to completely express myself without thinking too much about it — and I started to remember more of myself again — the films I liked, the styles of filmmakers I like, and I feel like in the states it’s easy to get caught up on what others or the media or what is popular– American runs on popular culture– and so being away for a while it’s nice to be able to storytell in a way where I’m not trying to do it to fit in with the crowd in a sense — and its nice to remember what I think is good art because I was def. influenced by that popular culture of cinema in the US — however with my resource limitations abroad and other issues, it does feel like I’m getting a bit of cabin fever and I do need new inspiration.

Your one-man shows such as ‘My Boyfriend the Boogeyman’ and ‘The Check In’ are intensely personal. What drives you to this format, and how do you prepare mentally and emotionally for these performances?

I guess these two films I made as one-man shows because I wanted to act and make films and no one would cast me and I don’t have the resources to spend much on everything. ‘My Boyfriend the Boogeyman’ started as a web pilot pitch, as I was trying to turn it into a show and series. I took a difficult situation I was dealing with, made a metaphor out of it, with a fantastic element and it was really cool and cathartic. It wasn’t hard preparing for this mentally or emotionally. In fact, when it comes to acting on everything I’ve acted in, not talking about Instagram fun videos because I don’t prepare for those because I don’t really place importance on them, but with film acting, I’m quite fast. I learn the lines and then I do the scene over a few times, and usually, I just get into it. Sometimes I worry I may blink a bit much or my hand used to make this weird shape – but now that’s stopped which is great — but otherwise emotionally – I’m quite good at getting into it very quickly — though I am making these films alone so the preparation is not like on a set where I see actors in films I’ve directed needing a little more time because they’re in front of so many — I would like to be able to perform with more people personally because I do want to get better and I can’t keep doing that on my own.

For The Check In – well I was in Mexico, it was during COVID, I thought I was going to die, I was there for three weeks and I decided I was going to write and direct a film. I didn’t have much time, I just jumped right into it. So much in that film — came from my actual fear and sadness at the current moment, I do wish I didn’t have to wear a mask at times — but it was scary — I thought I was going to die and actually almost did one night as I got lost and stumbled into a compound where these guys with guns and dogs screamed at me, and I felt trapped, and I had much to say about the injustice of life and work exploitation so I just went into it. I actually wish with that film I had more time to prepare, certain scenes if I prepared a little more could’ve been even cooler. But that was hard because there was a time limit, at the same time, I didn’t know the area, I was just at this hotel, and I was alone – so it was like it’s now or never, and again these reactions to the gaslighting which was a theme in the movie — came out of very personal experiences.

I think when it comes to mentally and emotionally preparing for these one-man shows — its really just getting up and being motivated to do the show — Obviously each performance is different, when I do horror the expressions are different to when I do dramas and I don’t have formal training except from A levels (which is basically an in-depth study for the last two years of high school) so I try to think about how I walk, how I sit, the cadence of speech, the deeper study of character motivations isn’t something I focus on because I’m only acting in my projects and I’ve never acted a big part in someone else’s work, when I direct I do talk to the actors about that, but when I act I try to make each role unique but I do look young so making things more realistic I do tend to play younger roles – and once the camera is in place — you just have to perform. And this format became something I had to force myself to do if I wanted to continue working in film because of a lack of investment, the silence and isolation, the lack of money and everything literally. Right now I have one show I have to make and it’s set at night and I keep falling asleep too soon and lacking motivation also because of a difficult situation recently — so for this one — I def have to find ways to mentally and emotionally prepare — but it’s not about the role I’m preparing for, it’s about preparing to maintain a certain amount of energy during the shoot and preparing to go for it and set a goal and achieve –

sometimes with these one-man shows it feels so much harder than the bigger sets – even though more work is def put into the bigger sets – these one-man shows — feel tiring, because it’s fun when you get to set and you have your role whatever that is, as an actor or director or with camera team and for me to do it all — is just you have to think in so many stages – and there’s no real calm – it’s like okay camera, okay now act, okay check to make sure it worked, okay fix the set, okay costume change, okay next camera shot… so it’s a lot you have to individually do and plan without support. I think you prepare for that you just have to believe in your project and go for it.

