Miriam Armonie Finds The Courage To Sit With Complicated Feelings On Latest Release “You Should Know”

There is something revealing about a song written from the perspective of someone who wants to be understood but cannot quite find the words to explain themselves. It is an emotional contradiction that sits at the heart of Miriam Armonie’s “You Should Know,” a single that explores the uncomfortable territory between attraction and avoidance, vulnerability and self-preservation, and the things we want from other people versus the things we feel equipped to give them.

Emerging from New York’s creative scene, Armonie is building a musical identity around atmosphere, and a willingness to let different influences inform her songwriting. Her latest single draws on personal experience, revisiting a relationship in which someone wanted more from her than she felt able to offer.

At the time, she was focused on establishing her career and lacked the emotional maturity and experience to navigate the situation with the sensitivity it deserved. The person in question was someone she cared about deeply, which only made the decision to distance herself more difficult. Rather than risk leading him on, she chose to cut contact altogether, a decision she now recognises could have been handled differently.

That backstory gives “You Should Know” its weight. This is a song shaped by hindsight, by the realisation that protecting yourself from a situation you do not know how to manage can leave another person hurt and unanswered questions lingering long after the moment has passed. There is an important distinction here between not wanting someone and not knowing how to make room for them in your life. Armonie is interested in exploring the possibility that feelings can be genuine even when the person experiencing them is unable to act on them in a healthy or constructive way.

The song also touches on the complicated relationship between avoidance and vulnerability. Sometimes, withdrawing feels easier than explaining yourself, particularly when you are still learning how to articulate your own insecurities. The difficulty is that silence can communicate something very different from what you intended. In looking back at her own behaviour, Armonie allows herself to acknowledge the hurt she may have caused without dismissing the reasons behind her decision. It is an honest, recognisable form of reflection, and one that gives the song more nuance than a straightforward tale of missed romantic opportunity.

Musically, “You Should Know” carries the kind of soft and ambient rock landscape that is shaping Armonie’s forthcoming Blue Hour EP. The project takes its name from that fleeting period between day and night, a space that seems particularly suited to songs concerned with uncertainty, memory and emotional states. Armonie’s interest in combining genres also suggests an artist who sees sound as something to explore rather than a formula to repeat.

That curiosity is central to her approach. While Blue Hour leans towards softer, atmospheric rock, Armonie has already written material that moves into funk, groove, disco and punk. Her musical influences include Sade, Lana Del Rey, Anita Baker, Willow and Olivia Rodrigo, artists whose work demonstrates different ways of balancing a distinctive identity with an appetite for experimentation. Sade, in particular, represents an ideal for Armonie: a performer whose understated vocal delivery can convey enormous feeling without relying on theatrical excess. It is a useful reference point for an artist interested in the subtleties of emotional expression.

Beyond her own releases, Armonie is developing her work as a songwriter and producer with ambitions to create music for other artists. She is also outspoken about the importance of retaining creative control, particularly for women working in an industry where experience and authority can too easily be used to undermine their instincts. That determination to trust her own perspective is reflected in the personal nature of her writing. She is willing to revisit decisions she regrets, examine the less flattering parts of her own behaviour and consider what those experiences have taught her.

With “You Should Know,” Miriam Armonie turns an uncomfortable personal memory into an opportunity for understanding. The song’s tension lies in the gap between feeling something and knowing what to do with it, a space where good intentions can become tangled in fear, uncertainty and the inability to communicate.

As the Blue Hour project continues to take shape ahead of its 2027 release, “You Should Know” offers a compelling introduction to an artist whose songwriting is as interested in the questions we leave unanswered as it is in the emotions we find the courage to express.

Keep up with everything Miriam Armonie on her Website

Animals in Denial New Release “Damages” – Finding a Way Forward When Trust Falls Apart

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There is a kind of honesty that comes from looking back at difficult experiences without pretending they never happened, and without allowing them to define everything that follows. On “Damages,” the latest single from Animals in Denial, Christian Ines explores that difficult territory with a song that feels as much like a private reckoning as a piece of music. Intimate in its arrangement and deeply personal in its subject matter, it considers what happens when trust is broken, the foundations we have built our lives upon begin to shift, and we are left to work out what to do with the pieces.

