Montreal’s Libby Ember arrives with her introspective debut EP, I Kill Spiders. Thoughtful, anxious, and emotionally candid, the four-track collection captures the young singer-songwriter’s journey through self-doubt and quiet contemplation. Blending warm indie-pop textures with the raw honesty of indie-folk, the record is a compelling exploration of growth, conscience, and the weight of our smallest actions.
I Kill Spiders moves through questioning, longing, and reflection, creating a cohesive story of emotional honesty. The EP showcases Libby Ember’s signature introspective lyricism while delivering warm, accessible, and intimate production.
Anchoring the release is the title track, “I Kill Spiders,” a striking meditation on guilt and consequence. Born from a moment of late-night anxiety, the song balances classic pop sensibilities with Libby’s intimate, reflective style to question the karmic significance of our choices. The track is the result of Libby’s first-place win in the Overture With The Arts songwriting competition, where she developed the song with mentorship from Canadian singer BAYLA before it was produced by Luca the Producer (Lucas Libertore).
Every once in a while, a record arrives that doesn’t just play—it confronts. It grabs you by the collar, drags you into its private world, and dares you to stay there. Mifarma, the first English-language album from Danielle Alma Ravitzki’s alter ego of the same name, is that kind of record: bruised, luminous, unrelenting. It’s not an album you casually put on in the background—it’s one you walk through, barefoot and cautious, knowing something inside it might rearrange you.
Ravitzki, who first made her name in the Hebrew music scene with a pair of haunting, poetically driven records in 2013 and 2017, has built a reputation on blending the cerebral with the visceral. But Mifarma is something different entirely. It’s not just a new chapter; it’s a new language, a new country, a new skin. Where her earlier work borrowed the voices of poets, Mifarma is entirely her own—a document of reclamation, written in scars and whispered prayers.
The story of the record’s creation is the kind that feels mythic in hindsight. After relocating to New York, Ravitzki found herself in a state of artistic paralysis, unable to find a producer who understood the sound in her head: part confession, part dream, part ache. It wasn’t until she remembered an old Berlin album that featured drummer Earl Harvin that she stumbled onto Carmen Rizzo, the two-time Grammy nominee whose résumé spans from electronic pioneers to ethereal singer-songwriters. Their collaboration became the album’s backbone—Rizzo providing the space and tension, Mifarma filling it with blood and breath.
The opening single, “I Left the Room Without My Hair,” co-written with Shara Nova of My Brightest Diamond, sets the tone like a ritual. The title alone is a line of poetry—a disarming image of leaving behind an old self, or maybe escaping one. The song builds slowly, like a fever dream; the arrangement is sparse but suffocating, a whisper pressed against your ear. It feels less like listening and more like eavesdropping on someone’s internal reckoning.
From there, Mifarma unfolds like a series of journal entries written during a long night of the soul. “Five Stages of Grief” is all sharp angles and soft collapses, a song that keeps returning to its wounds just to see if they’ve closed. “Fix Me Up” rides a pulse somewhere between resignation and defiance, its minimalist beat giving way to a fragile chorus that feels like a hand reaching through fog. On “I Am Soil,” Ravitzki sings with the slow, deliberate weight of someone who has learned to make peace with impermanence—her voice a tremor wrapped around a threadbare melody.
Rizzo’s production gives these songs their atmosphere: intimate but vast, unhurried but never still. He builds soundscapes that seem to inhale and exhale with Mifarma’s vocals, fusing the human and the mechanical. There are shades of Kate Bush, echoes of Peter Gabriel, and a touch of Laurie Anderson in how Mifarma treats sound as both story and character. Yet there’s nothing derivative about it. Every note feels born of its own strange gravity.
The album’s supporting players add color and contour without ever stealing focus. Harvin’s drumming is restrained but surgical, creating tension where silence would otherwise fall flat. Nova’s harmonies are ghostlike—present, then gone, like a flicker of candlelight in a darkened room. Melissa Lingo and Piers Faccini contribute in subtler ways, adding texture to a record that feels at once global and deeply personal. It’s a sound that could have been born in Tel Aviv or Brooklyn or nowhere at all.
What’s remarkable about Mifarma is how unflinching it is. These songs don’t tidy up their emotions for the sake of accessibility; they linger in the mess, tracing the contours of pain, shame, and rebirth with brutal honesty. “Rejection is My Pendant” is as much about obsession as liberation—a slow, hypnotic waltz that flirts with self-destruction before finally exhaling into stillness. “Somnambulist” plays like a dream within a dream, its delicate rhythm pushing against the edges of consciousness.
And yet, for all its darkness, Mifarma isn’t despairing. There’s a quiet resilience that pulses beneath the sorrow, a reminder that vulnerability isn’t the opposite of strength—it’s the root of it. Ravitzki’s voice, fragile and deliberate, often sounds as though it’s holding back tears—but when it breaks free, it’s incandescent.
