Mikey Tableman’s My Manic Maze takes readers far beyond the public image of a man living an exciting life in Los Angeles. The memoir examines the private battles that can exist behind a busy career, social connections, and an outwardly successful life, revealing an experience shaped by mental illness, addiction, manic episodes, and an ongoing search for stability.

Instead of following a conventional chronological format, Tableman builds the book through a collection of connected scenes. The approach gives the story a visual quality, with individual moments gradually revealing the larger picture of his life. Memories, observations, painful experiences, and moments of humor come together to create a portrait of someone attempting to make sense of a mind that does not always operate quietly.

That tension is central to the book. Tableman describes a life that, from the outside, could appear exciting and enviable. His involvement in the Los Angeles celebrity and nightlife scene places him in an environment associated with energy, entertainment, and constant activity. Yet his internal experience is considerably more complicated.

Anxiety, depression, ADHD, addiction, suicidal thoughts, and periods of mania become part of the story without being reduced to labels. Tableman examines how these experiences affected his relationships, decisions, sense of identity, and understanding of himself. The result is a memoir that focuses as much on the emotional consequences of these struggles as it does on the events themselves.

The title’s maze becomes an effective way of understanding that experience. There are wrong turns, dead ends, unexpected openings, and moments when the way forward is difficult to see. Tableman uses that idea to give readers a sense of what it can be like to navigate thoughts and emotions that do not follow a predictable route.

Despite the seriousness of the subject matter, the book is not relentlessly bleak. Tableman’s humor provides moments of relief and reflects the complicated ways people cope with difficult circumstances. His ability to recognize the absurdity in certain situations gives the narrative personality without taking away from the gravity of what he describes.

Just as importantly, the memoir avoids turning suffering into something glamorous. Tableman writes about the less polished aspects of recovery, including therapy, sobriety, difficult realizations, misdiagnoses, and the willingness to acknowledge when he needs support. Progress does not arrive in a perfectly ordered sequence. Some steps forward are followed by setbacks, and understanding oneself can take considerably longer than expected.

That honesty gives the book an accessible quality. Readers do not need to share Tableman’s specific experiences to recognize the broader questions running through his story. What happens when the person others see is very different from the person struggling internally? How does someone rebuild a sense of self after years of coping mechanisms that no longer work? And what does recovery actually look like when there is no single moment that changes everything?

Tableman’s writing style adds another dimension to those questions. His prose frequently feels immediate and spoken, moving between reflection and storytelling rather than maintaining the distance sometimes found in traditional memoirs. The scenes create a sense of movement, while the reflective passages provide room to consider what those experiences meant.

At its most personal, My Manic Maze is about learning to confront parts of oneself that can be difficult to acknowledge. Tableman does not position himself as someone who has discovered every answer. Instead, he allows readers to see the uncertainty, mistakes, fear, and gradual understanding that accompany genuine change.

The book also speaks to the people surrounding those who struggle with mental health and addiction. Not every battle is visible, and not every person who appears functional is doing well. By opening the door to experiences that are often kept private, Tableman creates space for greater understanding and less judgment.

My Manic Maze ultimately leaves readers with an honest portrait of a complicated journey. It is not a story built around a perfect ending. It is about continuing to examine the past, confronting the present, and figuring out how to move into the future while carrying everything that came before.

For readers interested in candid memoirs about mental health, addiction, identity, and personal change, Tableman’s story offers a deeply revealing look at the life that exists beneath the surface.

Brooks John Martin isn’t interested in making “Do” easy to explain.

The first single from his upcoming album War All The Time, “Do” takes the emotional turbulence of a manic arc and turns it into something unexpectedly buoyant, surreal and funny. It is a song about breakdowns, breakthroughs and the unpredictable territory in between, yet its energy is closer to celebration than collapse.

Martin describes it as “non-linear Lewis Carroll nonsense,” an intentionally loose description for a song that refuses to move in a straight line. Its subject matter may come from a complicated emotional place, but the track approaches it without the heaviness listeners might expect.

In fact, Martin calls “Do” arguably the happiest song ever written about a manic arc.

That contradiction is central to the song. Rather than attempting to neatly translate emotional instability into a conventional narrative, “Do” allows the experience to remain messy. Ideas collide, moods shift and the absurd becomes part of the storytelling. The song doesn’t necessarily explain what a breakdown or breakthrough feels like. Instead, it captures the sensation of moving through one.

That fits naturally with Martin’s broader approach to songwriting. Throughout his artistic evolution, he has tended to favor lyrics that communicate moods and feelings over straightforward, linear narratives. His songs often operate through impression, atmosphere and emotional association, giving listeners the freedom to experience them rather than simply follow a plot.

“Do” pushes that philosophy further.

The track comes from the emotional extremes surrounding a manic arc, but there is no attempt to make the subject solemn simply because it is serious. Martin allows humor and absurdity to exist alongside the more difficult material, creating a song that can feel exhilarating even when its underlying subject matter is anything but simple.

The accompanying music video takes that idea even further.

