Toronto songwriter and composer Neil Haverty (frontman of alt-folk ensemble Bruce Peninsula, and composer of the Wildhood soundtrack) returns with “What I Don’t Need,” a contemplative indie single that grapples with the tension between personal autonomy and the responsibilities we carry toward others.
Written and performed by Haverty and produced by long-time collaborator Leon Taheny (Owen Pallett, Weaves), “What I Don’t Need” builds from pensive, isolated verses into a cathartic chorus explosion, echoing the songwriter’s own struggles to balance quiet reflection with outward expression. Dark synths underscore the mood, while dynamic drums and guitar riffs deliver moments of intensity, mirroring the push-and-pull between independence and interdependence.

“The title/refrain are intentionally cagey and avoidant,” Haverty explains. “I’m resistant to being told what to do even if it’s born of love and care for me. When you struggle with decision paralysis, you don’t want to re-litigate the decisions you already managed to make. That said, there’s a lot about oneself that is hard to see personally, but that friends and loved ones can easily spot. This song is about trying to listen to those voices, trying to see yourself as you’re seen and the responsibility to act that sometimes comes with that.”

1. Tell us the story of this song, why did you choose to visualize this song specifically? 
Animator Luca Tarantini (aka AOK) was recommended to me at a party and I was blown away when I looked into his work. When I reached out to him, I gave him a bunch of songs to consider and this is the one that most resonated with him. It was one of my favourite songs, so I was happy when he chose it to work on. A music video extends the life of a song well after recording and mixing and I thought it was worthy of that kind of extra attention. Aesthetically, I was very happy with the way the recording of What I Don’t Need turned out, and I think Leon (who recorded it with me) and Luca both hit the nail on the head for the mood I was trying to strike. The song is a bit of a tug-of-war between quiet internalizing and brash externalizing, and the visual gives it more dimension from there. 

2.What was the inspiration behind this video (visuals, storyline, etc.)? 
Luca came back to me with our monkey protagonist really early, and I was hooked when he told me it was a 3D scan of a 2700 year old statue. As we talked it back and forth we ended up adding some narrative arc and arrived at something he’s described as “

Dante’s Inferno meets Night at the Museum”. I think alot is being said by the monkey’s longing movements, but it’s obviously pretty abstract as well. We both have our feelings about what our monkey goes through and learns over the course of the video and we figured out we have slightly different perspectives on that. I think there’s something great about those viewpoint differences, and won’t go into specifics because I hope viewers have their own interpretations too. 

3. What was the process of making this video?

I was lucky enough to see it improve in huge leaps each time he would send a new update over the year or two it took to make it. Luca lived with it more intimately and no doubt fought some battles with it that I wasn’t privvy to. He completed the video around 2022, just before AI tools started to get introduced that would have helped reduce his workload, so we’ve been referring to the animation as being done “the old fashioned way”. I don’t think your average person thinks too much about how intensely labour intensive animation has been as an artform, where each frame is massaged and managed in one way or another and every bit of magic you feel was because an animator poured themselves into it. Obviously that magnifies the further you go back in time to hand-made animation, but the pre-AI version of it was still pretty hefty in terms of hours spent at the computer. I’m grateful that Luca is an artist at heart and that all that time doesn’t tax him too much to see it through. In the end, we have this beautiful piece of art we can both be really proud of, having each spent quality time building out the song in our own ways.

Toronto’s No Breaks Jake returns with “Trouble,” a warm, intimate alt/indie rock track that captures the silent complexities of human experience. Unlike the band’s heavier, more chaotic work, this song allows space for openness, reflection, and emotional clarity. It’s a song about perseverance and the intersection of courage and vulnerability, a reminder that even when life is at its most overwhelming, resolve can pull you forward.

“Compared to my other work, there’s a little less rage and a little more humanity,” explains frontman Jacob Kassay. “It’s not as loud or as angry – instead it gets to be more warm, more open, more willing to let you in and show what’s hurting.”

