Canadian musician Keegan Powell returns with his new single “Too Hard,” a blisteringly melodic rock track that tears straight through the emotional turbulence of modern life. Blending sugary hooks with ferocious guitars, the song captures the sensation of information overload and emotional overwhelm in a rush of feeling where clarity and chaos collide.

Built on high-energy momentum and sharp melodic instincts, “Too Hard” feels like a thousand voices screaming through a Wi-Fi connection: lost, overstimulated, yet still clawing for meaning in the endless noise pouring out of all of us. The result is a track that’s immediate and cathartic, balancing exhilaration with emotional pressure.

Driven by its happy, energetic, and fiercely forward momentum, “Too Hard” sits at the intersection of alt-rock and indie-pop, continuing Powell’s knack for pairing pop-leaning melodies with raw emotional undercurrents.

Keegan Powell’s music explores the mystery of pain, the release of demons, and the idea that somehow life itself may be a kind of miracle. Beginning with the lo-fi experimental EPs Is+Was and Headspun (2019), Powell established an early sound drenched in reverb, guitar solos, and electronic drums, marked by an observational lyrical voice. His 2022 release Previous Pain expanded that emotional palette, earning his first major radio traction with five SiriusXM Radio single rotations.

Powell’s sophomore album Fear Be Gone further cemented his reputation as an artist unwilling and perhaps unable to stay in one artistic lane. That restlessness carried into 2024’s Alien Radio, a compilation of archived and unreleased material from 2016–2019. Unearthed years later, the collection stands as a companion piece to his current work: crystal-clear pop songs wrapped in quarter-life angst, showcasing some of the most exciting rock songwriting of the decade.

After touring throughout 2024, Powell launched his live project Keegan Powell and The Jetpacks, a band rooted in classic-rock eccentricity but powered by modern urgency and emotional howl. With a new record already completed for 2026, “Too Hard” signals Powell’s forward momentum as fierce, melodic, and uncompromising.

Hamilton, ON blues-rock outfit Thomas Duxbury and New Mother Nature share “Istanbul” — an energetic, riff-driven release that pairs upbeat, sun-soaked guitar work with deeply melancholic reflection. Equal parts homesick postcard and blues-rock catharsis, the track captures the ache of being split between places, people, and past lives.

“I wrote the song when I was living abroad and feeling homesick,” Duxbury explains. “Before I left for Scotland, I was standing in my driveway talking with my buddy Bruce – who plays keys on this track/bass with us live – and we chatted about potentially doing a trip to Istanbul while I was in Europe. That’s where the line I’m leaving but my heart’s still full, I can’t wait to see you in Istanbul came from. Fast forward about a month – I’m sitting in my dorm room with my guitar, playing what eventually became the riff for this song. I’m writing some words about being alone, feeling away from home… but I can’t find a chorus. Then that memory of the driveway comes to me and I think, ‘that’s the line.’”

The trip never happened – at least not yet – but the emotional imprint stuck. “Once I got over being homesick, I really loved my time in Scotland,” Duxbury adds. “There is no winning when it comes to feeling like your heart is in two places at once. ‘Istanbul’ is about that feeling of wanting to be somewhere you cannot be right now – even if where you are currently is full of magic.”

The track is full of lived-in detail, including a moment during the solo where every part snaps together in a way the band didn’t plan but couldn’t let go of. There’s also one especially meaningful element. “At the end of the song, my guitar slipped into this unique feedback loop that sounded exactly like my cat meowing,” Duxbury recalls. “He had passed away maybe three days prior. It sounded so eerily similar that I kept it in. I like to think that was Woodstock’s little feature on this track.”

Lyrically bittersweet but musically bright, “Istanbul” channels the rawness of Duxbury’s writing process – a space where travel, depression, grief, longing, and gratitude collide. “A lot of my songs are just me trying to process my battle with depression,” he says. “I feel deeply for people. I miss my friends and family whether they’re far away, busy, or gone. The love is still there. We just have to make the most of the time we have and be grateful. It’s like that bittersweet feeling of neither here nor there.”

With its blend of driving blues, rock grit, and emotional undercurrents, “Istanbul” delivers the band’s signature mix of swagger and vulnerability – a bright, melodic tune carrying a heavy, human heart.

Justin Hicks makes music that doesn’t rush to explain itself. There’s a measured confidence in his work, a sense that each song knows exactly how much space it needs and refuses anything extra. His voice is the anchor: supple, searching, and quietly commanding, capable of holding fragility and resolve at the same time. Rather than chasing genre or trend, Hicks shapes songs that feel lived in—personal without being closed off, expansive without becoming abstract for abstraction’s sake. His work traces what it means to move through the world as a Black man in America, not by declaration, but by accumulation: mood, memory, texture, breath.

That sensibility is especially present on “Oh!,” the second single from his forthcoming debut album Man of Style, due February 20 in recognition of Black History Month. The track pairs Hicks with his wife, Tony-nominated actor and singer Kenita Miller-Hicks, and their voices intertwine with striking intimacy. They don’t perform at each other so much as alongside one another, blending into a shared emotional register that feels unguarded and slow-burning. Miller-Hicks brings a richness and agility to the song that evokes classic soul vocalists without imitation, grounding the track in warmth and depth.

Musically, “Oh!” moves with an understated momentum. Jake Sherman’s Fender Rhodes glows gently at the center, while synth tones flicker like light passing through water. The arrangement resists traditional ballad structure, favoring repetition and restraint over climactic release. It’s a song that leans inward, built for closeness rather than spectacle. Even its most urgent lyric—“I’m so tired but I gotta go faster”—lands not as a cry, but as a shared confession, whispered rather than announced.

