Chaos Controlled Podcast, the raw and unfiltered show that has built a reputation for opening up conversations around mental health, has launched its 3rd season of this conversational interview show; out today on all platforms. Hosted by festival and nightlife boss Mikey Tableman and renowned character actor Danny J. Gomez, this new season of the podcast continues its mission of destigmatizing discussions about mental health while giving audiences a platform filled with honesty, vulnerability, and connection.

“I’m beyond excited for Season 3 because we’re diving into some of the most powerful and eye-opening conversations we’ve ever had,” says host Mikey Tableman. “Mental health is something that impacts everyone, and this season is packed with incredible guests who are ready to share their stories, their struggles, and the tools that have helped them overcome.”

Since its debut, Chaos Controlled has stood out for its ability to bring candid stories to the forefront, with a nuanced focus on highlighting the struggles of men and how they express their mental health battles. Tableman and Gomez have cultivated a space where people from different walks of life feel empowered to share their struggles and triumphs, reminding listeners that it’s not only okay to talk about mental health, but also necessary for growth and healing. By drawing out authentic dialogue, the show has become a trusted resource for anyone navigating their own challenges.

Season 3 of Chaos Controlled is shaping up to be the most impactful yet, featuring some of the biggest guests the show has ever featured from a variety of talents, including notable actors, musicians, and prominent lifestyle influencers, starting with multi-talented performer and viral sensation Josh Killacky. Dropping new episodes every Wednesday, the show will continue to balance raw storytelling with hope, leaving listeners with insights they can apply in their own lives.

Listeners can follow along with Season 3 beginning September 17th on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, YouTube, and all other major platforms. For behind-the-scenes content, updates, and community interaction, the podcast can also be found on Instagram at @officialchaoscontrolled.

Audiences tuning in can expect even deeper conversations about resilience, emotional health, and the tools people use to overcome adversity. With its bold approach and elevated, influential lineup of guests, Chaos Controlled continues to remind us that healing begins with a conversation.

Ger Carriere’s latest music video isn’t just a visual accompaniment—it’s a fully realized world. Her single “Can I Be Her” is reimagined through a lens of hyper-femininity, complete with saturated pinks, pastel dreamscapes, and Ger herself cast as a doll navigating her own meticulously crafted fantasy. The result is glossy, charming, and intentionally over-the-top—a perfect reflection of the song’s emotional layers.

The track explores a relationship that has slipped out of balance: the adoration once felt now feels draining, and the longing to feel treasured again becomes impossible to ignore. The video translates that tension into a dazzling aesthetic, wrapping emotional weight in shine and sparkle. While the visuals offer an escapist fantasy, they subtly hint at the emptiness lurking just beneath the surface.

Every glitter-coated smile and pastel backdrop carries a double meaning: playfulness paired with poignancy. Carriere expertly blurs the line between pop art and personal confession, using visual splendor to amplify the song’s themes. The video for “Can I Be Her” doesn’t just decorate the track—it enriches it, deepening the sense of yearning and emotional resonance.

This striking visual statement signals that Carriere’s forthcoming EP promises to be as bold as it is intimate, a fusion of spectacle and honesty that demands attention.

Kat Lee Rivers’ new single, “American Heartbreak (Acoustic Version),” feels like a deep breath in a crowded room—a moment of stillness and grace amid the noise. With only her voice and Bob Lanzetti’s understated guitar, Rivers turns heartbreak into reflection, and reflection into something quietly hopeful.

The song strips away every distraction. What remains is Rivers’ rich, soul-baring delivery—her phrasing shaped by years as a jazz vocalist, her tone both intimate and assured. She sings as if from the kitchen table, transforming “American Heartbreak” from a slogan into a lived experience. The pauses, the subtle harmonics, the space between notes—each detail reveals a tenderness that feels both timeless and necessary.

For listeners new to her, Kat Lee Rivers is an artist whose path has crossed continents and genres. A 2014 finalist in the Sarah Vaughan International Jazz Competition and multiple DownBeat award recipient, she first emerged in the jazz world before expanding into Americana and the rhythmic warmth of Brazilian music. Her debut album, Anything but Ordinary, marked that evolution, blending Americana grit with Brazilian color and jazz sophistication.

Following a period of vocal recovery, Rivers’ voice has returned stronger than ever. Her songs draw on experiences from years living and performing in Spain, Texas, Los Angeles, and New York. She sings in Portuguese and has graced stages from house concerts to iconic (and now-closed) New York venues like Cornelia Street Café and Rockwood Music Hall, as well as The Chapel Restoration in Cold Spring, where she’ll return this fall. She’s performed with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra backing Ben Folds, and toured Europe with Barcelona trio Árid, including a rooftop show at La Pedrera.