Originally released on Millennial, “Damages” has now been revisited by Ines, who has taken the opportunity to restore vocal parts and harmonies that he had originally envisaged but could not fully realise with the recording equipment available at the time. The updated version brings the song closer to his original intentions, allowing its emotional subtleties to emerge while preserving the understated character that made the recording work in the first place.

Listen here:

Musically, the appeal lies in its simplicity. Built around a vintage Stratocaster and bass, the arrangement has an immediacy that more elaborate production might have obscured. Ines kept the very first guitar take, played on his ’50s Stratocaster using a capo and the neck pickup, trusting the instinctive quality of that initial performance rather than pursuing a technically polished alternative. The bass, played on his wife’s Rogue, brings its own character to the song and reflects a period in which he was beginning to understand the instrument as something more than a means of reinforcing the guitar.

There is no need for a conventional drum part or a towering wall of sound. Instead, the instruments occupy a space that feels almost domestic, as though the listener has arrived in a room where the song is unfolding in real time. A vinyl effect at the beginning creates the impression of tuning into a radio station just as the music starts, a small production detail that establishes the atmosphere without drawing attention away from the performance. It is an inviting introduction to a song whose emotional subject matter is considerably more complicated than its modest arrangement might initially suggest.

That contrast is central to the track’s appeal. Ines is more interested in the lasting effects of broken trust, and in the slow, often difficult process of understanding how those experiences have shaped the person he has become. The song draws on his experiences of relationships, people and institutions that have failed to live up to the trust he placed in them, including events that began early in his life and influenced how he came to understand the world around him.

Yet this is not simply a song about disappointment. Its deeper concern is what happens after the initial hurt, when the immediate crisis has passed but the consequences remain. How do you rebuild your sense of security? How do you learn to trust again without ignoring what experience has taught you? And how do you move forward when the person you become in the process is inevitably different from the person you were before?

Ines approaches these questions with a refreshing lack of sentimentality. Healing is not presented as a neat return to the way things were, nor does the song suggest that difficult experiences can simply be erased. Sometimes the pieces do not fit together as they once did. You have to find a different way of putting them together, accepting that change is part of the process rather than evidence that something has been lost forever.

The decision to revisit “Damages” also gives the song an interesting second life. Restoring the backing vocals and harmonies has allowed Ines to hear the track closer to the way he originally imagined it, but the process is about more than correcting the limitations of an earlier recording. It is also an opportunity to reconsider a deeply personal piece of work from a different point in his life. The song remains connected to the experiences that inspired it, but the perspective surrounding those experiences has evolved.

Ultimately, “Damages” is about acknowledging what has happened without surrendering the future to it. The title might suggest something broken beyond repair, but the song arrives at a more complicated and ultimately hopeful understanding. Damage can leave its mark. It can alter the way we see ourselves, the people around us and the possibilities ahead. But it does not have to determine the outcome.

Sometimes moving forwards means accepting that you will never be quite the same person again. “Damages” understands that, and finds something quietly powerful in the realisation that this need not be a bad thing.

Keep up with everything Animals In Denial on the Website

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VIDEO VOYAGEUR: 3 Q’s WITH BROOKS JOHN MARTIN

OCEAN BREATHES SALTY COVER

For Brooks John Martin, a song can begin with a guitar part and end up somewhere entirely unexpected. On his new single, “Ocean Breathes Salty“, the wave-like arpeggios of Mark Kozelek’s interpretation of the Modest Mouse original sparked an image of a windswept beach and an ash spreading ceremony, a scene that would eventually become the inspiration for the song’s accompanying video. Featuring Nashville singer-songwriter Lilly Hiatt, Martin’s version adds drums, bass and strings to create a melancholic, cinematic duet that honours the spirit of Kozelek’s arrangement.

The single offers a glimpse into the imaginative world of War All The Time, Martin’s forthcoming album and the first release to emerge from an extraordinary burst of songwriting that followed a period when he thought his musical journey might be over.