Across Man of Style, Hicks treats singing as a form of inquiry. His songs don’t arrive with answers neatly packaged; they linger, hover, and leave space for reflection. Recorded largely over two days in Long Island City and produced with longtime collaborators Meshell Ndegeocello and Chris Bruce, the album feels intimate without being insular. It documents a voice testing its edges—emotionally, sonically, spiritually—and discovering what can live there. Folk, R&B, experimental textures, and noise-adjacent moments all surface, but none dominate. Each track stands on its own, functioning less like a genre exercise and more like a letter or meditation.

The album’s title gestures toward multiplicity rather than surface polish. Man of Style isn’t about aesthetics alone; it’s about holding contradictions. Hicks draws from a lineage of narrative-driven songwriters—artists who blurred the line between confession and performance—while remaining firmly himself. You can hear echoes of classic soul and singer-songwriter traditions, but also the influence of contemporary artists who let form follow feeling. The result is music that doesn’t demand your attention so much as earn it over time.

Hicks’ background informs this approach. Raised in the Midwest by creatively inclined parents—a pastor with visual art ambitions and an educator who sang folk and gospel—music was less a profession than a practice, something embedded in daily life. That ethos carries through his work now. He treats songs as acts of care, aware of their limitations but committed to their potential to comfort, challenge, and connect.

Beyond his solo work, Hicks has built a wide-ranging collaborative life, contributing as a composer, vocalist, and sound artist across disciplines. His collaborations span visual art, theater, experimental opera, and concert performance, including Grammy-winning projects with Meshell Ndegeocello. Yet for all his interdisciplinary reach, songwriting remains his most direct mode of communication—a place where his instincts for clarity, tension, and emotional honesty come into sharp focus.

What ultimately sets Justin Hicks apart is his refusal to perform urgency. His music unfolds patiently, trusting the listener to meet it where it is. There’s no excess, no rush toward resolution. Instead, Man of Style offers something rarer: songs that stay with you, music that doesn’t perform for you but lives alongside you. It’s a body of work that understands intimacy as something built slowly—and believes that’s more than enough.

Veteran singer-songwriter Tony Saint Tone is kicking off 2026 with a burst of energy and optimism in his new single, “The Shift (Into the Light),” out now on all streaming platforms. Equal parts funky, soulful, and danceable, the track is a celebration of release, renewal, and embracing whatever comes next.

From the first note, the song radiates forward motion. A grooving bassline, bright guitar riffs, and a rhythm that practically insists on movement set the stage for a message of transformation and hope. Saint Tone’s lyrics encourage listeners to shed past burdens and step confidently into new chapters—a sentiment that feels especially resonant as the new year begins.

Musically, “The Shift (Into the Light)” bridges generations and styles. Saint Tone draws on the elastic funk of Prince, the soulful swagger of Lenny Kravitz, and the modern pop-rock polish of Maroon 5, creating a sound that’s both familiar and fresh. The chorus—simple yet expansive—lands like an affirmation:

“We’re going through a shift, a lift, a magical time / Out with the old and into the light.”

It’s a reminder that embracing change doesn’t mean ignoring challenges—it’s about moving forward anyway, with intention and joy.

With more than 40 years of performing experience and over 7,000 live shows, Tony Saint Tone has a track record of connecting with audiences. He’s shared stages with Foreigner, Jefferson Starship, Kansas, Blues Traveler, and Travis Tritt, while his music has appeared in films, on MTV, and earned multiple songwriting accolades.

Beyond music, Saint Tone’s Spirit of Music Foundation brings live music to underserved communities, blending art with purpose. That mission echoes in “The Shift (Into the Light),” giving the track heart and a deeper meaning beyond its infectious groove.

“The Shift (Into the Light)” isn’t just a song—it’s a call to embrace transformation with energy, optimism, and a sense of fun. Sometimes, change doesn’t have to feel heavy. Sometimes, it sounds like a groove, feels like a lift, and looks like stepping into the light.

 Garrett Anthony Rice has been quietly carving out a place for himself among songwriters who treat rock tradition as something living rather than nostalgic. His latest double single, “In the Night Time We Shone” and “Purple Man (For Jimi),” feels like a small but meaningful signal that he knows exactly where he comes from and where he wants to go.

“In the Night Time We Shone” arrives in a low glow. It leans into the atmosphere first, built on dark contours and a sense of movement that never forces itself into sharp focus. The chorus opens its arms a bit more, without losing the pulse underneath. When the outro starts to melt into subtle rhythmic experiments, the track has already gotten into this hypnotic pacing that is more like the afterimage of a moment than a remembered one. It’s low key in a manner which indicates the presence of confidence instead of caution. 

“Purple Man (For Jimi),” its companion, stands in conversation with the lineage Garrett draws from. The Hendrix shout out is evident in the title, but the track cleverly avoids the typical pitfalls of homage. Rather than imitation, he is at a place of deep musical communication, thoroughly absorbing the style and feel without attempting to make an exact copy of them. The cycling riff that anchors the song keeps everything locked into a steady forward push. There’s a hint of a softened Foo Fighters energy in the way it carries itself, roughened edges, but smoothed by reflection. It’s a tribute filtered through his own sensibilities, not a reenactment.

Lined up, these two pieces together seem to be a brief glimpse of Equinox, the daring double LP Garrett has been crafting with such meticulousness as to indicate that he is indeed setting up a long play. The work here isn’t flashy. It’s deliberate. It’s rooted. And it’s the kind of writing that tends to reveal an artist who is about to crest into broader recognition, someone aware of rock’s forefathers but unwilling to drown in their shadows.