You’ve inspired and been inspired by big names in the music industry. How does this circle of creative influence and recognition impact your approach to new projects?

It is this weird double-edged sword – on one hand, it’s a huge privilege and honor and so cool. It’s not just my music it’s like my light paintings, films/scripts and life. And it does sort of give me this feeling of belonging to a group even if for now it’s from such a far distance. At times it’s very hard to keep up as well – these guys are always on the move, always doing something, always busy. So it’s a lot. And there’s a lot of people, and I can’t pay attention to it all. At the same time, I do feel a little demotivated with new projects — it’s just inspired is a little bit of a euphemism for it all – after so long at least — and there is an exploitive element because of the fact I get nothing and they all get so much — so I do feel a little tired, like I have done a lot for my age in terms of work — but it does get a little tedious in the sense of like is this going to continue for how long and what happens to me and where or how do I get equality justice and freedom right. And there are definitely times the creative circle inspires me to suddenly take on a new creative project, like my song ‘Let Me In’ was inspired by after Britney did ‘Mind your business bitch’, and it was a way for me to explain the other side of that in a sense — and then for example it seems to be implied with Billie Eilish’s upcoming album she has a song called ‘Open the Door’ – or like my filmatic surgery film – I’ll see that sort of costume on the stage of certain singers like Beyonce, then Britney did such a dance as well, then Billie will have an Egyptian sounding song with a video corresponding to the end of that film… so it’s all this weird circle stuff… and I’m just listing a few examples out of the many — at times when I go out because I have no one to really talk about it all with — or acclimatize with the situation or get excited about it all — like I’m still waiting to get free and have that one friend where I can finally be in an environment where I can share in excitement all the cool art music film stuff — when I go out I end up just listing so much, I’ll be like Kylie did this and this person did this and so forth — and usually people get weird and I’m just waiting for that breath of air to experience some joy in all this.

I find a sense of strength in myself and in my one-man shows — I find a sense of independence when I see how many are inspired —

it’s just hard for example when no one that is in direct contact with me in my life — like my immediate family — none of them want to see any of my films or read my work or support my art. In my mom’s house or with my sister, I’m not allowed to talk about Hollywood or the music or my art and how it’s used. But the creative contributions of others give me a strength to remember who I am even when people around me, purposely make it hard, and that encourages me to keep going at times and ignore the negativity of some of those around me, but also harbor a little anger and look down on them a little bit.

— at the same time I would do more if I was getting more than just inspiring from a distance while I essentially suffer — I think if things were equal I would’ve gotten my green card so many years ago, I’d be independent, I’d have a much happier and healthier life — and as I age and this continues I worry – I worry about the future a lot — I worry if the last 16 years were all a waste —

Also, I’m so tired because I see how they all are inspired but they get to go places and they get to experience all the wonderful things of being a known successful artist so I’m a little like it’s unfair because I’ve been in this position – however my art evolved – I’ve been in this position for 16 years and I don’t get to do any fun stuff, I still have this very limited experience of life and have to deal with many equality and rights struggles.

But I definitely learn also from some of it — coz when it relates to your work you’re like oh that’s a really cool sound or you’re like oh that’s a really cool way to have looked at something or that’s a really powerful way to have interpreted something. And as I learn it does impact how I work, like with music it may affect the style of the next song I might make, like whether it’s dance or trip hop or will I once again use 80’s synths. Or with films — I start to really push myself with creative ideas because I feel this privilege where I don’t have to rely anymore on something too small and simple (though I actually very early on started writing some quite high budget ideas) — though once in a while I will still write something easy to do — at the same time — this isn’t a privilege, it’s kind of a weird exploitive curse because I witness bits of my work but I don’t seem to get anything apart from being forced to go along with being in this ‘box’ situation that gives me a lot of emotional, psychological and socio-economic difficulty.