By the album’s end, you get the sense that Mifarma isn’t just an alter ego—it’s a vessel, a place where Ravitzki can speak freely without translation. There’s something profoundly timeless about the way she approaches melody and meaning, as if she’s communing with the ghosts of the great confessional songwriters before her—Joni Mitchell, Beth Gibbons, Jeff Buckley—while still charting her own territory.
Mifarma doesn’t chase trends or polish itself for commercial appeal. It belongs to an older tradition: albums as complete worlds, meant to be lived in from start to finish. It’s the kind of record you return to late at night, headphones on, when the rest of the world feels far away.
By the time the final notes fade, you don’t feel like you’ve just listened to music—you feel like you’ve been somewhere. Somewhere lonely, somewhere honest, somewhere sacred.
Denise Marsa has a knack for transforming personal insight into vibrant music, and her latest single, “Company of Women,” is a shining example of that skill. From the moment the track begins, it announces Marsa’s perspective: celebratory, empowering, and fully alive. She doesn’t just sing about the connections between women; she inhabits them, offering listeners a glimpse into a world shaped by creativity, solidarity, and mutual strength.
The remix by Until Dawn pushes “Company of Women” into new energetic terrain. It merges contemporary dance rhythms with subtle nods to classic disco, producing a sound that is kinetic yet approachable. The beat drives forward with urgency, urging movement without demanding it, and the layered instrumentation creates a sense of vibrancy that feels both spontaneous and intentional. This is a song meant to be felt physically, in the sway of a body or the simple joy of tapping along, as much as it is meant to be appreciated for its lyrical depth.
What sets “Company of Women” apart is its combination of playfulness and meaning. Marsa’s lyrics are thoughtful but never didactic, clever without ever feeling flippant. There’s a subtle wit in the way she constructs her verses, balanced by a sense of genuine warmth and openness. The track becomes a celebration of independence, of choosing one’s own path, and of defining womanhood on one’s own terms. Whether embracing quiet moments or exuberant energy, Marsa’s song captures a spectrum of experiences without losing focus or clarity.
This is a track that thrives in its duality. It’s infectious and immediately enjoyable, yet there’s substance beneath the surface. The chorus feels communal, a rallying call for women to support one another, while the verses explore the nuances of that connection with precision and care. “Company of Women” refuses to oversimplify or sanitize the experience it celebrates. It acknowledges that empowerment comes in many forms, whether in bold action or quiet reflection, and that joy is most potent when it’s shared.
In every note and lyric, “Company of Women” radiates thoughtfulness and intelligence. The remix ensures the song resonates across contexts—from dance floors to headphones, from intimate gatherings to larger celebrations. Marsa has created more than a song; she has built a space where listeners can feel seen, uplifted, and inspired. By combining infectious rhythm, intelligent lyricism, and a sincere celebration of connection, she has crafted a work that lingers long after the final note fades.
“Company of Women” is both a toast and a manifesto—a recognition of creativity, strength, and joy among women. It’s a musical statement that is lively, thoughtful, and memorable, capturing the essence of community while celebrating individuality. In Denise Marsa’s hands, empowerment becomes not just a theme but a lived experience, shared through melody, rhythm, and voice.
There’s a quiet poetry in the way “Nefasphere” came to life. Fifteen years ago, in a college classroom in New Jersey, a young Ethiopian musician named Mikael Seifu met Ben Neill, a composer already known for his experiments with the Mutantrumpet, a hybrid instrument that fuses brass performance with electronic control.
Seifu was a student then, and was just beginning to shape what would become his signature sound: a fusion of ancient Ethiopian tonalities with the pulse and texture of global electronic music.
Neill was the professor, an emerging artist who had already collaborated with the likes of David Behrman, John Cage and La Monte Young.
Fast forward to 2025, and the conversation that began all those years ago has evolved into Nefasphere. The word nefas, from Amharic means “wind,” “breath,” or “spirit” and it’s an apt metaphor for what the music achieves – a flow of energy that moves through both artists, reshaping itself as it passes.
In the Worldwinds Mix, Neill and Seifu create a kind of ambient exhalation with long, flowing tones and circular patterns that expand and contract like the breath itself. Seifu’s electronic grounding draws from the Ethiopiyawi Electronic movement he helped define. It’s meditative yet propulsive, organic yet digitally alive. Neill’s Mutantrumpet threads through this landscape, with its tones resonating like ancient horns re-imagined for a new era. The effect can be felt with the African rhythmic pulse beneath the Western harmonic drift, and yet the music never settles neatly into either world.