Blending the rootsy warmth of 1970s Laurel Canyon with orchestral arrangements, alternative rock and his own richly expressive baritone, Martin has created a collection shaped by musical curiosity and a gift for turning sounds into stories. We caught up with him to discuss the influence behind “Ocean Breathes Salty”, the making of its North Carolina beach video, and the creative resurgence that brought War All The Time into being.

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

The song was originally written by Modest Mouse and Mark Kozalek reimagined the song with Sun Kil Moon.  I always loved his arrangement and wanted to put my own spin on it.  I added drums, bass, strings and sung it as a duet.  I imagined the imagery of the song being on a beach at an ash spreading ceremony and the video made that a reality.

What was the inspiration behind this video? (visual, storyline, etc.)? 

The inspiration for the song imagery was the guitar arpeggios Mark Kozalek came up with.  They felt wave like to me and made me feel the sad beach vibe.  The lyrics fit the imagery perfectly.

What was the process of making this video?

I had a preproduction meeting with Scotty Felix and we had to choose California or North Carolina to shoot.  We decided on NC because it would be less crowded and I liked the dunes scenery.  We flew everyone down and filmed it in one day on Oak Island. Had some great food and met some great people.  Very nice part of the country.

Keep up with everything Brooks John Martin on his Website

VIDEO VOYAGEUR: 3 Q’s WITH RANDIE O’NEIL

Randie ONeil

There are some heartbreaks that linger long after the person who caused them has disappeared. For award-winning Americana/Folk-Pop singer-songwriter Randie O’Neil, that feeling became the inspiration behind her latest release, “Ghost of Me”, a haunting song about loss, loneliness and finding your way back to the part of yourself that can feel lost when someone walks away. Released today alongside its atmospheric new music video, the track finds Randie exploring the darker side of emotional abandonment while still holding on to the resilience that has become such a defining part of her songwriting.

The video was filmed at dusk in New Hope, Pennsylvania, a town with its own reputation for ghost stories, making it the perfect setting for a song about being haunted by someone who is no longer there. Walking through the fading light and shadows, Randie captures the searching quality of the song, while the visual echoes the emotional journey at its heart.

Randie has never been afraid to explore the experiences that shape us. Here, she talks about the personal story behind “Ghost of Me”, creating the video without her usual team, filming at dusk in one of Pennsylvania’s most atmospheric towns, and turning an experience of rejection and hurt into something hauntingly beautiful.

Tell us the story of this track. Why did you choose to visualise it specifically in this way?

I was literally ghosted on my birthday. I felt so empty and lost. You think you found someone, take that chance and they just can’t give it back.

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

I just wanted it to be haunting, searching so we waited until dusk in New Hope PA (a truly haunted town).

What was the process of making the video?

I didn’t have my usual team so I took a chance and they were great. Two videos in one day. This was the end of the day dusk shot. Tried to emote as I walked. “Shadows know your name” is an angry line that he will get what’s coming.

Keep up with Randie O’Neil on her Website

VIDEO VOYAGEUR: 3 Q’s WITH GEORGE COLLINS

There is something really infectious about a song that simply wants to make you feel good. With “Happiness Looks Good on You,” George Collins set out to do exactly that, deliberately stepping away from the more reflective and introspective territory that has characterised much of his songwriting to create a joyful, celebratory track steeped in vintage soul and Gospel influences.

Inspired by childhood memories of watching Soul Train, as well as a lifelong admiration for The Staple Singers, the song channels the warmth, optimism and irresistible spirit of classic soul. The accompanying video takes that nostalgia a step further, taking inspiration from Billy Joel’s wonderfully retro “Tell Her About It” and imagining Collins performing with a vintage soul band on a 1960’s television show.

Created in collaboration with visual artist Marta Vorontsova, the video brings together Collins’ love of classic music, his playful sense of humour and a distinctly old-school visual aesthetic. We caught up with George to talk about the inspiration behind “Happiness Looks Good on You,” the making of the video, his love of vintage soul and the process of bringing the two together.

Tell us the story of this track. Why did you choose to visualize it specifically in this way?