Though the circle of creative influence has also helped me plan for new projects in a healthier way. A lot of times growing up, I would get influenced or swayed creatively by people I liked at the time, and literally with each person, they had a more lowbrow sense of art than what I enjoy. So, there have been moments when I have, in a sense, weakened or dumbed down my art to appease certain people, stupidly. And the more successful circle of people are good at encouraging and reminding me what better art is and not to stray too far from good taste.

With your background in both traditional and new media, where do you see the future of filmmaking heading, especially considering the rapid advancements in digital technology and online platforms?

When it comes to filmmaking, I do think A.I. with tech can be quite useful. Now, I know there were protests and such, and I do think there should be limitations. For example, artificial intelligence shouldn’t replace artists—whether they are writers, singers, directors, or actors. I think the human race needs humans to continue making art. In my opinion, if you were to find the meaning of life for you, or the purpose of humanity or whatever deep, meaningful philosophical things you want to learn about—art is the bridge, I believe, between people’s souls and the world around us. I can’t think of anything else really that is that bridge, in a sense. So, humans need to be allowed to continue to make art and be rewarded for it properly. At the same time, recently I was making a poster for a new film, and I went online and for the background image, I discovered this site where you could just type into the text box a description of the image you want, select a style, and A.I. would make that image for you, and you don’t have to pay a stock photo fee or anything, and I was like, wow, for a person with very limited money, this is going to change how I make movie posters. So, there are definitely some advantages, and I think A.I. will assist aspects of visuals in films and things like that. But, funnily enough, I was reading something that was like, we need A.I. to be able to do things like chores so that we can focus on being creative, rather than A.I. doing the creative stuff so we have to do more chores—which is very true. As for online platforms—if you’re talking about social platforms like Twitter, I’m not sure as I don’t use that, only Instagram and mine is oppressed—but streaming platforms are very vital for filmmakers. They allow people to see our work and I honestly think there should be more, especially some catering to low-budget stuff, but also at the same time, I do wonder how many people subscribe to all the platforms, like there are so many, and I do think it makes films more accessible. I do wish there was some combination of both where there was an online platform that allowed you make films with the help of A.I.

I also think when you hear interviews from older famous directors, they always talk about how shooting on film is best, but obviously time and budgets these days, digital tends to be more accommodating, and I do think because of that there’s this historical aspect to the craft that is dying out, and I find it tragic. I do wish I had learned more on film, actually when I attended my first film class at New York Film Academy in 2009—we had to make our first film with an actual film roll and it was black and white and it was very cool. I do wish I had stuck it out and made things more exciting with film roll back then. Anyway, as digital comes to the forefront, there is a whole aspect of cinema that might be forgotten and I think it’s up to schools and filmmakers to prevent that.

You’ve expressed a hope for freedom and equality through your art. Can you discuss a project where you intentionally addressed these themes, and what impact do you feel it had?