Set against a stylized version of 1960s Japan, the visual is a completely AI-generated journey that operates according to its own dream logic. Reality isn’t particularly important here. The video is designed to complement the song’s refusal to follow conventional rules, creating a visual world where anything can happen.

And then there is Tom Jones.

At Martin’s specific request, the video features his own likeness dancing like the legendary singer. The sequence arrives as the ultimate payoff to the video’s increasingly surreal journey, with the final 30 seconds becoming an intentionally ridiculous spectacle.

Martin is clearly in on the joke.

Rather than using the technology to create something overly serious or visually self-important, the video embraces the strange possibilities of AI and lets the concept become increasingly absurd. The result is less a traditional narrative music video than a visual fever dream built around the personality of the song.

The humor doesn’t diminish the subject matter. If anything, it gives Martin another way to approach it.

There is something revealing about taking a difficult emotional experience and allowing yourself to find the ridiculousness inside it. “Do” doesn’t attempt to sanitize its subject, but it also refuses to suggest that every complicated experience needs to be presented through darkness.

That tension has long existed in Martin’s music.

His dreamy baritone carries the romantic qualities of post-punk, new wave and Brit-pop, giving his songs a sense of emotional weight even when the material itself moves somewhere unexpected. On previous albums, crunchy alternative-rock guitars have provided much of the musical foundation, creating a contrast between the rougher instrumental textures and the more romantic quality of his voice.

With “Do,” those qualities meet a much more playful sensibility.

The result is a song that can be heard as both an emotional document and a piece of surreal pop-art absurdity. The music invites the listener into Martin’s headspace, while the video throws open the doors and lets the imagination run wild.

Martin’s relationship with music began early. He started learning piano at eight and guitar at 14, eventually developing the instrumental and songwriting instincts that would become central to his work. Over time, his music has evolved through different sounds and influences, but the emphasis on emotion and atmosphere has remained.

War All The Time will continue that evolution.

As its first single, “Do” offers a particularly unpredictable introduction to the album. It suggests a record willing to explore difficult emotional territory without becoming trapped by it, and willing to find humor in places where humor isn’t necessarily expected.

There is also something fitting about beginning an album called War All The Time with a song that sounds so happy.

“Do” understands that emotional life rarely behaves in neat categories. A breakdown can contain exhilaration. A breakthrough can arrive in the middle of confusion. Something painful can become funny years, months or even minutes later. Happiness can exist alongside chaos.

Martin doesn’t try to resolve those contradictions.

He turns them into a song.

And then he ends the video by dancing like Tom Jones.

Stay for the final 30 seconds.

Glasgow outfit Dragged Up shares “Rapunzel,” the blistering A-side of a new double single backed by the brooding companion piece “Black Carbon,” available only for physical purchase. Equal parts garage-punk, art rock, and glorious racket, “Rapunzel” is a wild, driving tribute to the disaffected ‘60s teenagers who made beautiful noise in their garages, pairing primitive riffs, frenetic X-Ray Spex-inspired saxophone, and relentless momentum into one of the band’s most immediate releases to date. Together, the two tracks offer another unpredictable glimpse into the band’s forthcoming third album, Trzy.

“‘Rapunzel’ is a celebration of all the freak flag flyers of the world, outsiders, counter-culture don’t give-a-fuckers, and everyone who doesn’t fit neatly into a box,” says songwriter Simon Shaw. “It’s inspired by all ‘punk’ in the true sense of the word – the beautifully compiled Crypt Records “Back From The Grave” series, John Coltrane, Lester Bangs, James White and the Contortions, Sham 69, X-Ray Spex…”

The song’s title takes its cue from a mythical figure reimagined through Dragged Up’s own off-kilter lens. Shaw envisions Rapunzel as an unknowable, tower-dwelling creature whose only concern is blasting battered garage records into the sky while the misunderstood, the curious, and the beautifully strange gather below. “The perfect name for any long-haired, beautiful, fairytale, tower-dwelling creature,” he says.

Like the character at its centre, “Rapunzel” refuses to stay in one place. Punk riffs crash into twin guitar and saxophone solos before spiralling into a descending key-change that gives way to a Kinks-inspired breakdown, packing an astonishing amount into a tightly wound three-minute burst.

Although the song arrived almost fully formed, it continued to evolve in the studio. Eva Gnatiuk suggested replacing an upward modulation with the now-defining descent into doom, while guest vocalist Mel Whittle (Count Florida) added backing vocals and saxophonist Sofia Ween brought a thrilling final layer of chaos during a last-minute recording session.

Recorded live with engineer Tommy Duffin at Glasgow’s 16 Ohm Studio, the track captures the raw immediacy Dragged Up were chasing from the outset. Aside from vocals and saxophone overdubs, the performance unfolds live in the room, with Duffin shaping a guitar sound Shaw describes as sitting somewhere in the Mudhoney camp. “If you’re working with the right person, all you have to worry about is getting a good take,” Shaw says.

While “Rapunzel” kicks the door open, B-side “Black Carbon” offers a darker, more cinematic counterbalance. Inspired by the fossil-strewn coastline of Scotland’s west coast, the song transforms late-night landscapes into reflections on memory, place, and the human condition. Featuring acclaimed Irish violist Ailbhe Nic Oireachtaigh, it expands Dragged Up’s already shape-shifting sound while complementing the restless energy of its counterpart.