Now working with Grammy-winning guitarist and producer Bob Lanzetti (Snarky Puppy), Rivers is crafting a new album for Spring 2026 that deepens her “old soul” sound—one that blends the intimacy of folk with the nuance of jazz.

“American Heartbreak (Acoustic Version)” stands as both a bridge to that upcoming project and a statement on its own: deeply felt, beautifully sung, and rooted in the belief that even in fractured times, a song can still offer a measure of unity.

Toronto’s No Breaks Jake returns with “I Don’t Want to Be Like Me,” a volatile, slow-burning alt-rock track that grapples with identity, guilt, and the longing for self-reinvention. It’s a heavy, emotional unraveling – one that begins in quiet vulnerability and erupts into a wall of fuzzed-out guitar riffs, cathartic screams, and sky-is-falling chaos.

The single marks a thematic cornerstone of No Breaks Jake‘s upcoming Amygdalan EP, setting the tone for a project that doesn’t shy away from the harder truths. “This song evokes a state of mind that, honestly, I’m trying to leave behind,” says bandleader Jacob Kassay. “Actually doing that is definitely a little harder.”

Written and self-produced in Toronto, the song evolved through a dozen different iterations and multiple structural overhauls before landing in its final form. “It was all about telling the story effectively,” says Kassay. “I love how it builds from something intimate and restrained into a screaming mess. There’s something satisfying about watching it all fall apart.”

1. Tell us the story of this song, why did you choose to visualize this song specifically in this way?

The first lyrics written were the first you hear: Bitter / I wanted to be like you / Tell me honestly, honestly / Why I feel the way I do. Right away, I knew I was writing about some of the ugliest, most unlikeable traits I have as a person – toxic, jealous, empty feelings. I think we can all relate to having those thoughts, and wanting to outgrow them – but it’s never easy, and it tends to take quite a long time. It’s always two steps forward and one step back. This song is about carrying those expectations, shaking under the weight, until finally everything gives out and you break entirely. That’s okay too, remember – two steps forward, one step back. We can keep moving forward after we recover. Right now we need to stumble.

Most of my favourite art could probably be pigeonholed in this category of having these heavy, depressing themes that deal with the darker side of life, but I think that’s where the beauty is. Life can be scary and impossible and chaotic. Art is about having the courage to confront it anyways. All I want to do is create with integrity in this fashion. This video is my attempt at trying to capture that integrity.

2. What was the inspiration behind this new video (visuals, storyline, etc.)?

The song being what it is, I was fascinated with this general idea of ‘looking at yourself’. Early on, I landed on the visual of the broken mask, this perfect facade that had cracked and something ugly was seeping through. The decision to make it eyeless was one of those happy accidents; earlier sketches looked more like a typical china doll, with big doe-eyes, eyelashes, and lips, but I wasn’t great at drawing it and simplified the design. What I ended up with really struck me because suddenly there was this connotation of self-inflicted blindness. It’s the mask we all wear, the one that hides everything about ourselves we can’t see – or don’t want to. And apparently, in this haunted art gallery, it comes to life, sprouts an eldritch body, and tries to kill you. How fun.

It was important to me that the storyline of the video wasn’t too oppressive or hopeless. I wanted our hero’s journey to reflect my own feelings about the song: things aren’t looking great, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make them better. We’re not giving up. So I had him fight back, outmatched though he was. Things end a little ambiguously, too; it’s unclear who won the fight, or if either of them might get back up. But I like to think that the point of my little tale isn’t how it ends; it’s that he chose to take up arms in the first place.

3. What was the process of making the video?

First, I just gave myself a premise. What would be interesting to draw, interesting to see? More importantly, what gets across the message of the song? And once I had that premise, that haunted, monstrous, mask… thing, I could map out key visuals that fit the biggest moments in the song.

I’m generally not such a ‘storyteller’ songwriter. I don’t want to keep track of characters or plot points or chronology; I like songs that embody an emotion, a thought, a feeling, and then hit you as hard as they can with it. Fittingly, the video plays out less like a story and more like a dream: scattered, fleeting images strung together, carrying you from one idea to the next. I had several sort of ‘big moments’ in my head: the unearthly presence of the mask, the monster that grows from it, the haunting, judgmental stares of the painting it emerged from, or especially that shot near the end of the monster in its largest form, coiled like a dragon around this terrified but unflinching hero. From there it was about connecting the dots, like trying to unravel what must have happened to end up in this place.