Many of the films I made since 2022 express that. My script Miracle chips about an exploited potato chip maker is the ideal example. With my music Looking For Earth, Cali Sand, Needed a Break, Lonely Island Star, Let Me In, all have lines with a hope for more in life, with trying to find understanding, with trying to show a sense of humanity and display the need for change amongst this hardship. With The Larvae I talk about wanting to rejoin nature. With The Check In, I show a difficult situation of being trapped and gaslit. With Seed I show how a witch exploits a teen to grow her garden. With the Invite I showed the desire to connect and see people. With Lobster Tongue I show a person searching for their love whos in a dark place. With UV I showed a flower buried that wants to get up. With Filmatic Surgery, I show a complicated mummy who feels trapped. With Floaters I show a situation of family loss as a result of these mysterious floaters. With Housefly I show a sense of loss through gaslighting. With Present I showed a desire to regain control of ones life, with Pocket Dog I showed a desire to escape. So – those are a lot of films where I try to express a hope for freedom and equality by demonstrating the difficulties, horrors, comedic tragedies and pain of the protagonist. I hoped people would understand and my situation would improve however, instead, people have been using these situations to in a sense re-enact them around me – so I experience a lot of difficult actually as a result and for many around it seems to be just like a game, like there’s a clear lack of empathy or understanding for some reason – maybe because it’s a movie — I don’t know — people’s reactions to this box really show a lot of their humanity , and most of the time I’ve been disappointed with how human beings have been, but also maybe Im just always looking at the wrong ones or am at the wrong places. Also, I feel like because I do these one man shows then people see the remakes etc – they assume I’m well and fine — when that’s not really the case — I think these projects had an impact on perhaps certain directors or producers or writers or actors, clearly not in the way I wanted but they see something that they want to get involved in that relates to my work. So — I was hoping some people would see how far I tried to go for freedom, how much I deserve such things like equality and so forth — but also I think it’s also kind of isolated me because people don’t know how to relate, in one way to my situation and in a second way to the creative circle that is part of so much of my work. So I don’t know. I do think it made people realize aspects about me as a person, that even though Im not perfect that I am more capable than how many initially thought of me and I do hope all of these efforts give me freedom and a future more equal just and so forth. But I don’t know to be honest. Oh but there was one moment in Italy where I screened filmatic Surgery and there is a very soulful moment in the end, and afterwards, it was the first time, an audience member came up to me and said they really enjoyed the film and took a photo with me and so in that moment I felt like that film made an impact.

How do your philosophical beliefs influence your artistic decisions and the themes you choose to explore in your work?

I’m not very sure, to be honest about philosophical beliefs—I like to explore themes of things I’ve experienced or want, from unrequited love, to obsession, to body insecurity, to gaslighting, to relationship hope, to connection, to alcoholism, to women’s rights, to LGBTQ rights, to mental health, to socio-economic struggles, to generational differences, to immigration.

I mean, it’s a long list of themes, to be honest—I mean, in my portfolio, I could list twenty more themes because the work is so widespread. I try to approach my films and exploration of complicated situations with a sense of love for characters that are flawed. I have this huge desire for escape and as a result, a lot of my work is magical realism. I like projects that have a reminder of my reality but also take me to another time or place or personality. Grief is a recurrent theme in lots of my work, and I think as each year passes, it’s a reflection of how I grieve about life. I used to also write or make work that was a little more disturbing—I once believed good art makes the comfortable uncomfortable and the uncomfortable comfortable. However, after everything I’ve experienced and the last years or so—and I’ve experienced a bunch of real-life horror—I don’t believe in that quote anymore because I want to feel more joy in life, I still believe good art should make people think and question and challenge the status quo norms, but also as I get older, I feel like to find peace you need to be peace, so maybe to find more joy, you need to be joy and that will therefore mean influencing my artistic choices to not bring me down emotionally—and it’s not that any artistic decisions should cause me to feel extra negative but there are many aspects of this box where my work, replays in a sense against me in real life which doesn’t happen to others—and it can be painful or scary at times and I suffer—so I do want to find a place where that doesn’t happen anymore and I can pursue any genre of film without the fear of story in the film affecting my life—because naturally as an artist I do like to explore different genres.

Listen to Nikhail on Spotify. Follow his work on Instagram. Discover more on his official website.

Interview by Amelia Vandergast

Spiralling into Success: A Candid Encounter with Dream State Empire

This week, we sat with the members of Dream State Empire, a band that’s been carving a unique path through New Zealand’s underground and surfacing with their award-winning live performances and air-played hits. As they gear up for the release of their latest single, “Spirals,” on April 12th, our conversation took us through the labyrinth of their recent successes, the creative fervour behind their upcoming track, and the ambitious horizons they aim to reach.

Dream State Empire, thank you for the opportunity to sit down with you and discuss your upcoming single, Spirals which will reach the airwaves on April 12th. Which lyrical themes does this single explore and what inspired its creation?

The lyrics were written to be an abstract depiction of a panic attack. It’s chaotic, introspective and a little nonsensical. The ambiguity is on purpose, to reflect the warped perception that comes with them.