Together, the two songs preview Trzy, the band’s forthcoming third album. Described by the band as a cohesive, cinematic journey through societal outsiders, psychogeography, metamorphosis, fever dreams, and fragments of lives lived before, the record embraces stylistic extremes without losing sight of its identity.

“We’ve been described many times as a band that’s difficult to pigeonhole,” says Eva Gnatiuk. “We believe that’s what makes us unique. Trzy is an album in the traditional, old-school sense of the word. It’s a cohesive, cinematic journey populated by a shifting cast of distinct characters and locations.”

Building on a breakout year that saw her earn Spotify Editorial support and recognition as a rising voice in indie pop, Montreal singer-songwriter Libby Ember shares “Pool Life,” a wistful and quietly reflective single that captures the feeling of watching life unfold from the outside and wondering what it would be like to step fully into it. Blending intimate lyricism with airy, understated production, the track explores social longing, identity, and the subtle ache of feeling just outside the frame of “cool” or effortless belonging.

At its core, “Pool Life” is about perception: the way certain people seem to move through life with spontaneity and ease, as if constantly living inside a moment you were never quite invited into. For Libby, the image of “Pool Life” became a metaphor for that distance.

“It’s about watching people’s lives from the outside, seeing the way that the ‘cool’ people choose to live, and feeling like I’m missing out on that,” Libby explains. “The title just encapsulated that feeling for me since when I think about these people I just imagine hanging out by the pool and spontaneously jumping in as a metaphor for the way they live their lives ‘on the spot’.”

Unlike much of her earlier work, “Pool Life” also marks a subtle shift in approach, embracing a more live, band-oriented recording process. Built with real musicians rather than solely MIDI-based production, the track features live drums, bass, and guitar, giving it a more organic, immediate feel.

“This song doesn’t have a chorus, only verses, and it was super fun to record since we brought in real musicians,” Libby says. “Working with other musicians is always so much fun. It just makes the song sound more alive and more human, which nowadays is even more important than it was before. It’s cool to be able to play off of each other.”

That sense of immediacy carries through into the writing as well. Among the song’s most vivid lines is the lyric “I wanna be the it girl, ticket in the pit girl,” a phrase that distills the track’s central tension between observation and participation, admiration and distance, longing and self-awareness.

Even in its softness, “Pool Life” feels rhythmically alive. It’s a song that doesn’t resolve its yearning so much as sit inside it, resulting in one of Libby’s most emotionally direct and conversational releases to date.

Ahead of their forthcoming debut EP, Victoria, BC alternative pop-rock duo Miss the Heart drop “Know Me Better,” an explosive new single that transforms betrayal into empowerment. Equal parts soaring pop anthem and hard-hitting rock release, the track pairs infectious vocal hooks with thunderous guitar breakdowns to deliver an unapologetic statement about reclaiming your power from the narcissists who underestimated you.

While “Know Me Better” may initially sound like the aftermath of a failed relationship, its message reaches far beyond romance. Inspired by the many narcissistic personalities that have entered vocalist Kiarra O’Connor’s life – from former partners and toxic friends to manipulative coworkers and creative collaborators – “Know Me Better” captures the all-too-familiar cycle of trust, betrayal, realization, and ultimately choosing yourself.

“This song was inspired by the all too familiar process of being naive, being taken advantage of, realizing it, and then having to deal with it,” O’Connor explains. “It wasn’t hard channeling the hurt, anger, and empowerment of the past when writing.”

The emotional weight of those experiences fuels every moment of the song, but rather than dwelling in anger, Miss the Heart channels that energy into something liberating. Anchored by a soaring pop-forward melody before erupting into crushing guitar riffs, “Know Me Better” embraces both vulnerability and defiance, inviting listeners to sing, shout, and scream every word back.

The single also marks another successful collaboration with acclaimed producer, mixer, and co-writer Ryan Worsley (Dear Rouge, MONOWHALES, Fake Shark). Recorded at Echoplant Studios in Vancouver, BC, Worsley helped elevate the duo’s original demos while contributing the guitar and bass performances that define the track’s explosive sound. One of the recording’s most memorable moments came during the gang vocal session, when O’Connor found herself surrounded by Worsley, drummer Michael Voytash, and an intern, all crowding around a single microphone to shout the song’s climactic refrain together.

That combination of polished pop songwriting and full-throttle alternative rock reflects the broader vision behind Miss the Heart’s upcoming debut EP. Scheduled for release in early 2027, the project explores the emotional stages of conflict through the lens of feminine rage. “Know Me Better” represents the moment action replaces hesitation and reclaiming your voice becomes impossible to ignore.

Already earning significant early momentum, “Know Me Better” was selected as The Zone @91-3’s Band of the Month for July 2026, received airplay across campus and community radio stations nationwide, and landed on the Mediabase Alternative Rock Most Added chart ahead of the band’s debut live performance at Vancouver’s Ventura Room on August 28, 2026.