“Trouble,” the second track of No Breaks Jake’s upcoming Amygdalan EP, was crafted with careful attention to warmth and accessibility. Subdued vocals, cleaner guitar tones, and gradual layering of instruments build toward moments of cathartic intensity. “The bridge, in particular, is my favourite part of the song,” Kassay explains. “There’s this feeling where everything inverts and the song sort of wraps its arms around you.”

The track demonstrates No Breaks Jake’s distinctive ability to combine raw energy with emotional insight. From the opening line, What about it? I feel like I’m in over my head, the song evokes the fragile yet determined spirit at the heart of the band’s music. “It makes me feel warm,” Kassay reflects. “I feel like I know this person, like I’ve been this person. The weird thing is… I’m not sure if I want to follow their example or tell them I’m here if they need help. It’s just a perfect point of openness in seeing someone for who they are: their triumphs, their flaws, and their, well… troubles.”

African Nova Scotian Music Association’s 2025 Songwriter of the Year Blessing Tangban returns with “God Of…” – a cinematic, soul-stirring worship song that explores the beauty, vastness, and intimacy of God’s presence in every moment. Written on a mountaintop in Nigeria, the track captures the awe of encountering a God who is both infinite and near – the God of the mountain, the valley, the healed, the broken.

“This song is my reminder that God is present in every part of my story – from the mountaintop moments to the quiet, broken places,” says Tangban. “‘God Of…’ is a declaration of awe – for a God who’s not limited by our highs or lows, but is deeply involved in every detail.”

Recorded in collaboration with her producer in an intimate studio session, “God Of…” mirrors the simplicity and majesty of the mountain setting that inspired it. “We decided the song should be as bare and vast as the amount of space you’re exposed to on the peak of a mountain,” she explains. “It was just both of us in the studio – simple, easy, honest – and he captured my intention so well. I performed the song in one take and the rest is history.”

The track’s title is intentionally unfinished – “God Of…” – an open-ended phrase that reflects the endlessness of who God is. Its orchestral-inspired arrangement and minimal instrumentation leave room for stillness, while Tangban’s warm, soul-inflected vocals invite listeners into quiet reflection and reverence.

“I don’t always understand how God shows up – sometimes it’s gentle, sometimes wild – but it’s always love. That’s what this song captures,” she adds.

Prolific Toronto-based artist JEEN returns with her striking new EP For The Romance – a collection that captures both the exhaustion and exhilaration of perseverance. Across five songs, JEEN transforms frustration and uncertainty into catharsis, embracing vulnerability and creative defiance in equal measure. “These five songs surfaced after a very difficult period in my career where I wasn’t sure if I could keep going,” she says. 

Working once again with long-time collaborator and producer Ian Blurton (Change of Heart, C’mon, Future Now), the For The Romance sessions took shape in early 2025, pairing the electricity of the studio with the intimacy of home demos. “Recording with Ian is always a great process, very grateful for that,” JEEN shares. “Under the harsher business circumstances around this release, adding two of my recent home recordings – including a solo live cover – just felt like the right combination.”

A record about persistence and the fleeting balance between hope and disillusionment, For The Romance showcases JEEN at her most honest and unguarded. “Perseverance,” she says simply, when asked about its central theme. “I’m just trying not to become too jaded or bitter in this industry. It’s a hard battle sometimes, but I’m still here.”

At the heart of the EP lies its title track – an anthemic, tongue-in-cheek reflection on resilience and the reason she continues to make music at all. “‘For The Romance’ is a reminder not to give up until you find what you’re looking for,” JEEN explains. “I wrote it at the end of my rope, trying to convince myself there’s still something worth fighting for.”

The song’s shimmering pulse and lyrical duality mirror the sentiment behind its title: “For The Romance” isn’t just a love song – it’s a tribute to the pursuit itself. “That phrase is kind of the gist of why I started making music in the first place,” she adds. “It’s about the never-ending hope there’s something more out there if you can keep looking.”

Today Coyle Girelli releases the official music video for “Out of This Town,” the title track of his newly released album written in partnership with legendary Elvis Presley songwriter Mac Davis. More than a decade in the making, the record marks Davis’ final artistic statement and a creative bond that changed the course of Girelli’s career.