As I was reviewing my catalog and planning my latest album “New Ways of Getting Old,” I realized that many of my songs are reflective and introspective and that I had very few “happy” songs. This was surprising to me, as I am generally an upbeat and happy person! So I intentionally set out to write a happy song. From the outset, I knew that I wanted it to be a celebratory song with a vintage soul vibe and a Gospel choir. I used to watch the TV show “Soul Train” when I was young, and I loved the Staple Singers – I thought Pops Staples was the coolest old dude in the world! I listened to their music continuously while I was writing and recording “Happiness Looks Good on you.”

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

I am a huge fan of Billy Joel, and he, like me, is also a huge fan of vintage music – as evidenced by his wonderful retro album, “An Innocent Man.” He has a video of a track from that album, “Tell Her About It,” in which he plays a singer backed by a soul band performing on The Ed Sullivan Show in the 1960s. I love that song and the video, and I wanted to do something similar for my song.

What was the process of making the video?

I have been working with an amazing visual artist, Marta Vorontsova, for several years – she has created many of my lyric videos, and her work is absolutely first rate. (https://www.instagram.com/_imagikali_/) So I sent her the track and my basic ideas and she got to work creating the video. It was an iterative, interactive process, and after a lot of back and forth we ended up with a video we could both be proud of – and that I sincerely hope my audience will enjoy!

The Free States Let the Songs Do the Talking on “Love & Death”

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There is something to be said for music that doesn’t immediately tell you what it is. In a world of genre tags, carefully curated aesthetics and songs apparently designed to make perfect sense within the first fifteen seconds, it is rather nice to encounter an album that seems perfectly happy to wander off and see what happens. No map or flashing neon sign saying this is the important bit, just a collection of ideas allowed to develop at their own pace. And that, in a nutshell, is rather what The Free States are doing on Love & Death.

The project of American songwriter Shaun Lyons, now based in Athens, Greece, The Free States has always been difficult to squeeze into one particular musical box, and frankly, why would you want to? There are traces of rock, soul, alternative music, experimental rhythms and a healthy appreciation of melody, but attempting to reduce all of that to a convenient label would miss the point. Lyons is interested in songs first.

“Definite” is a particularly good example. Built around the wonderfully human problem of being indecisive at a crucial moment in a relationship, it moves in 7/4, which is not generally the time signature one reaches for when trying to make uncertainty sound comfortable. But it works. There is an ease here that makes the unusual rhythm feel natural, while the song itself manages to be thoughtful.

Then there is the opening track “Most of All,” apparently born at three in the morning while Lyons’s electric guitar was lying beside him with the amplifier still switched on. Which is probably proof that sometimes the best songwriting advice is simply to leave the equipment where it is and see what happens. The song has a lovely sense of longing running through it, while strings, a refrain and a guitar solo give it a little more space and help distinguish Love & Death from the more guitar driven album that came before it.

Elsewhere, “Man the Baddies” brings considerably more muscle to the proceedings. What began around thoughts of war, friends being conscripted and the complicated question of what it actually means to move forward. It is energetic, rhythmically unusual and probably the heaviest thing The Free States have recorded, but there is no neatly packaged political statement waiting at the end of it. Lyons is more interested in the uncomfortable business of making decisions, which is rather more interesting than having the songwriter hand you a conclusion and ask you to tick a box.

Lyons has talked about songwriting as something that needs to happen before consciousness starts getting in the way, and there is freedom in that approach.

There is a similar freedom in the way the album was made. Recorded largely in Athens, with drums captured in several different rooms and vocals recorded together in another, Love & Death is clearly more interested in capturing a good performance than in constructing some immaculate sonic monument. Lyons makes much of the music himself, working with trusted collaborators when required, and there is something appealingly old fashioned about that. You have an idea, you make the record, you listen to it and you decide whether it works. Revolutionary stuff apparently.

Love & Death is an album that can groove, can rock and it can become rhythmically peculiar, it can pull back and allow a melody to carry the weight and it can occassionally make you wonder where on earth Lyons is taking you before realising that you rather like the journey. The Free States have remembered that the scenic route is where the interesting stuff happens.

Listen here: