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Music Interviews

Interview: Ata Dune – Holding the Flame Inside TEKOSA

by the partae February 16, 2026

written by the partae

What was the moment you realised TEKOSA wasn’t just a collection of sketches but a body of work that needed to exist as an album?

From the beginning. I started out with a full length in mind, and used a few loose parameters to try to keep the whole thing together.

Ambient can often feel weightless. You’ve described wanting to bring “fire” into the genre — what does heat mean to you in a sonic sense?

Ambient that is maybe a little more in front of you, commanding your attention, rather than drifting off.

There’s a tension running through the record that never quite resolves in obvious ways. Were you consciously holding something back?

Intensity is one of the things I was aiming for. To resolve the tension would have undermined the aim.

Do you write from emotion first, or from texture and sound design, and let the meaning reveal itself later?

I always start with sound design, trying to arrive at a compelling sounds that I can work with, which then naturally leads into phrases and meaning.

Silence feels just as important as sound on this album. How do you decide when to leave space rather than fill it?

For both the sound and any silence, I just listen to the track, to see if it is what I was going for and to see if it works.

Was there a particular track on TEKOSA that unlocked the tone for the rest of the record?

Laleno kind of anchored the album. A few of the tracks I even went back and reworked long after I initially completed them, salvaging them as best as I could, because they sounded too separate from the others.

Ambient music often becomes background listening. Do you think about how your music is consumed, or do you let go of that once it’s released?

That’s out of my control. I just try to get it out there to people who might be interested.

Did the album come together quickly, or was it built slowly over time?

It came together very quickly, in the span of three months or so. I initially set a deadline, to help facilitate production, and kept getting sidetracked with various things. That compression of time ended up helping me finish, because I would have been really ticked off if I missed that deadline.

What does the name TEKOSA represent to you — is it conceptual, personal, abstract?

It’s a little personal. Like all my other titles up to this point, it’s just a made up word, a mixture of different Greek words. I think some of the titles I’ve used actually have meanings in other languages. I double checked them by doing a search, to make sure they didn’t reference something egregious. I think the word for one of my singles not on this album, Tiskata, means a type of stew in Norwegian.

Now that the debut is out in the world, do you feel exposed, relieved, or already thinking about what comes next?

Thinking about what comes next! Very excited to have a platform to release my work, and hopefully reach people who will enjoy it.

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February 16, 2026 0 comments

Interview: Midnight Engine – FREZYA on Building ‘FURTIVA’ as a Cinematic Getaway

by the partae February 13, 2026

written by the partae

“FURTIVA” feels more like a scene than a song. At what point did you realise this wasn’t going to fit a traditional single format?

It clicked as soon as the arrangement refused to collapse into a neat three-minute arc. We didn’t want to amputate the tension just to hit a template. “FURTIVA” is built like a sequence — escalation, pressure, release — the way a night run actually feels.

There’s a strong sense of motion throughout the track — speed, pressure, momentum. What were you trying to capture emotionally rather than sonically?

It’s not “speed,” it’s that calm panic right before things go loud. The focus, the paranoia, the tunnel vision. I wanted the listener to feel like they’re moving fast and staying invisible at the same time.

The production pulls from a lot of worlds — mariachi brass, phonk, amapiano, cinematic tension. How do you decide when contrasting elements are adding energy versus competing with each other?

We treat contrasts like controlled friction. The amapiano log drums are the engine, the phonk weight is the pressure, and the mariachi brass is the warning light. If they’re fighting, it’s an arrangement problem. If they lock, you get that neon-noir heat without losing momentum.

FREZYA exists as more than just a vocalist. How do you think about identity and presence when the project itself feels deliberately fluid?

FREZYA is intentionally untethered. No fixed hometown myth, no forced biography. The presence is the aesthetic and the voice — like a character you recognise instantly, even when the world around her keeps changing.

The track suggests a narrative — a final run, a city that only reacts after the damage is done — but never spells it out. Why was ambiguity important to you here?

Ambiguity turns the listener into the driver. If I spell everything out, it becomes a story you watch. If I leave space, it becomes a scenario you inhabit — and that’s where replay value lives.

Vocally, “FURTIVA” feels restrained rather than explosive. What does holding back allow you to say that a more dramatic performance wouldn’t?

Restraint makes it feel closer, more dangerous. In that world you don’t “perform,” you communicate. The vocal sits like an inner monologue — controlled, deliberate — which makes the tension stick longer than a big dramatic moment.

How much of the track was built with visual worlds in mind, and how much emerged organically once the music started taking shape?

The visual world came first. We had the asphalt, the humidity, the neon, the sense of pursuit — and then we wrote the music to serve that. The sound design is detailed on purpose, but the goal was always to make the picture feel real.

You’ve positioned “FURTIVA” to live across film, games, and digital spaces as easily as headphones. Do you think music needs to be more adaptable now, or is this specific to how you like to work?

A lot of the industry still treats music as listen-only. We build tracks to be usable — clean workflow, clear reuse terms, minimal clearance friction. LPSV-01 is our way of making that practical, not theoretical.

There’s a sense that this project isn’t chasing trends or quick payoff. What does success actually look like for FREZYA at this stage?

Success is when a creator uses it and says, “that was painless.” No weird back-and-forth, no uncertainty, no takedown anxiety. If the standard gets adopted because it makes people’s lives easier, we’re winning.

When someone finishes listening to “FURTIVA,” what do you hope lingers longer — the sound itself, or the feeling it leaves behind?

I want the silence after the last hit to feel suspicious — like you got away with something. If they take the headphones off and the room feels too still, that’s the reaction.

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February 13, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: Felsmann + Tiley – Scoring the Absurdity of Modern Existence

by the partae February 13, 2026

written by the partae

For years, your music has been instantly recognisable, yet your identities remained largely in the background. Did anonymity give you freedom creatively, or did it ever feel like something you had to eventually step beyond?

We’ve been lucky to have unlimited creative freedom and a team around us that fully understands that the music always comes first. Anonymity mainly gave us time — time to experiment and arrive at something we genuinely love. With Protomensch, there’s simply much more to talk about and much more to show, and it felt natural to finally emerge from our long-standing studio hermit phase and re-enter the outside world.

The idea of the “proto-human” feels both philosophical and painfully current. When you began shaping Protomensch, were you responding to the world around you, or to something more internal?

The core idea of the Protomensch existed in our heads long before we wrote a single note or even had a name for the album. It began as an internal observation rather than a response to specific events or headlines. It was a fascinating concept to explore — the absurdity of human existence has so many facets that we could weave music, visuals, and words around it. Living through the past couple of years, however, it started to feel as though the album had turned into a soundtrack for what’s happening around us.

Back in 2017, you imposed the rule of no drums or percussion. That kind of creative constraint can either box you in or force invention. What did that restriction unlock for you that traditional electronic production couldn’t?

It feels less like a restriction and more like a way of putting the focus on the things we love. Coming from club music, removing drums shifted the entire centre of gravity. It forced us to build tension, movement, and release through melody, modulation, and arrangement.

We’re still chasing the same payoff you’d expect from a drop, but without drums we have to arrive there using completely different production techniques. That shift opened up a more emotional and cinematic way of writing that traditional electronic structures wouldn’t have left room for.

There’s a recurring tension in this record — humanity reaching for transcendence while accelerating toward collapse. Do you feel hopeful about where we’re headed, or is Protomensch more of a warning?

It’s neither purely hopeful nor purely a warning. It’s an observation and a commentary on what we see happening around us. Protomensch doesn’t try to predict outcomes or take a moral stance — it simply holds the contradiction up to the light and opens a dialogue. Nevertheless, even though we’re both naturally drawn to darker music, we’re fundamentally optimistic people.

You’ve spent nearly two decades moving through Europe’s pop and electronic scenes, then relocated to Brisbane and built 4000 Studios. Has that shift from touring producer to community builder changed the way you think about success?

Great music happens when creatives collaborate, when they’re surrounded by like-minded people who challenge and push each other’s ideas. Most music cities around the world have spaces where this exchange happens organically. Brisbane didn’t really have that, so together with a small group of locals, we decided to change it. In that sense, building 4000 Studios came more out of necessity following a lifestyle move across the world.

While success in art is a very hard term to define, seeing what has grown out of this community has been incredibly meaningful to us.

Your reinterpretation of M83’s “Solitude” connected on a massive global scale. Did that moment validate the drumless, cinematic direction you’d chosen, or did it add pressure to define what Felsmann + Tiley really is?

It was definitely validating in the sense that it showed our music can appeal to a broader audience than we initially hoped, and that we’re on the right track. The song went viral long after it was released, which was a good reminder that sometimes it’s enough to simply put music out into the world and trust that it will connect with people when the time is right.

The album feels cinematic without being tied to a single storyline. When you’re composing, do you imagine specific scenes and characters, or are you chasing emotional states rather than narratives?

Even though we almost always work with visual or conceptual guides when making music, we’re ultimately chasing emotional states rather than fixed narratives. If, for example, a film about a love story is the inspiration for a song, we try to score how it makes us feel rather than the story itself. Leaving that space open allows listeners to project their own imagery and meaning onto the music.

“Always You” with Woodes carries a strong sense of intimacy within an otherwise expansive concept. What drew you to her voice for this particular chapter of the record?

We’ve been big fans of her project and wanted to work with Woodes for quite some time. A lot of Protomensch explores darker and heavier emotional territory, and “Always You” represents the hopeful, deeply human counterweight to that. Elle’s gentle, soft voice and the way she delivers her performance brought exactly the kind of warmth and intimacy that chapter of the album needed.

After Weltschmerz captured a very specific lockdown-era melancholy, this album feels broader in scope — more societal, almost mythic. Did you approach this project differently from a writing perspective?

Yes, very differently. Weltschmerz was inward-looking and guided by a more focused, intimate emotional palette. With Protomensch, we took a more concept-driven and expansive approach. Exploring different facets of the manifesto allowed for greater musical breadth and gave us more room to experiment sonically, while still grounding the music emotionally.

Now that the full live show has been realised — visuals, live instrumentation, a seated immersive experience — does performing Protomensch feel like closure on a long-held vision, or does it open up new questions for what comes next?

It feels like both. There’s a sense of closure in finally realising something we’ve been carrying for a long time and seeing it exist as a complete, shared experience. At the same time, as with everything else in life, it opens up a whole new world to explore, with many exciting aspects still to be refined. Right now, we’re mainly focused on adapting the show so it can work in different settings without compromise and on finding the right venues to present it properly.

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February 13, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: Jordie Tomas Won’t Bleed for the Applause

by the partae February 13, 2026

written by the partae

Your music moves between intimacy and spectacle in a really deliberate way. When you’re writing a song like Catching Feelings, how early do you know whether it wants to stay close and restrained or open up into something cinematic?

This is so kind! I’m truly led by impulse. With Catching Feelings, I made the chorus first, knowing I wanted it to live in this bigger, dreamlike space. That immediately informed how stripped back the verses needed to be, so they felt grounded in real life. There’s no right or wrong way to make music, and I never go into the studio trying to write a “big” song or a small, intimate one. The song that shows up finds me on the day, and my job as the artist and producer is just to dress it in the outfit that serves it best.

You’ve spoken about queer connections where curiosity doesn’t always come with care. When you’re writing from those experiences, do you feel a responsibility to protect parts of yourself, or does honesty always come first?

I make a lot of music, like, an overwhelming amount, which means most of what I write will never be released. Because of that, I’m always writing from a place where I assume no one else will ever hear it. That gives me permission to be as honest and unfiltered as possible. Of course, when it comes time to release something, there’s a slight panic realising it’ll live out in the world. But I’m really settled by the belief that once a song is released, it’s no longer mine. It belongs to the listener, for them to hold in their own world and let it soundtrack their own experiences.

There’s a strong sense of time and atmosphere in your work, 70s warmth, modern pop polish, metallic edges. What usually leads your creative process first: the emotional story, a sonic texture, or a visual in your head?

I almost always start with the production. I’m finding how I want my body to move to the drums, where the chords and melodies sit in relation to whatever feeling I’m circling. Most of the time, I don’t actually know what I’m writing about yet. I’m just building sounds that excite me. Then, at some point, the story or emotion walks into the room. It’s magical when that happens. But there are also hundreds of sessions on my laptop that are just production ideas that never found their song.

I Hope You’re Watching rejects the idea of performing pain for someone else’s benefit. Was that song a turning point for you creatively, or did it confirm something you already knew about yourself?

I’m a pretty happy human. I love my life, my work, my friends, my family. But I’ve often had people expect me to offer up pain or emotional turmoil that just isn’t there. They’d say, “But how are you really?” as if I needed to be broken to make them feel better about their own feelings. I Hope You’re Watching felt like a defiant turning point. The bridge becomes a mantra by the end of the song: “I’m not bleeding out for you because you want someone broken to hold onto.” I even shot a video where a little kid plays my therapist while I bleed out on a couch. It’s my statement on how people want to play therapist while being completely unequipped to actually care for the person in front of them.

You’ve been producing your own music since your early teens. How has having full control over production shaped the way you write lyrics and melodies compared to artists who hand that part over?

The greatest joy of producing my own music is being able to make the production talk to the lyric. That’s something you can only really do when your hands are on both parts of the record. For example, my song I Wouldn’t Date Me is an uptempo, club pop song production wise, but the lyric itself is devastating. I think of production as the location where the story takes place, and then I drop the song into that world. I’m also a child of YouTube tutorials, totally self taught, which means I make mistakes and use equipment “incorrectly.” But that’s exactly what makes my productions sound like mine. I’m not too fussed if I haven’t made a sound the same way a big time producer in a fancy studio would, and I think audiences are drawn to that sound more and more right now.

Acting taught you how to inhabit characters and narratives. When you’re performing your own songs, do you approach them as versions of yourself, or as characters that allow you to say things more freely?

Performing live is my favourite part of everything I do. I’ve trained my whole life to put on the best live show possible. The version of myself onstage is me at my boldest and freest, but ultimately my job is to create an evening where the audience feels like every song belongs to them, like I’m singing directly about moments in their own lives. My acting background really helps with that. I know how to step into slightly different personas for different songs, or to put myself right back into the emotional moment I wrote the song about and perform it from that place.

You’ve described keeping the production of Catching Feelings warm and intimate so the story could breathe. What does “space” mean to you in a song, and how do you know when not to add more?

Space does more for a song than most people realise. It’s so easy to overcook something and make it overwhelmingly full. I usually produce songs to about 70%, then leave the demos alone until it’s time to release them. When I come back, I’m really specific about what I add or take away to get the song as clear and yummy as possible. Catching Feelings has a bass and drums through most of the verse, and that’s it. It feels like a hot day where no one has the energy to play anything more. Then the chorus erupts into this dream world where the synths and guitars come alive. Leaving that space in the verse makes the contrast between real life and fantasy feel really clear.

Your early memories of music are tied to play, performance, and sharing space with friends. How do you try to hold onto that feeling now that the stakes are higher and expectations are real?

Making music will always be the playful, creatively free place for me. I never think about the business side when I’m creating. I try to put myself back in the mindset of the kid who played guitar backwards or had the synth on completely the wrong settings and let that curiosity lead. As the stakes get higher, my ambition grows with them. I dream bigger, plan larger releases, and want more for my work than I ever have before. I actually thrive and I’m obsessed with the business and planning side. I just keep it as far away from the creative room as possible.

With a debut EP on the way, how are you thinking about cohesion emotionally or sonically across a body of work rather than individual singles?

I never want to release a body of work that feels like a playlist. Once I knew the EP was the next step, I chose songs that best served the story I wanted to tell, even leaving behind a few songs I really love, because they would have been indulgent or perhaps broken the cohesion. I see this EP really clearly, and I finished writing and producing it with the full arc in mind. It’s meant to be listened to from start to finish, in order. That said, we chose singles that could still stand on their own and tell their own stories before they slot into the bigger picture. Sonically they all sound like me, probably because I was the only producer, but I like the space each song occupies and ventures off to.

Looking ahead to 2026, what do you hope people understand about you as an artist after spending time with your music, beyond the songs themselves?

I’ll always make music that’s authentic and unapologetically me. I hope people feel seen, welcome, and loved when they engage with my work. I want to create spaces and projects that are centred around belonging, and to represent my communities as honestly as I can. I’m a workhorse. I build worlds around my projects and care deeply about cohesion and intention. Anyone getting on board with me is signing up for a lifetime of intentional work and community building. I can’t wait to share this EP, but more than anything, I’m excited to perform it and see the audiences make it their own. It’s going to be great.

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February 13, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: All Regards on Discontent: Apathy, Anxiety, and the Refusal to Look Away

by the partae February 6, 2026

written by the partae

Discontent deals with what you’ve described as apathy in the face of annihilation. Was there a specific moment — personal or global — that pushed those feelings from background noise into something you needed to write about?

It can’t be narrowed down to a specific moment. It’s been more of a case of growing pressure over time – we are constantly bombarded with bad news 24/7 through technology and social media, and that invites a sense of apathy or feeling overwhelmed. We tried to capture this montage of awful things in the verses of the song as quick snapshots of impending disaster. It’s been the gradual realisation amongst us that inaction guarantees that nothing changes for the better that compelled us to write this song.

The track doesn’t just sit in despair; it challenges the idea of standing by and watching everything burn. Did writing Discontent change how you personally engage with the world, or did it simply put language to something you were already feeling?

There was definitely something in the air because we all felt the same way about everything spiralling in the world around us. Most, if not all of All Regards’ previous material had been written from an internal perspective about what we were personally feeling emotionally, physically and mentally. Discontent has been our chance to flip the script and instead look externally at the world that surrounds us.

There’s a tension in the song between feeling overwhelmed and feeling responsible. How did you approach that balance without the message tipping into hopelessness or sounding preachy?

It was a delicate balance to try and hit. There are already so many songs that throw out clichés about ‘taking the power back’ and ‘strength in numbers’. That didn’t really feel like something we could pull off in a genuine way, so it’s not the path we took. Instead, discontent speaks to the person as an individual, where we sometimes feel powerless about the way the world is, and focuses specifically on inaction and its consequences. True to the ethos of the band, it’s our lived experience and one we felt people could relate to.

The responses we’ve received from people who resonate with the song and its lyrics have been amazing.

In terms of not feeling hopeless, the track really benefits from some hyper-energetic pop-punk behind the lyrics.

The video shows everyday people responding in very different ways to the same end-of-the-world scenario. How intentional was that parallel with real life, and did you see yourselves reflected in any of those characters?

We’d love to take credit for the concept of the music video, but that totally falls to our director John Stokes (lead vocalist/guitarist for Drastic Park, co-owner of Shotpro). We sent him the song and he was so fast coming up with ideas and concepts for the video, and he, along with director of photography David Truasheim (co-owner of Shotpro), immediately got what discontent is all about.

The main concept of the video was people going about their day-to-day lives with a sense of not really caring or comprehending that the world is falling apart around them. It’s very intentional in how it mirrors our reality of constantly seeing people’s lives changed forever, yet moving on with the day-to-day as if nothing is really happening.

Unfortunately, we’ve definitely seen ourselves and society in general reflected in those characters – blinkers on, focused only on what’s right in front of us.

Sonically, Discontent feels sharper and more urgent than earlier releases. Was that shift instinctive, or did it naturally follow as the themes became heavier?

We’re always trying to push ourselves musically and push the boundaries of what an All Regards song can sound like. When we wrote discontent, the music took shape before the lyrics did. In standard All Regards fashion, the inspiration came from the guitar riff in the intro of the song, which is now scattered throughout the rest of the track. Once we had a feel for the instrumental, Stefan came up with most of the lyrics inspired by the urgency of the music, and Jeremy chimed in with the lyrics for the bridge. From there, the song took on a life of its own, with the lyrics and instrumentation feeding off each other until it became what it is today.

Working with Jack Newlyn seems to have played a big role in shaping these releases. What did he push you on creatively that you might not have challenged yourselves with otherwise?

Jack pushed all of us individually to pull the absolute best performances out of us musically, vocally and lyrically. No matter how well you have your part down going into the studio, it’s always going to be deconstructed and dissected.

He does an amazing job of challenging us to think bigger and make the right decisions for the song. For example, the bridge didn’t initially have Jez’s vocal part – instead it relied on what the instruments and backing vocals were doing. Jack was adamant that it needed something more, and what we ended up with really elevated the song.

He is an absolute perfectionist and his attention to detail is second to none. In addition to his production chops, he’s also a freakish musician himself, so he really helped make sure each player’s part has its purpose in the song.

With Resist following Discontent, it feels like these tracks are designed to be experienced together rather than in isolation. Did you approach them as two sides of the same idea from the beginning?

Absolutely – resist finishes the story that discontent starts.

We’ve looked at these two songs as one cohesive project the whole time. It’s the most ambitious thing we’ve done as a band, in the way that the songs, the music videos, the artwork and everything surrounding the release are so bound to one another and the overall message.

When Stefan came up with the lyrical ideas for discontent, Jeremy was inspired to write a song looking externally at the state of the world from his own perspective.

Once the demos for both songs were completed, they went so hand-in-glove with each other that there was no way we could, in any shape or form, distance them from one another.

Your live shows have developed a reputation for intensity and connection. How do songs rooted in anxiety and frustration change once they’re played in a room full of people compared to listening alone?

When we play live, and in particular when we put on our own headline shows (see you at the Discontent // Resist launch show on Friday March 27 at The Workers Club), we want to provide an inclusive space for everyone to be themselves and have a great night.

In our experience, belting out our songs – which generally deal with heavy subjects – and having an audience sing them back to you is incredibly cathartic. Despite the heavy themes, we’re always bouncing with excitement and ecstatic to be playing the songs we’ve worked so hard on, and that’s a massive part of the show. One of the biggest differences between a live show and listening alone is the exchange of energy between you and everyone else in the room.

We’re sure when we play discontent live for the first time and hear everyone singing along, it will be a powerful moment not just for us, but for the audience too. The hope is that people walk away feeling, “maybe I’m not so alone in this world and the scary state it’s in.”

The idea of apathy as a self-fulfilling prophecy runs through Discontent. Do you still believe music can disrupt that cycle, or is its role more about holding a mirror up to what’s already happening?

We’re big believers in music and its power to create positive change. Throughout history, great songs have soundtracked and empowered entire movements. Our intention with this release is, in our own small way, to contribute – to start conversations, to help others recognise that apathy in themselves, and to inspire them to break that cycle.

We don’t have answers for anyone – we’re just as lost as everyone else – but we do believe that holding up a mirror is the first step to breaking the cycle, and that positive change can stem from there.

Looking ahead, does this apocalyptic lens feel like a phase you’re moving through, or has it permanently reshaped how you see All Regards as a band?

It’s broadened our horizons in terms of the lyrical topics we can cover as a band. For us, the most genuine music we create is whatever inspires us in the moment.

We’re not the type of band who writes about typical pop-punk or rock clichés just to chase streams. If inspiration strikes in the heat of the moment, we’ll grab the bull by the horns and let the wind take us.

These releases have obviously been inspired by what we’ve been seeing in the world around us, so hopefully, in that sense, the whole apocalypse thing is only a phase.

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February 6, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: WILL K on Engineered Chaos, Club Momentum, and Letting Instinct Lead the Drop

by the partae January 28, 2026

written by the partae

Loose Pt. 3 feels engineered for peak-time chaos rather than careful planning — when you started building the track at 140 BPM, did you sense straight away that this one was going to live in the club rather than anywhere else?

Well firstly, thank you, that is exactly what I was going for with this one! It was one of those songs I knew would be perfect for the club as the original tempo was 140bpm. The moment I added drums to the vocal I knew exactly where to take this song. At the same time, it’s important to me that it’s not just a club tool. I always try to make it feel like a proper song as well, something that could work beyond a moment in my set. That’s why I focused a lot on the arrangement, finding the balance between energy and musicality so it could live in a few different worlds at the same time.

You’ve talked about letting the vocals lead the direction of the record — what was it about JAY1 and Ms Banks’ energy that unlocked the sound so quickly for you?

I instantly felt inspired from the flow from both JAY1 and Ms Banks. There’s so much energy and attitude in the vocals that made it really easy for me to build a drop and keep that same energy. JAY1’s tone naturally brought that darker vibe which really shaped the drops, and the way Ms Banks leads into the drop was a perfect way to introduce the listener and keep them waiting for that moment.

There’s a real sense of weight in the bass but bounce in the percussion — how intentional is that balance when you’re designing a track meant to hit big rooms?

The balance is really important for this record… I wanted the weight to come from the rhythm of the bass hitting on the 1’s/kicks, this gave me a lot of room to add the percussion and toms flowing in-between the kicks and with some slight swing on those parts I think it brings a lot of energy and translates really nicely in the club.

You referenced drawing inspiration from Fred again.. and Skrillex live sets — what did those performances teach you about momentum and restraint in modern club music?

Skrillex and Fred again.. play a huge role for me when making club music, and honestly just music in general. Their taste is immaculate from their sound selection and especially how they arrange their songs. I spend a lot of time listening closely to their sets and paying attention to the structure, from the breakdowns to the buildups and drops. They’re really intentional in the sense that they don’t give too much away, letting their songs breathe early on so when the drop comes then you’re ready for it. That sense of momentum and restraint is something I try to bring to my own records. I also think it’s important to reference artists you genuinely love, because it gives you a perspective on what’s actually working.

You’ve been releasing at a relentless pace — how do you avoid repeating yourself while still keeping a signature sound people recognise instantly?

Everyday I am always inspired by something new, and it can come from anywhere, any genre, any era, even outside of club music. I listen to a wide range of music and that constant input keeps things fresh and stops me from feeling boxed into making the same type of song. Usually when I start to overthink what I’m doing I can get lost and feel like it’s forced, so keeping the process organic and honest is really important to me, so just working on things that excite me is a lot more sustainable for my creativity. While doing that I think your signature sound starts to evolve, when you’re not forcing anything and doing things naturally people will start to recognise your sound.

Having started producing so young, do you still feel that same curiosity when you open a session, or has discipline overtaken experimentation?

I still feel that same curiosity every time I open a session, and that comes from how I approach each song mentally. Being in the right headspace is what leads me to creating something real and exciting. I listen to my instincts and really trust my own taste, that’s what keeps me motivated every day. I feel like it’s very easy to get caught up with what’s hot, what’s new and trending, and when I focus too much on that personally it leads me to getting burnt out creatively and you could hear it in the music that I would make.

You’ve played everything from Wildlands to Tomorrowland — how does testing tracks live feed back into the way you finish records in the studio?

Testing records live is a huge part of my process. It gives me instant feedback not just in terms of how people react, but how it sounds on a big system. I make all of my music in the box (on my laptop speakers most of the time) so when I can hear it on a big system I’ll know if anything needs to change in the mixdown. It’s great for arrangement purposes too and to know if it mixes well with other songs, or if any sections are lacking energy and need to be reworked.

Looking ahead to 2026, do you see your next chapter being about pushing tempo and intensity even further, or pulling things back and surprising people in a different way?

Looking ahead to 2026 I think the next chapter is really about showing people who I am as an artist and proving that I don’t feel limited creatively. I don’t want to be boxed into one lane or one sound, I want to surprise people but in a way that still feels true to me. Personally for me it’s not about pushing tempo or intensity just for the sake of it. It’s about following what excites me in the moment and trusting my taste. That could be releasing some club focused music, or songs that I would love to listen to in the day, but the goal is always the same. To keep the art as pure as possible, and make people feel a certain way while doing that.

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January 28, 2026 0 comments

Music Interviews

Celina Silva Sits With the Quiet: Inside Inheritance Songs

by the partae January 26, 2026

written by the partae

Celina Silva is the kind of songwriter who listens as much as she sings. Her debut album Inheritance Songs (out February 20) unfolds with patience and emotional clarity, sitting with memory, identity, and love rather than rushing toward resolution. The record emerged during a period shaped by grief and renewal, movement and stillness—an in-between space that Silva allows to remain open. She describes Inheritance Songs as “a eulogy, a family portrait… a spell, a shape, an image and a story,” and the album carries that layered sensibility throughout.

The album’s first offering, “Natural Blonde,” serves as a quietly powerful introduction. Intimate and clear-eyed, the single feels less like a declaration than an invitation, gently tracing questions of identity and inheritance without insisting on answers. Silva’s silvery vocal delivery is understated but deeply affecting, floating through an arrangement that leaves room for breath and reflection. In its restraint, “Natural Blonde” establishes the emotional language of the record—one rooted in observation, tenderness, and trust in what can be felt rather than explained.

Written and produced in close collaboration with Emily Millard, Inheritance Songs weaves voice and arrangement with careful attention. The songs are spacious without feeling sparse, holding room for loss while quietly reaching toward healing. Silva refers to them as “records of self/identity, family, culture, and love,” arriving like inheritances themselves—moments passed down, briefly held, and somehow retained in the body.

At the heart of Silva’s work is a deep commitment to language and community. She holds a BA in Poetry from the University of Victoria, a foundation that shapes her lyrical precision and devotion to the poetic line. Her love of harmony and choral music grew through years singing with Corazón Vocal Ensemble, and she continues to develop her practice through mentorships, workshops, and open mics, studying with artists including Emily Millard, Aspen Switzer, Jessica Benini, Joline Baylis, and Emily Millard. Alongside her life as a musician, Silva works as a clinical counsellor—a dual practice that resonates throughout Inheritance Songs in the way her writing listens closely, bears witness, and gently names what is often left unsaid.

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January 26, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: FOLEY on Like An Actress: Romance, Nostalgia and the Joy of Cinematic Love

by the partae January 21, 2026

written by the partae

CINEMATIC’ feels obsessed with romance as something slightly unreal. When you were writing it, did Like An Actress already exist in your heads, or did that idea surface later once the song was finished?

We knew that we wanted to do an EP after our second album, but we didn’t know the themes or the form that it would take. We like to let the songs dictate the emotional depth of each release, and Cinematic had this incredible joy and metaphor to it, which felt like a natural theme across all the tracks of the EP.

You’ve said the song feels nostalgic while it’s still happening. Do you think that’s about the way love works now, or more about how you both tend to process emotion?
Nostalgia is such a powerful emotion! It’s obviously a feeling of love & longing for the past, but smothered with a rich tapestry of senses. Love is the only thing I can think of that works similarly & feels alike! Love’s super physical & vivid but full of hope and fear and everything in between – at least in our experience!

The imagery in ‘CINEMATIC’ is very vivid — sneaking into places, kissing in the streets, that rush at night. Do those scenes come first when you’re writing, or do they grow out of the feeling?
The sneaking-in part was a very real experience! We built off that, every other line had to have the same gravitas, and movie scenes were the perfect building blocks for the song.

This EP leans much more into live instruments and a band feel. Was that a conscious reset for you creatively, or did it happen naturally as the songs started coming together?
It was more a result of our new environment and collaborators – we’ve both recently relocated to Sydney, so we’re working with some fantastic new people who have very different ways of working than in Aotearoa. And quite hilariously, when you relocate, your stuff is kinda in random places around your house – it just so happened that my acoustic guitar was always leant up against the couch, & would be the first thing I reached for with ideas.

You’ve mentioned the live show shaping the writing this time. Were there moments where you suddenly knew a song worked because you could already picture it on stage?
Definitely! Cinematic was a major one – as was Suckerpunch. Both have these huge senses of euphoria which gives you the feeling of being on stage. You know it’s a hit when you’re singing it in your living room pretending to hold a mic hahah.

Recording back in Aotearoa with Josh Naley, did being in a familiar place change how open or honest the writing felt?
Yeah Josh is great – it’s nice to have a collaborator that’s been across literally every project we’ve ever put out. There’s a nice grounding to writing in Aotearoa, and with Josh that helped recontextualise some of the wilder ideas we had over in Australia.

Like An Actress circles around themes you’ve explored before — love, loss, identity. Did those ideas come out of real conversations between you, or did the music open those doors on its own?
We’re always talking about our lives to each other – our challenges, joys & everything! It’s natural that lyrically our stories are often touching on those core subjects because our friendship is at the root of Foley – but which conversation or theme we write about 100% depends on the mood of the music. The first lyrics will always depend on how we’re feeling about the chords or melodies we’re constructing on the day.

After the response to ‘HONEY’ and That’s Life, Baby!, did you feel any pressure heading into this EP, or did working in a more organic way actually quiet that noise?
Not pressure, but we definitely had an intention to continue to write experimentally, and figure out what our relocation & life changes had done to the music. That’s Life, Baby! was such a pivotal record because we felt we finally unlocked the Foley sound or very intricate, experimental pop – and wanted to dive further into it, and see what other boundaries we could push!

You’ve worked with some heavy hitters on the technical side. When a song is already emotionally complete, how do you know when polishing it helps — and when it might risk sanding something away?
Haha these have been the best mixes and masters Foley’s ever had! We stumbled across Pedro Calloni who’d written with some of our favourite contemporaries, and he instantly heard what we were going for. Foley’s always been a collaborative project and we always find bringing other creatives on board helps & lifts our songs, and hasn’t ever hindered them!

Right now, does Like An Actress feel like a stepping stone into whatever comes next for FOLEY, or more like a snapshot of exactly where you are at this point in time?
A bit of both! It’s definitely a snapshot of right now – and we’ve made pains to show that in all the imagery, press photos, lyrics – lots of movement metaphors, bright colours, deep blues & some visual nods to our musical upbringings. It’s been awesome crafting this & I’m sure the next one will be a blast too.

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January 21, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: Lynn Patrick on Water Stones – Letting Music Unfold, Heal, and Breathe

by the partae January 15, 2026

written by the partae

Water Stones feels less like a collection of songs and more like a continuous environment. When you were writing it, were you thinking in terms of individual pieces, or did the album slowly reveal itself as a whole?

The album slowly revealed itself as a whole. I started writing and recording and let it unfold as a collection of songs that reflected my life experiences at the time. Three of them I had written several years ago, but the rest reflected my current and recent experiences.

The title suggests gradual change rather than dramatic transformation. Was there a particular moment or experience that made that metaphor feel right for this record?

After losing several close friends, experiencing the pandemic, going through stage-three cancer, and witnessing the intensity of the 2024 election, I felt drawn to bring healing and positivity into my world and hopefully into the world of others. Holding my guitar, writing, and recording became truly uplifting for me. Through grief and healing, I felt my heart soften. During chemotherapy, instead of giving in to fear, I imagined light flowing through the IVs. My intention throughout the process was healing, staying open, and reaching for a higher vibration.

The last song I recorded was the title track, Water Stones, and my mother died that same day. I placed my hand on my heart and felt deep appreciation for my legacy with her, including the difficulty, the challenges, and the love we shared. That is why I called the album Water Stones. All of these challenges and hardships opened my heart, and a great deal of healing took place. It changed my life.

Your guitar playing on Water Stones feels very intentional, especially in what’s left unsaid. How conscious are you of silence and restraint when you’re composing?

I really don’t think about it one way or the other. Those songs are simply a reflection of how I feel, and I’m not analyzing the process as it’s happening. I’m just feeling. I follow a thread of intuition and whatever wants to come through in the moment. Each choice of notes stays in sync with a deep inner feeling, a sense of wonder and discovery. Writing songs feels like an adventure.

Nature feels present throughout the album, not as a concept but almost as a collaborator. Do you feel these pieces are shaped more by landscape than emotion, or are those two things inseparable for you?

Those two things are inseparable for me. Most of the songs I write happen when I’m at home in the mountains where I live. Sometimes when I’m writing, I zone out and feel that beauty come through as I go into a creative place. It gets into my hands. Because I love spending time in nature, taking walks in the mountains, being by rivers, kayaking on lakes, swimming, and backcountry cross-country skiing, these experiences are very healing and empowering. I always feel uplifted when I am with nature and that gets reflected in my songs.

There’s a calm confidence running through the record, but it never drifts into passivity. How do you make gentle music without it becoming something people stop actively listening to?

I think it’s because I feel fully engaged and truly connected to the music, and perhaps listeners feel that too.

Many of the tracks feel emotionally open without pointing the listener toward a specific feeling. Do you think instrumental music works best when it leaves that kind of space?

Yes. I used to sing and write lyrics, but I ended up writing instrumental music because I can express myself more emotionally. Words feel limiting for me. Without lyrics, listeners have the space to connect with the music in their own way. Rather than me creating a story, they can have their own experience.

The album moves at its own pace and doesn’t rush toward resolution. Was that a conscious response to the speed of modern life, or simply where you found yourself creatively at the time?

Just where I found myself creatively at the time. The music flows out of me, and I create a space that feels healing, uplifting, fun, or whatever wants to happen.

When you listen back to Water Stones now, does it feel like a snapshot of who you were while making it, or something that exists independently of you?

Listening back, it feels like a snapshot of my experience and what I was feeling at the time.

This is a record that seems to reward repeat listening rather than instant impact. How important is longevity to you when you’re releasing new work?

I don’t really think about it that way. The music unfolds from authentic experiences, not from anything forced or planned. It is spontaneous and real, without a specific agenda, and is just a flow of emotions and creativity that speaks from the present moment.

If someone sits with Water Stones for the first time, without context or expectation, what do you hope stays with them once the final note fades out?

That the music made them feel something, that it left them feeling better or inspired.

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January 15, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: Falling You on Metanoia – Change, Collaboration, and Letting the World In

by the partae January 15, 2026

written by the partae

When you began working on Metanoia, did you have a clear emotional destination in mind, or did the album reveal itself gradually as you followed the sounds?

I didn’t have any specific emotional destination, though I did have an initial theme. The basic idea at first was just to explore the concept of change through the lens of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, re-telling and re-interpreting those myths into versions that hew more closely to today’s world.

Every Falling You record has been about some core part of the human condition, and I thought it would be very interesting to see how that condition has changed since antiquity. However, when the pandemic consumed the entire world, it occurred to me that we were all going through profound — and often quite difficult — changes that we never expected.

The word “metanoia” implies a deep internal shift. Was there a specific moment or period in your life that sparked this theme, or did it emerge more subconsciously through the music?

I’d say the original theme started itself changing around autumn of 2020. There were these large wildfires across California and the entire western US and Canada, and there were days where it was difficult to breathe. I would just look at online maps, searching for anywhere within a day’s drive where the air quality was better.

I would tell my canine best friend (a 130 lb giant Alaskan Malamute I named Atlas, who has since passed), “Atlas, we’re going to Tucson because their AQI is green!” or “Atlas, we’re going to Elko, Nevada because we can breathe there!” We did this five or six times, once even driving to Eugene, Oregon to breathe better only to find — after arriving — that it had also fallen prey to the fires just in the intervening eight or so hours since we left.

I realized that, between the fires, the pandemic, etc., no one can escape — the only way out was through. We often use the word “grow” to describe the path of our lives, but I think that word doesn’t capture how the external world throws adversity at us, challenging us to re-examine deeply held belief and value systems we’ve constructed.

Just as arriving in Eugene only to find that it, too, was burning, made me realize that I couldn’t keep running, metanoia requires accepting that you can’t outrun a chaotic, external world breaking you down. What we can do, however, is let it crack open the protective shell we’ve built around these belief and value systems, allowing us to peer inside and take a long, hard look at them.

If we free ourselves from the ones that aren’t working for us, we can walk into a future that, while uncertain, allows us to hopefully create better ones.

Falling You has always felt collaborative at its core. How do you decide which voices belong in a particular project, and what do you listen for beyond technical ability?

Oh, it’s definitely very much collaborative, and I’m very fortunate — and humbled — to be able to work with these amazingly talented people and call them friends.

In the early days, I would attempt to match the vocalist to the music, but I no longer do that. Basically, what always happens is that the vocalist ends up taking the song to places far more beautiful than I ever imagined. Their ideas (they are the vocalists, after all) are always better than mine.

Regarding what I listen for, I just like a lot of different types of music. If the vocalist’s performance moves me, or if I think to myself that they’re way out of my league (hint: they always are), then I’ll ask them if they’d be amenable to collaborating.

Sometimes they’re just very busy (hence the rotation), and sometimes certain ideas will move them more than others, but when they can, it always makes me so happy.

Many of the tracks feel less like songs and more like environments. How conscious are you of space, silence, and pacing when composing?

Oh, I just adore ambient and space music, drones, that kind of stuff. Whenever I play with synths or guitars, I usually just naturally go slow and drone out, often just letting it swallow me for 10–20 minutes before I remember to start recording at all.

With Metanoia, though, a lot of the pacing was driven by the particular myth I had in mind. For instance, on “Throw the Stone”, the change from bluesy guitar to ambient electronica was informed by the myth of Deucalion and Pyrrha, where the stones the characters toss behind them morph into the new inhabitants of the world.

Similarly, on “Alcyone”, the changes were driven by different parts of the story of Alcyone and Ceyx — Ceyx’s decision to leave in the beginning, Alcyone’s prophetic dreams in the middle, and her finding his body in the waves (and then both turning into birds) in the last part.

There’s a sense of patience throughout the album — nothing feels rushed. Was slowing things down a deliberate response to the world around us, or simply where the music wanted to go?

I think it’s mostly the latter — thinking about how elements of the myths would manifest in the music kind of drove the slower pacing.

Also, we’ve been working on this since soon after our last record, Shine (which was much more active) was released in 2017. The whole world slowing way down from 2020 through 2023 definitely had an effect as well.

Your work often blurs genre boundaries without ever feeling unfocused. Do you think in terms of genre at all, or is emotion the only framework that matters to you?

That’s very kind of you to say. We do genre-bend quite a lot. I think a lot of it is driven just by emotion or mood, though sometimes it’s a bit more intentional — I wanted to explore a slightly bluesy motif with this record, as I thought it would complement the themes of loss in a lot of the myths in Ovid’s work.

Several moments on the album feel deeply intimate, almost private. Do you ever struggle with how much of yourself to reveal through music, or does sound make that easier than words?

That is a very insightful observation. The way I see it, I can’t help but reveal aspects of myself through music, since the most honest music involves bringing something inside of you outside of you.

However, given that I prefer to be more in the background — and since I feel that the vocalists deserve far more attention than I do, as they bring the magic and all — I think for me it’s less of a private act and more of an anonymous one, though I guess this interview has shattered that illusion.

The album carries themes of grief and resilience without ever becoming heavy-handed. How do you approach difficult emotional material without overwhelming the listener?

This is actually something I put a lot of thought into. The majority of Falling You material is definitely on the moodier end, and I honestly find a real beauty in a deep, sorrowful melancholia.

Artists who do that really well — David Sylvian, First Aid Kit, This Mortal Coil, Billie Holiday, Stars Of the Lid, Opeth, a lot of bluegrass and folk — are some of my favorites.

However — and I know this is quite cliché — I find that adding uplifting or hopeful elements does two things: they better define the darkness, yet also provide a respite from it.

Another thing is that the vocalists really do a lot of the emotional heavy lifting themselves. The soundscapes can help set the mood and occasionally speak to it, but the vocals and lyrics really deliver it on a human level.

After completing Metanoia, do you feel changed by the process itself, or do you only discover that transformation once the music is released into the world?

Yes, most definitely. Every record changes me. Every time I manage to dig around inside and expose something through music, it affects me.

Every time I work with someone and they show me — through their contributions — things of such immense beauty that I can’t create any words with this tired alphabet that do it justice, I am moved to a different square on the board.

When listeners sit with this record in silence — headphones on, no distractions — what do you hope they come away feeling, even if they can’t quite put it into words?

Firstly, I’m grateful for anyone taking the time to experience the music we make. If they listen to the entire album — all almost 80 minutes of it — I hope they feel that the investment of their time was worth it, that the journey was an interesting one.

I hope they come away appreciating the value of stories. Many of these songs are retellings and reinterpretations of stories from antiquity. If we’ve managed to add our story to the countless others humans have professed, sung, and played for one another, that’s a success for me.

January 15, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: YUBIK – ‘Never Alone’ Power Through Restraint

by the partae January 10, 2026

written by the partae

‘Never Alone’ brings together three very distinct creative voices. At what point did the collaboration stop feeling like a feature and start feeling like a shared organism with its own identity?

A collaboration with Adriatique had been discussed for quite some time, and I knew that sooner or later it would happen. It really started to feel like a shared organism once the track was finished and ready to be released, especially after the Adrians played it all over the world.

You’ve spoken before about evolution rather than repetition. What was something in your own sound or process that you consciously refused to fall back on while making this record?

I consciously tried not to overproduce the track, or in other words, not to get lost in too many details. A minimalist approach and an openness to something new were very important to me.

The track is engineered for peak-time impact, yet it carries a strong emotional undercurrent. How do you personally judge when a record has the right balance between physical energy and emotional weight?

That happens in the places where the track is played and through the feedback from the people there.

Working with Adriatique often carries a certain expectation within the melodic techno world. Did that pressure sharpen your instincts, or did it give you permission to push further than usual?

To be honest, it never felt like pressure. I make music as well as I can and try to stay true to myself. Only when I feel connected to what I’m doing and genuinely enjoy the process do the best things emerge.

Vincent Vossen’s contribution adds a subtle emotional tension to the track. How did his approach reshape moments of the arrangement that might otherwise have gone in a more traditional club direction?

Vincent and I share a special connection, and that’s something you can clearly hear reflected in the track.

There’s a sense of restraint in ‘Never Alone’ — nothing feels overcrowded. Was minimalism a deliberate philosophy here, or did it emerge naturally through collaboration?

My approach is always to work in a minimalist and very structured way (very German of me, I know), even though it doesn’t always work out that way.

You’ve released music across Afterlife, Siamese, and now X Recordings. Do different labels subtly change how you think about storytelling within a track, even before a note is written?

Everything in life influences us, so I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. That said, it’s less about the labels and more about the music itself, which is where I draw my inspiration from.

When DJs respond early and strongly to a record, as they already have with ‘Never Alone’, does that validation influence your confidence, or do you deliberately tune it out to protect your long-term vision?

It strengthens my confidence 100% and gives me energy and reassurance that I’m on the right path.

Looking back at your output since 2018, what part of your earlier work feels most distant from who you are now, and what part still feels fundamentally unchanged?

Everything feels exactly right. Every release was a step that led me to where I am now.

‘Never Alone’ suggests connection, unity, even dependence. In an industry that can often feel isolating, what does that title reflect about where you’re at personally as an artist right now?

Never Alone means you can’t do this on your own. I’m grateful to have people who believe in me, and that gives me strength.

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January 10, 2026 0 comments

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Interview: Minh on Heartbreak, Growth, and the Freedom of Moving On With Grace

by the partae December 17, 2025

written by the partae

What did releasing this EP unlock for you personally, especially now that you’ve had distance from the heartbreak that inspired it?

First of all thank you for having me!

This EP is special in so many ways for me because I have many firsts on it. It’s my first ever EP [so that’s exciting], first time writing in Australia and also it documents my first ever heartbreak.

I’m really happy that I can now look back on this EP as like a time capsule for myself. I was in a lot of pain and hurt at the beginning of the year. It was a very dark and confusing time for me and there were moments where I thought it would never get better and I’ll forever rot in my bed grieving. I’m really proud of myself for getting back on both feet and how I, no pun intended, moved on with grace. I can proudly say the crashouts were done in private and in song!

I’m happy that I was able to create this body of work from that heartbreak. Writing with Cody Jon, Glenn Hopper and Maribelle in Australia really made me feel safe to share what I was going through. It was a perfect storm of events.

How did the moment that sparked Damaged reshape the way you write about vulnerability and emotional honesty?

I’ve always written from a place of vulnerability and honesty. But what made writing “Damaged” so different was that I had 2 collaborators with me, Cody Jon and Glenn Hopper. It was such a fun session and one I will never forget. It was the first session with the three of us and I think we made something really beautiful.

It all started with me catching Cody up with my breakup. It was so crazy because when I saw Cody last December I was telling him about my relationship and how happy I was. So the contrast between that and me telling him we’ve broken up and that I feel like I’ve lost the ability to love was quite the difference.

Glenn, Cody and I had really great writing chemistry and we created a very safe environment for all of us to share. So I thank Concord Australia and InQ International for putting these sessions together. I really felt like I was just venting to my friends about my breakup and how I was feeling at the time. “I woke up this morning with an alarm I set for you, with another stranger in my room” was the first lyric we wrote for this song and it came from just a simple conversation. So this whole process was extremely cathartic and freeflowing. I feel like these sessions were meant to happen for me as well as these songs because initially I was planning on releasing a completely different set of songs and EP before this australia trip.

Across the EP there’s a shift from pain to a kind of quiet clarity. Where did you feel that turning point creatively?

My goal with music is always to tell a story and with this EP I was able to tell a longer one and really bring my audience into a world that centered around the story of my breakup. I wanted each song to really feel different to each other and really show how turbulent the breakup felt for me. Healing wasn’t every linear and straight forward, one day I’d be fine, the next I’m at the club with my friends and then I’m back in square one again crying in bed. So I wanted it all to be captured in song.

Like I said before, Australia was definitely a turning point for me. I remember coming back to Vietnam post trip and telling my manager how much I enjoyed that creative process and how much I loved the songs. I had the demos on repeat for, I’m not even kidding, everyday.

I think personally for me the most ah-ha moment was when I wrote “Thank God!”. When Glenn came back to Vietnam in October to help me write a few more songs for the project. I was starting to see someone new and honestly I felt the sparks again. I felt alive and it felt very sweet. “Thank God!” The song just flowed out of me and it felt like such a relief to write and sing. I never planned to write a song like this for the project because I had no idea if I was going to even fall in love again or not. Strangely I did, and it caught me off guard. Writing this EP really was just me finding out as I went on and going with the flow and the puzzle pieces just clicked. The EP tells a story beginning to end: the devastation, to the rebellion into new love. I think it’s a cycle, and “I Don’t Know” is the perfect end to the project because after every high we come down again and then the cycle restarts.

You’ve talked about waking up next to someone new and realising you weren’t healed yet. How did that moment change your understanding of yourself?

It was a crazy feeling. I weirdly felt so gross and disgusted with myself to be honest. I felt like I was cheating even though we were broken up and I had every right to do so. It was this feeling of an invisible string that kept me tied to my ex that in hindsight I felt was hope and me keeping that door slightly open just in case they were to come back.

That moment really forced me to reflect. It was almost like a hard wake up call like: “Hey! Let’s focus on ourselves first before we get into anything again.”. I learnt a lot about attachment styles and how I navigate relationships. It shows me where I could improve but also where I need to set clearer boundaries next time.

The waking up to a new person moment isn’t necessarily any bad will against the new person but it was more about myself and how I felt about me.

There’s a cinematic quality to Damaged, like the world tilts with every emotional hit. How intentional was that visual sense in the production?

When I went into the session with Cody and Glenn one of the things I told them was I wanted this song we wrote to sound like it could be played in a stadium, I wanted something big, something that builds and builds. And so, the production was just a result of that initial conversation. I am a pretty dramatic person as is, so there is always going to be a little bit of drama in the music but I wanted it times 10 for this record.

I also think the reason why the track feels the way it is is because I wrote it during a time where the wounds were so fresh. I was writing as I was going through it so every lyric was fresh off my mind and how I was feeling in that exact moment. I hadn’t had time to really process any of it before I put thought to paper, or in this case our shared Google Doc.

You worked between Vietnam and Australia with collaborators like Maribelle, Glenn Hopper, Cody Jon, and Michael Choi. How did those different environments and creative energies feed into the EP’s identity?

I’m so lucky and grateful to have worked with such great and talented individuals on this project. I think the biggest thing all these collaborators have brought into this project for me was their perspective and they brought to the table energetically. I think what this EP and my other projects have in common is my songwriting. That’s the throughline, it’s always written from my heart and experiences. However, there came a point where I needed to break outside of my comfort zone a little bit, I needed to reinvent myself. So Glenn, Cody, Maribelle and Michael really helped facilitate this discovery with new sounds and ways to look at a situation.

The writing rooms were always so much fun. It truly felt like summer camp. I never wanted to leave. I loved Melbourne so much. I’m gonna be back to write my next project very soon.

This project feels like a reintroduction. In your own words, who is MINH at this stage of your life and artistry?

It really is. I think for me, I’ve always tried to be the most authentic version of myself in my music and pride myself on it. 18 year old me writing and releasing his first single “Blame” was so serious and meant every lyric he wrote. However, I believe that at that point in my life there was a ceiling. I was not letting myself discover whether it be in my love life or just experiences in general. And the crazy thing was, I thought I knew everything. So between the years 2021-2025 I really made it my top priority to just experience life to the max. That meant not dropping music and just focus on developing myself as a person and artist. Perfecting my craft because I know the goals I want to achieve and it can only be executed and done right if I truly prepare and am at the top of my game.

So for me taking time off to rediscover and develop myself was critical because it’s made me more wise and honestly more confident. I used to feel like I was putting on an act or playing a role of this confident kid with all these experiences on his belt but now I can say I’ve experienced enough to share a fresher perspective. So now when it comes to liveshows or the music I’m dropping, I am confident that I am not just representing myself well but also my community and country!

Your songs often sit at the intersection of intimacy and pop ambition. What did you want listeners to feel in the space between those two worlds?

I’m such a pop music and pop culture fanatic and my inspirations are artists such as Julia Michaels, Taylor Swift, Ryan Tedda..etc. So I’ve always looked up to them when it comes to lyrics and melodies. I’ve always been drawn to story telling lyricism, saying in a different way because everything’s been said before. I want audiences to enjoy my music the way I enjoy my favourite artists’ music. I want them to feel like they’re being understood and like their problems don’t exist for a good 4 minutes or if you’re listening to my EP, 17 minutes.

Liveshows have also impacted the way I write my music. I love when a crowd is high energy and when I’m able to do that with music. There’s no better feeling than the energy of a crowd dancing and jumping to a song of yours so I definitely always have that thought in the back of my head when writing. Always trying to imagine how this song would translate live and where people would connect. It’s all very interconnected and I think that’s what makes it so fun. It’s like world building!

Tracks like Out With Grace and What I Never Had carry a sense of release, almost gratitude. How did acceptance shape your approach to writing them?

These tracks were the ones I wrote with Maribelle. They are so different to what I’ve made before and honestly I’m so happy they exist. This pop dance sound has always been something I’ve wanted to create and its a genre I love listening to. ‘What I Never Had’ was the first track I wrote at the writing camp and it was an instant favorite of mine. I was still a little bitter about my breakup and told Maribelle: “I just want to dance and not really care” and that was just the energy that we sustained for our sessions. I wanted to create songs that at first glance wasn’t serious and just made me feel like I was on cloud 9 but if you really dived into the writing it was layered and super emotional. I joked to Maribelle that if these songs were reproduced into ballads they would be so sad.

“Out With Grace” was written after a night out I had with Cody Jon in Melbourne. I still had one last writing session the day after but just had these reckless thoughts that I wanted to black out and go crazy. That night was cut very short when my manager called me back to the AirBnb. But I think it was meant to happen because “Out With Grace” was born in that very next session. The irresponsible thoughts inspired the lyrics “If it’s more than I can take then I’mma go out with grace. I’ll take it to the extreme, You’ll see it all on my face”. I think I was in a very dark place mentally during that time but I was acting like everything was okay. But I think that tension and conflict really created something interesting in the music and I’m really proud of both songs! It’s my favorite to perform live.

You’ve stepped onto global stages and pushed Vietnamese pop into new spaces. How does this EP reflect where you hope to take your sound next?

I think my goal is to constantly elevate my music to a global scale. I’ve had such incredible opportunities that are unheard of and never been done by a Vietnamese artist before so I take it very seriously and try my best to represent not only myself, my team but also my community and country. This EP is a sneak peak into what everyone can expect from me moving forward. Definitely more trips to Australia for sure and also international collaborations will be something I will be doing more in the future. I’ve made so many friends from around the world over these couple of years and it truly feels like a big family of global friends.

I have plans to release 2 new EPs next year so expect that. The sound will only get more dramatic and grand and knowing myself, my life will only get more chaotic so expect more stories told! I hope to do lots of festivals next year and really bring this EP onto the global stage and perform the way I imagined when I was writing them.

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December 17, 2025 0 comments

Music Interviews Music News

Interview: Cait Lin – Finding Clarity in the In-Between on GRADIENTS

by the partae December 17, 2025

written by the partae

GRADIENTS feels like a world built from colour and emotion. What made you want to map your inner landscape this way, and when did you realise colour was the right language for this EP?

I’ve never felt emotions in a straight line. Growing up between Taiwan, Australia, and several other places, my inner world has always been a blend — of cultures, tones, moods, and identities. Words like “happy” or “sad” felt too flat, but “warm,” “dim,” “hazy,” or “glowing” felt closer to how I actually experience things.

In many ways, I’ve always been a gradient myself: mixed in culture, mixed in genre, mixed in the roles I carry on a day to day basis. So even though I’m not a visual artist or naturally drawn to think visually, colour became the clearest way to capture the emotional layers of this project. When Make Time arrived with a very specific orange-red feeling, I realised the whole EP needed to live in that kind of blended space — where emotions shift, overlap, and don’t need to be one thing.

You’ve lived between cultures, languages, and continents your whole life. How did those in-between spaces shape the way these songs formed?

Living in-between places teaches you to read the atmosphere more than words. You learn to hold multiple identities at once, and that naturally spills into the music. These songs weren’t written from one cultural lens — they carry Taiwanese sensitivity, Australian openness, and pieces of everywhere I’ve lived or found community.

Instead of choosing one version of myself to write from, I let all those layers coexist. The EP reflects that same blended identity: not fixed, not singular, always shifting.

PEACE & LOVE opens the record with a softness that still feels incredibly powerful. What part of your own story were you reclaiming when you wrote it?

I was reconnecting with the gentler, more forgiving part of myself — the version of me that existed before I felt the constant need to be capable, endlessly adaptable and at times a people pleaser. Living and working across countries for years made me hold myself very tightly and let relationships with people drag on longer than it needed to be, and PEACE & LOVE became a moment where I could finally exhale.

It reminded me that softness doesn’t mean defeat; it means choosing peace even when life doesn’t go the way you want it to. Writing it felt like stepping back into a lighter version of myself, one who can still recognise beauty and gratitude even when things are imperfect.

It was a reclaiming of softness as strength.

This EP carries a sense of artistic clarity, as if you finally allowed all sides of your identity to speak at once. What did embracing that full spectrum unlock for you musically?

It unlocked a sense of relief. For years, I felt like I had to tidy myself up into one identity — jazz vocalist, R&B singer-songwriter, Taiwanese artist, Australian artist — when the truth is that my life has never existed in neat categories.

The moment I stopped trying to make the music “fit,” it started sounding more like me. Allowing all the parts of my identity to sit at the same table — culturally, musically, emotionally — created a freedom I didn’t expect. The songs became more fluid, more intuitive, and more honest. I think that’s the clarity people hear: not perfection, just alignment.

Your jazz background meets soul, R&B, and pop in such a fluid way here. How did your training guide the emotional weight of these arrangements?

Jazz taught me how to feel before it taught me how to sing. It gave me a deep respect for space, tension, surprise and the way one note can shift the emotional temperature of an entire song. That sensitivity carried into GRADIENTS.

Even in the more pop-leaning tracks, I’m always listening for the emotional arc — where the song needs to breathe, where it needs to crack open a little, where it needs to sit still. Jazz training made me comfortable sitting inside vulnerability, and that guided a lot of the production choices. The arrangements weren’t about being clever; they were about serving the feeling.

Each track is tied to a specific colour. Which shade challenged you the most while you were making it, and what did you learn about yourself in the process?

Colours in the Sky challenged me the most, not because of the sound at first, but because of why I wrote it. I originally wrote it for a friend who was feeling stuck and didn’t want to keep going — she felt like she didn’t fit anywhere, like life had no space for her. I wanted to offer her a vision of something bigger and softer, something that says: life is about embracing things fully, about painting your own colours in the sky even when you feel dull or invisible.

But after finishing the song, I realised I had unknowingly written it for a younger version of myself too — the Cait Lin who often felt left out, who moved countries and didn’t quite belong, who needed someone to tell her that her world could be brighter than what she could see at the time. Now when I sing it live, I feel like I’m speaking to the parts of me that still need that encouragement.

The live performance was another challenge. The rhythmic stops, the sudden shifts, the multiple sections — it felt like trying to hit something just out of reach. But once I learned to move through the pauses and bumps with trust instead of fear, it became the song I look forward to singing the most.

That whole journey taught me something important: optimism isn’t simple or effortless — it’s vulnerable. It requires the same level of honesty as sadness, maybe even more. You can’t fake hope; you have to open yourself to it. And for me, that was the real lesson behind this colour.

fragile love feels like the emotional centre of the EP — quiet, piercing, deeply human. What memories or truths were you holding when you wrote it?

fragile love came from a place of accepting responsibility, and also accepting that sometimes love doesn’t survive even when both people care deeply. The lyrics came out almost like a confession — acknowledging the mistakes, the weight, the emotional immaturity, and the parts of myself I was still learning how to face.

The song is about knowing you’ve caused harm, knowing you’ve held someone back, and choosing to let them go so they can become the version of themselves they deserve to be. It’s not a breakup song in the dramatic sense — it’s more like an admission that love can be beautiful and still not be strong enough, and that clinging onto it can hurt both people more.

Lines like “Wish I had a stronger soul, but I’m a child” came from a very honest place — recognising that I wasn’t the person I wanted to be yet. And “I would give up everything I had hoped for to see you shine instead” is a moment of selfless clarity: the kind of love that chooses someone’s wellbeing even if it breaks your own heart.

Writing it taught me that accountability is its own form of love, and that letting go isn’t always abandoning someone — sometimes it’s the most loving thing you can do. That quiet acceptance is what makes the song sit at the emotional centre of the EP for me.

You’ve travelled widely and built communities across Asia and Australia. How did performing in so many cultural contexts inform the way you approached storytelling on this project?

Performing in different countries taught me very quickly that people connect to sincerity before anything else. Some audiences lean into subtlety and intimacy, others love rawness and directness — but the emotional core is what carries across every room.

That understanding made me write more honestly, without worrying whether a feeling or story would “translate.” If the emotion is real, it travels.

And honestly, music is one of the very few things that truly connects everyone — regardless of age, language, culture, upbringing, or background. I’ve felt that again and again on stage. The details might shift, but the heartbeat underneath is universal.

You’re known for performances that cut through language barriers. What internal compass do you follow to make sure your songs resonate no matter where they land?

Presence has always been my compass. If I’m actually feeling what I’m singing — not performing the idea of the feeling, but genuinely in it — people understand, no matter what language it’s in.

Growing up bilingual taught me early that tone, intention, and emotion often communicate more clearly than vocabulary. And honestly, I love engaging with the crowd — a little stage banter, a shared laugh, getting everyone to clap along, or having them sing “PEACE & LOVE, PEACE & LOVE” with me. Those moments remind me that connection doesn’t require a shared language, just a shared moment.

So I always check in with myself: Am I being honest right now? Am I here? If yes, the audience feels it.

This EP introduces a new chapter for you — visually, sonically, emotionally. What horizon are you moving toward next, and how do you hope listeners grow with you?

I’m moving into a chapter that feels both more grounded and more expansive — a space where I can experiment visually and sonically while staying anchored in the emotional clarity that GRADIENTS gave me. I want to build worlds around the music: fuller live shows, richer visuals, and collaborations that reflect the cultures and communities that have shaped me.

What I hope most is that listeners feel permission to embrace their own transitions — the messy, shifting, in-between parts of their identities and emotions. If this EP helps anyone recognise the beauty in their own gradients, in the parts of themselves that don’t fit neatly into one place, then that means more to me than anything.

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December 17, 2025 0 comments

Music Interviews Music News

Interview: Augie March – Looking Into a 20 Year Old Mirror with Moo, You Bloody Choir

by the partae December 17, 2025

written by the partae

How does it feel to return to Moo, You Bloody Choir two decades on — not just as musicians, but as people who’ve lived a lot of life since that era?
The prospect of these anniversary concerts mainly makes me feel old and scared of looking in a 20-year-old mirror. It can be hard and confronting to try and relive or recreate something from so long ago. But once we get started, it will quickly become fine and even enjoyable.

When the album first came out, did you have any sense it would become such a defining moment in Australian music, or has its legacy only become clear with time?
Absolutely not. Is it really a defining moment in Australian music? That’s very nice of you to say. The album had actually been completed almost a year earlier and shelved indefinitely by the label. We were mainly just relieved to have it released at all, which meant we could start playing live again to promote it. When your label puts your finished record in mothballs, your thoughts go more towards survival, not so much about creating musical history.