The song’s origin stems from a moment Davis experienced in his hometown of Lubbock, Texas during a celebration in his honor, “Mac Davis Day.” After the event, he requested a limousine to take him to the airport — but instead, a black hearse arrived, the only available car in town. With no choice but to sit up front, Davis rode beside a 19-year-old driver who eventually pulled the car over to ask a simple but life-defining question: “How did you get out of this town?” Davis replied, “I wrote songs, worked hard, and got a little luck. That’s how I got out of this town.” The young driver shook his head and confessed, “I can’t even whistle, let alone write songs. I’m never going to get out of this town. I’m going to die in this town.”

That exchange — equal parts sobering and cinematic — would inspire “Out of This Town,” a song about ambition, desperation, and the deep longing for more.

The video mirrors that energy: stark, emotionally charged visuals that feel like a black-and-white film buzzing with neon Americana — lonely highways, empty streets, and the hope of escape flickering in the distance. Girelli’s stirring vocals serve as the narrator and vessel for Davis’ story.

Out of This Town, released via Sun Records, is a soul-stirring country-folk album featuring guest appearances from KT Tunstall, Jaime Wyatt, Cassandra Lewis, and a posthumous performance from Mac Davis himself. It’s a rare and timeless collaboration between two generations of songwriters, and Girelli’s most personal and cinematic work to date, which Billboard hailed as “extraordinary”.

Black Avalanche feels like it was designed for late hours. Not the frantic kind, but the lonely, drifting ones when the streets are empty and the city hums like an engine cooling down. One Hundred Moons has crafted an album that feels nocturnal in the purest sense. These nine tracks glow softly in the dark, full of vapor, memory, and hypnotic rhythm.

The title track sets the tone immediately. It enters quietly, more presence than song at first, like a silhouette forming slowly behind a pane of frosted glass. A soft cloud of reverb fills the frame. The rhythm is sluggish in the best possible way, moving at the pace of someone wandering without a destination. It is easy to get caught in its orbit.

Death of the Party picks up from there with more forward motion but keeps the shadows intact. There is a hazy vintage aura around the rhythm, like a faded postcard of something once glamorous. The melody feels both distant and familiar, like a memory resurfacing unexpectedly.

Ear to Ear disrupts that calm. The guitars scrape and clash, creating a maze of sound that feels slightly off-balance. It is the moment where the dream shifts from serene to strange. One Hundred Moons understands how to use discord without losing musicality. The harmonies float above the chaos like a faint guiding light.

Chairman of the Bored is one of the album’s quiet highlights. It glides rather than walks. The atmosphere is soft enough to feel fragile, as if the whole track could evaporate if you listened too closely. It sets up the emotional drop that follows in Shade of the Night. This is the album at its most vulnerable. The track sinks inward, pulling the listener into a deeper, more intimate darkness.

House of Mirrors softens the descent. The song looks backward through a softened lens, full of gentle melancholy. It feels like someone trying to make sense of a past version of themselves. There is a sense of acceptance in the tone, a slower exhale after the tension of the previous tracks.

Then comes Into Nowhere, a finale that blooms outward like a deep-space signal. The distortion folds over itself until it becomes a soft roar. It feels infinite, peaceful, and strangely reassuring, like staring at lights on the far edge of a horizon.

What makes Black Avalanche such a compelling nighttime record is how carefully it balances atmosphere and intention. The band never rushes. Every song feels hand-shaped, measured, and deliberate. The influences are clear but never dominant. You can hear My Bloody Valentine’s swirling haze, Radiohead’s emotional depth, and the drifting qualities of classic dream pop.

But the album avoids imitation. Instead, One Hundred Moons lets each track sit inside its own tiny universe. Some are comforting, others unsettling, but all feel connected by the same late-night glow. Black Avalanche is a record for people who like music that fills the room without raising its voice. It is introspective, immersive, and full of beautiful shadows.

Put it on after midnight. Let it slow your pulse. Let it guide you through the quiet.