The Moire Mix takes the same thematic DNA and refracts it through a more textural lens. Here, beats glitch and shimmer around deeper bass modulations, suggesting the interference patterns from which the mix takes its name. This version is less meditative and more exploratory – a field recording from some unseen interdimensional borderland between Addis Ababa and New York City.
What makes “Nefasphere” so affecting isn’t just its sound, but its story. This is music born from a relationship – teacher and student, mentor and mentee – that has evolved into genuine creative partnership. In Seifu’s own words, the collaboration marks “a rebirth… a reflection of the power of honest mentorship full of mutual respect and insight.” For Neill, it’s the realization of a long held artistic vision to create living, breathing music systems where structure and improvisation coexist in perfect balance.
Both versions of “Nefasphere” invite deep listening. They resist the quick satisfaction of streaming culture, instead unfolding slowly, like a landscape viewed from above. It’s music that rewards patience, music that is unmoored from trends and yet deeply of this moment.
For Seifu, this marks a luminous return following his acclaimed Zelalem EP (RVNG Intl, 2016). For Neill, it continues a lifelong exploration of evolution in his music, from minimalist composition to digital improvisation, from hardware to human breath.
But for both, “Nefasphere” is more than a collaboration. It is a shared meditation on sound as life force, a reminder that in the meeting of air and electricity, something sacred can still occur.
More About Ben Neill
Composer/performer Ben Neill is the inventor of the Mutantrumpet, a hybrid electro-acoustic instrument, and is recognized as a musical innovator who “uses a schizophrenic trumpet to create art music for the people” (Wired Magazine). Using interactive computer technologies, Neill generates unique musical and visual experiences that blur the lines between acoustic and electronic music, minimalism, and visual media. Neill has recorded thirteen albums on labels including Universal/Verve, Thirsty Ear, Astralwerks, Six Degrees, and his own Blue Math label distributed by AWAL/Sony. His first book, Diffusing Music, was released on Bloomsbury Press in 2024.
More About Mikael Seifu
Mikael Seifu is an Ethiopian electronic music producer committed to “Ethiopiyawi Electronic” – a coinage Seifu uses to describe the music he and his peers are producing in Ethiopia’s capital city of Addis-Ababa. Born and raised in Addis Ababa, he moved to the US and went on to study music production & the music industry at Ramapo College of New Jersey, a small school about 45 minutes outside of Manhattan. Here Seifu met a mentor in Ben Neill, the composer and music technologist who trained with La Monte Young. Seifu was inspired by Neill to take serious his calling in music. Mikael’s music does not westernize or electronicize extant Ethiopian music. Instead, Seifu uses Ethio-Jazz’s spirit of brewing estranged styles for his own musical tincturing. Seifu’s passion above all else is to create something befitting of its time, yet “eternally Ethiopian.”
Toronto emo/alt-rock trio da nang return with Kids, a nostalgic, sun-soaked EP about the messy intersections of love, loss, heartbreak, and joy. Anchoring the record is title track “Kids,” a bittersweet anthem that celebrates the rush of young love while staring down the heartbreak it’s destined to bring.
da nang’s Kids EP plays like a scrapbook of adolescence, with songs that hang together like faded Polaroids – warm, raw, and brimming with emotion. From cottage recording sessions surrounded by worn furniture and summer air, to riffs that grew into full-fledged songs almost by accident, the band leaned fully into nostalgia in both sound and spirit.
“The title track is about being in love when you’re young, knowing it’s probably going to blow up but going all in anyway,” says frontman John Thai. “It’s grief dressed up in sunshine – holding someone close while everything feels like it could collapse at any second.”
Musically, “Kids” blends bright, celebratory guitar riffs with an undercurrent of melancholy, creating a tension that perfectly captures the feeling of teenage heartbreak. The song pulls you into the past with the raw intensity of first love, while its production – meant to feel like a hot summer drive with the windows down – grounds it in the nostalgia that defines the entire EP.
Montreal-based pop/R&B artist Satya returns with “Realness,” a soulful, empowering anthem about finding true, unconditional love in a world that often feels chaotic and unsteady. The single blends sleek, modern R&B textures with Satya‘s warm, emotive voice – offering both sensuality and strength in equal measure.
Written by Tranell Antoine and co-written alongside Satya and Garett Raffanelli, “Realness” is rooted in the profound experience of discovering loyalty, trust, and emotional safety. For Satya, it’s about celebrating love that’s genuine, grounding, and rare. “The title captures the core essence of the song – it’s about love that is sincere, unfiltered, and unwavering,” she explains. “It’s not just romance – it’s the authenticity and depth behind it that makes it so powerful.”
With its slow tempo, layered harmonies, and intimate production choices by Domeno – from glowing synth pads to reverb-soaked backing vocals – “Realness” embodies the warmth and clarity of love at its truest form. Simple, direct, and deeply resonant, it distills the awe of experiencing something profoundly new.
Modern Mystery 