One Crowded Hour changed everything for the band almost overnight. How do you remember that sudden shift into the mainstream and the impact it had internally?
It was the middle of summer when the song came out. It was quickly added to high rotation on JJJ, which was a big deal for us, but that didn’t result in any drastic, immediate overnight change. By the middle of the year it was starting to get played on commercial radio, and that’s when the queues at the shows started to get longer, the venues started to get bigger, and we were adding extra nights. It was like a big cushion of warm air pushing up from underneath. After many years of struggle, I thought that felt great. Not everyone in the band enjoyed it though — the spotlight and the pressure maybe weren’t a positive thing for the band overall.

The album moves between poetry, tension, softness, and ambition in a way that still feels unique. What creative risks or instincts shaped that sound during the recording process?
That range of dynamics came pretty naturally to us, and of course a lot of it is in the songwriting. The unique sound of the band had evolved over the previous ten years. I don’t think there was much deliberate intent or instinct to shape the album’s sound. Occasionally we did try to create a jarring sonic effect, like recording the piano via a guitar amp on Mother Greer. We attempted a slow, moody version of Frownland by Captain Beefheart, which is a very fast, jerky, and discordant freak-out song. That was creatively risky, but it didn’t get very far.

Parts of the album were recorded in the Tenderloin during a pretty intense period. How did that environment influence the atmosphere or emotional weight of the record?
Interesting. Yes, it was a very rough and sketchy neighbourhood. Historically, police who worked the beat there were paid an under-the-counter bonus of the choicest steak cuts, hence the name (this was in San Francisco, not Chicago). There was a gun murder close to where we were staying. However, the only three finished tracks from those sessions were arguably the poppiest songs on the album — One Crowded Hour, The Cold Acre, and Just Passing Through. In fact, we re-recorded The Cold Acre later in Melbourne; the Tenderloin version was actually faster and more upbeat. Maybe the environment didn’t have a big, direct influence on the music. One of the band members did fall in love, which might have added to the positive vibes.

There were label changes, personal challenges, and moments where the project felt like it might never come together. What kept the band anchored during that chaos?
Hmm. I’m not sure how “anchored” we were. Is it possible to be anchored by alcohol? Anchored in alcohol, perhaps. We were all very committed to the band, and there was definitely a lurking sense that this album was our last chance with our record label and our last chance to make a big splash with a mainstream audience. We had just done a seven-week tour of the US, which was by far the longest tour we’d ever done. We were getting road-hardened and match-fit, playing consistently good shows. That probably did give us some sense of confidence. In the past, our live shows had sometimes been erratic or unpredictable.

Fans often say the album “stays with them.” Which songs have stayed with you the most over the years — and why?
Not One Crowded Hour. I got very sick of that eventually, which is fair enough — that song has been played to death. I always liked Clockwork, the long, slow, heavy song at the end of the album. Stranger Strange is great too; that maybe could have been a hit single as well.

Performing the album front-to-back for the first time is a huge moment. What excites you most about presenting it as one complete, intentional body of work on stage?
The most interesting part is that we’re all very different people than we were twenty years ago, so there’s a good chance it will be a very different album of songs when we re-interpret it. It’s unlikely to be a musical carbon copy of the way we played it in 2006.

Revisiting this era must naturally stir new ideas. How does looking back at this album shape where you want to take Augie March next?
It probably doesn’t. The band has maintained quite a productive output, releasing four albums in the last ten years. Glenn has made a solo album as well and is in the middle of another one now — he still has a lot of songs. Doing an anniversary tour feels like something separate. When we revisited the band’s first album Sunset Studies five years ago, it overlapped with making a new album (Bloodsport and Porn). For a while Glenn was toying with the idea of that being Sunset Studies Vol. 2, but it didn’t eventuate. I can’t see us making Moo You Bloody Choir Vol. 2.

You’ve described the upcoming shows as a balance of respect and irreverence toward the songs. What does that actually look like when you’re all on stage together?
It could look like everyone treating the songs with great respect, whilst personally taunting and abusing each other with mild contempt — both on and off stage.

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December 17, 2025 0 comments

Music Interviews Music News

Interview: Inside the Spiral – Tanya George on Betrayal, Busking, and Finding Power in ‘Piece of Mess’

by the partae December 12, 2025

written by the partae

‘Piece of Mess’ feels raw and open, almost like you’re inviting listeners inside the emotional spiral you were living through. What moment or realisation first pushed this song into existence?

The moment of betrayal. There are few things more difficult to experience; I would say grief is also up there. I tried repeatedly to show up with love, only to be taken advantage of. No matter what I did, I was always going to lose, but through that experience, I created some of the best songs I’ve ever written.

You’ve said the track came from the same creative burst as ‘Serious,’ written in your Elwood apartment. What was happening in your life at that time that made writing feel so urgent?

It was an outlet for me to express what I couldn’t in conversation. I was young, struggling, and not always surrounded by supportive people, which certainly had an impact.

Originally, this song was directed at someone else, calling them a “Piece of Mess,” but I chose to redirect it toward myself, recognising how messy I also felt in love at the time. I’m strong in many ways, but matters of the heart have always been my vulnerability.

Three songs on the album — Piece of Mess, Serious, and an unreleased track, I Can’t Love Anymore — were all written around the same day, inspired by the pain of giving someone many chances, only to be hurt by someone I trusted and loved.

There’s a real tension-and-release feeling in the production, like the music breathes with the story. How did you and Lewis Pidutti shape that emotional push-and-pull in the studio?

When I originally wrote this song, I wanted it to convey a strong sense of drama, especially through dynamics. There are subtle musical nuances in the verses designed to create an unpredictable, almost suspenseful feeling.

I had been developing this track long before meeting Lewis, and I always knew how impactful it would be live with the band — something that is often difficult to fully capture in a studio setting. I revisited many of my old recordings to refine the sound, focusing on keeping ample breathing space in the verses to allow for explosive moments, and creating a striking contrast in the chorus with powerful, chunky guitars and a surge of intensity.

He listened and nailed it. I recorded this song in one take vocally through a drum microphone, and we never changed it. There is an entire range of emotions in this tune.

You built your reputation on the streets of Bourke Street, looping in front of strangers. How does that raw, unpredictable environment still influence the way you write and perform?

The streets have been my greatest teachers, and I believe that’s why I am such a strong performer on stage. Busking requires vulnerability, creativity, and authenticity. You must find ways to capture attention and keep people engaged. If your energy is off, the audience will feel it too.

Performing in this environment has taught me to recognise impactful moments in a song — where I can connect with the audience or elevate the set to the next level. My favourite part is creating those moments where the entire crowd joins in and sings with me.

You’ve just come off shows in Italy, Germany and the Netherlands. Did sharing these songs across Europe shift the way you hear or feel them?

It was genuinely exciting to hear my songs being sung by people outside of my hometown. Experiencing this brought new life to the album and filled me with a renewed sense of joy.

My time in Europe allowed me to fully reset from a burnout I had been experiencing. Now, I connect with the music from a healed and refreshed place, feeling completely ready to share it and fully immerse myself in everything album-related. Perfect timing.

The song digs into the messy, uncomfortable side of love — insecurity, frustration, the yearning underneath it all. Was there a lyric that felt confronting to write or admit out loud?

My writing is extremely honest and pretty direct. I think, “I want a solid apology, not this look you’ll demolish me, swallow me, I want equality” — ain’t that the truth.

Just wanting someone to be sincere, gentle, kind, and admit being wrong instead of being blamed as a woman.

Your sound moves effortlessly between soul, pop, jazz and vocal looping. When you’re writing something vulnerable like this, do you lead with emotion first or with vocal experimentation?

I would say it’s a combination. My voice conveys my emotions, and my emotions guide me in finding the words to express through that voice.

I embrace influences from a variety of genres, as I believe this is when the most interesting, unique and authentic creative moments emerge — then you get Tanya George.

You’ve played everything from the Roma Busking Festival to WOMADelaide and Airlie Beach Music Festival. Do songs like ‘Piece of Mess’ land differently on a big festival stage compared to an intimate room?

Absolutely. It’s a great song in an intimate environment, but it goes HARD at a festival.

It’s got some very intense parts, such as the bridge all the way to the end of the song, and live, the band just throw themselves in.

With your debut album Contrast on the way, where does this track sit in the wider emotional arc of the record?

“Piece of Mess” is the fifth track on the album, placing it right in the middle at peak angst. It comes just after “The Devil” (track four) and is followed by “Can’t Love Anymore” (track six) — all intense track titles.

My Oma (grandmother) features on the intro (track one) and the interlude (track seven). By the time we reach the interlude, the album transitions from a place of anger back into one of love and growth.

Track eight, “Have You,” is the only love song I’ve ever written. I often hear “Piece of Mess” in relation to “Serious” (track two), as I feel the two songs are connected thematically.

You’ve got momentum in Europe, festival dates at home, and a debut album coming. What part of this next chapter feels the most exciting for you right now?

I think the most rewarding part of releasing these songs is finally sharing them with the world and allowing people to connect with them.

For me, the highlight has always been performing live — seeing my dreams come to life on stage. I always had this vision to begin my set solo, using only my voice and looper, and then the band joins me, taking the performance to the next level.

We had an incredible show over the weekend. People were crying and singing along with the lyrics. It was exhilarating to see my ideas, long imagined in my mind, come alive in real time.

See Tanya perform over the summer at the following festivals:

Tanglewood Festival — 30 Dec 2025 – 2 Jan 2026
Rising Sun Festival — 9–12 Jan 2026
Falls Creek Festival — 14 Feb 2026

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December 12, 2025 0 comments

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