It’s not a story-based song, it’s an attempt to describe the mindset of someone experiencing a panic attack. The focus isn’t so much on the ‘fear’ aspect, but the sense of disorganized thought and inability to interpret reality clearly – this is what is intended by the word spiral.

The song is basically a frenzied attempt to regain mental control during a panic attack. The ending is defeat, the acceptance of madness – something while not true of a panic attack, certainly feels like it during the experience if not contained.

Has your songwriting style and your sound evolved for this single?

Our band started with the intention to jam around some blues but has warped into an entirely different beast over time that is much heavier and peppered with funk. This single has arisen from this formula and features some verse grooves, big choruses, and a hectic breakdown.

During the songwriting process, we consciously tried to create a song with enough energy to wake bar punters up and get them to the stage as a set opener. Spirals fits that criteria, and dislodged one of our long-time favorites it is set to become the tune we love to blast open shows with.

What does your collective creative process look like?

We have a pretty open/collaborative approach to writing. Usually, someone brings a tasty riff or two to share at Sunday practice, or sometimes the bones of a complete song. From there, we bounce around ideas until we’re all happy with how the different sections and instruments mesh together.

This system works great when everything gels, but we also have a whole stable of cool riffs that we haven’t managed to quite find the right puzzle pieces to yet. Hopefully, one day soon they’ll blossom into proper songs.

You’ve had your fair share of successes in recent years, including playing at RnV, and winning BOTB, has this added more fuel to the DSE fire?

We’ve been blazing through the Wellington circuit of four or five bars for several years now, so hitting big milestones like winning BOTB has definitely added fuel to our fire! Mainly it’s been a great way to network with other bands and score some invites to play outside of the local scene and see what the rest of the country has to offer.

Getting to record this single at the legendary Lab Studios in Auckland was also a big highlight. Olly is a production wizard and has recorded a huge number of Kiwi heavyweights, ranging from Blindspott to Dave Dobbyn.

How did you secure the win at the Battle of the Bands competition?

It was actually our third year entering BOTB, so part of the win may have come down to dogged persistence. By the finals, we were feeling pretty comfy on that stage and also got to play to a home crowd of rowdy mates in Wellington, rather than making the punishing drive up to Auckland.

We also noticed energy waning in the crowd during a few of our slower songs during the earlier rounds, so ended up axing those tunes in favor of putting our foot down for 25 minutes and blasting out what was probably our highest tempo set to date.

How did it feel to make your national radio debut?

It was exciting and a bit surreal to hear our tune on the airways for the first time on The Rock. It was a big surprise, considering we hadn’t even debuted on student radio before that point. We were pretty chuffed by their enthusiasm and had a few phone calls from relatives working in Australia letting us know they were digging it too.

We’d love to hear your take on the New Zealand music scene and your experiences with it.

The New Zealand music scene is bursting with talent. We’re mates with a ton of multi-instrumentalist maestros who can play just about anything and play in 5 plus bands each, looking to crack into the scene.

We have friends who have transitioned to roots/reggae style bands who have rapidly gained a big following and hit the festival circuit. These bands have been king in NZ for a long time but there are also healthy underground scenes for just about every genre from metal to industrial techno.

While you don’t get to play the big stages too often (think sticky-floored dive bars over open-air stages), the rock scene is super friendly and supportive and manages to sustain itself by putting on multi-band gigs. Hire/ soundy costs are usually covered by 15 bucks on the door, so it’s definitely a passion project, rather than a money maker. Most bars at least treat the thirsty band members to a free jug of skippers.

What’s next for Dream State Empire?

Our first goal is to get this single released, then with a bit of luck, ride the momentum to open some venue doors in other parts of the country. We’re also super hyped for our next gig, Porirua Rocks! This will feature some crushing bands including Shepherds Reign and All I Seek, with a backdrop of pro wrestling and a huge selection of the regions’ best craft breweries. We’re always down for a big gig, so feel free to hit us up if you like what you hear.

Stream Spirals on all major platforms, including Spotify, from April 12th.

Stay up to date with all new releases from Dream State Empire on Facebook.

Interview by Amelia Vandergast