by Jane Lambert

VIDEO VOYAGEUR: 3 Q’S WITH KEN LOVERN

When Ken Lovern set out to create Blind Boone the Musical, he wasn’t simply writing songs. He was uncovering an overlooked chapter of American history. Through an ambitious blend of jazz, theatrical storytelling and historical research, the Kansas City composer and jazz organist is bringing the remarkable life of Missouri pianist John William “Blind” Boone to a whole new generation.

The project’s latest single, “Quindaro,” shifts the focus from Boone himself to the courageous journey of his mother, Rachel, bringing together the story of the Underground Railroad, the historic free state town of Quindaro, and the events that ultimately shaped one of America’s most extraordinary musicians. Accompanied by a striking visual narrative that combines original comic book artwork, archival imagery and footage from the recording sessions, the release demonstrates the scale and vision behind Blind Boone the Musical.

We caught up with Ken to discuss the inspiration behind “Quindaro,” the symbolism woven into its music, the creative process behind the video and why preserving stories like Blind Boone’s has never been more important than now.

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

Quindaro is part of the story of Rachel Boone as told in the musical historical fantasy, “Blind Boone the Musical.”

The song’s setting is just before sunset in late Summer 1863, near Miami, Missouri in north central Missouri. A group of escaped and freed former enslaved persons, called “contrabands” by the Union Army, are heading west to Kansas in search of freedom and a better life. Their immediate goal is to reach the river port town of Quindaro on the Kansas side of the Missouri river and a known stop on the Underground Railroad. They sing to tell their story and their reasons for heading to the Free State of Kansas.

At dawn, the freedom seekers continue walking west to Quindaro. Rachel twisted her ankle the previous day, and it has swollen through the night. She is unable to walk. She will remain in central Missouri and give birth to John William Boone, who will become the prodigy and performing legend “Blind Boone.”

The cowbell beat that begins Quindaro is a standard “bell pattern” that forms the basis for much of the music of sub-Saharan Africa. The migration of this cross-rhythmic figure into the Americas introduced new rhythms to American music that did not exist in Europe. Some musicologist trace the “swing” of American blues and jazz to this pattern.

In the song Quindaro, the bell pattern remains consistent while the underlying pulse of the shaker and the bass drum alternate from a 6/8 beat to a 4/4 beat. Shifting the underlying pulse from 6/8 to 4/4 symbolizes the forced migration of the Africans to the Americas.

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

The video features art from the companion comic book, video from the recording sessions, photos, and historical maps and drawings. My goal was to tell the story of the freedom seekers along with the experience of the musicians. The viewer can see through the maps and drawings the perilous journey from the Missouri side of the river at Parkville to the Kansas side of the river at Quindaro.

What was the process of making the video?

To create the video, I drew on images from several sources. To present the story of Blind Boone the Musical in a clear and linear manner, I collaborated with Gutter Studios to develop a comic book adaptation.

While recording Quindaro, I filmed videos of the musicians performing. I interspersed those videos with the comic book images and vintage maps and drawings to visually tell the story.

The video represents the dramatic story of freedom seekers from one hundred and sixty-three years ago and the joy of musicians performing today.

Connect with Ken Lovern and Blind Boone the Musical HERE

07.03.26

by Jane Lambert

Zoey Madison’s New Single “love like you” is a Summer Slow Burn Worth Stopping For

Zoey Madison’s new single love like you doesn’t try to compete with the seasonal noise of summer playlists, and that’s why it stands out. While much of the current pop landscape leans into upbeat, sun drenched production, Madison offers us a grounded piano led ballad.

Built around a simple but expressive piano motif, the song introduces Madison’s vocal in an uncluttered space. And there is much clarity to the musical arrangement too which feels intentional from the outset. Instead of rushing into a hook or chasing a beat, love like you reveals itself in a more subtle way, allowing emotion and instrumentation to build in tandem.

Listen in here:

Producer, mixer and co-writer Matt Chiaravalle shapes love like you with a song first approach, and guides its evolution from intimate piano sketch to a sweeping, string-laden ballad without losing any of its emotion. Charlie Paxson on drums adds a subtle momentum without disrupting the song’s intimacy, while the inclusion of live strings featuring Dave Eggar on cello and Ada Pasternack on violin expands the emotional scope more.

At the centre of it all are Madison’s stunning vocals. Possessing both technical control and a natural sense of phrasing, she resists the temptation to over perform, although with her power she certainly could, but here the space and silence allows her to rise into more powerful moments. The song doesn’t require additional embellishment to prove its impact.

love like you isn’t a “summer song” in the conventional sense as there are no glossy hooks built for poolside playlists or immediate radio hooks. It does sound like the kind of track that stays outside of trends. A piano ballad rewards listeners who give it time.

There’s also a strong sense of storytelling running through the performance. The layered vocals add depth without much clutter, and reinforce the song’s central theme of connection without going into melodrama.

Recorded between Flux Studios and Mercy Sound in New York’s East Village and mastered by Joe Lambert, love like you carries a polished production finish that leans into warmth, space and dynamic movement. A reminder that simplicity when handled with care, is far more powerful than pure excess.

Zoey Madison may be an emerging name in pop, but love like you definitely suggests an artist with a clear sense of direction. She is building atmosphere, emotion and longevity into her sound and this piano ballad is ultimately more enduring.

Keep up with everything Zoey Madison on her Website

Stream music on Spotify and Apple Music

06.22.26

by Jane Lambert

VIDEO VOYAGEUR: 3 Q’s WITH MARIO MATTIA

With “Vector“, Mario Mattia continues his exploration of real time solo piano improvisation, working within an evolving framework he describes through three overlapping worlds: meditative, abstract, and freeform. Each improvisation emerges without pre-composition or predetermined structure, unfolding in the moment and revealing its identity only in retrospect.

We are particularly delighted to have Mario return for another Video Voyageur, as his work continues to evolve and deepen across both musical and visual dimensions.

“Vector” sits firmly within the abstract strand of this practice. Brief, angular and intensely focused, it traces a compressed musical trajectory shaped by tension, velocity and fragmentation. Rather than illustrating a narrative or external idea, the work exists as a direct expression of motion and energy, translated into sound as it happens.

The accompanying visual language extends this approach. It offers a non-literal environment that mirrors the piece’s instability and intensity. Together, music and image form a unified space of abstraction – one that prioritises force, texture and perception over story or explanation.

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

“Vector” belongs to the abstract area of my work. My improvisations fall into three genres: meditative, abstract and freeform.

The meditative pieces tend to be spacious, tonal, inward, and contemplative. The abstract pieces are more angular, atonal, compressed, and exploratory, often emphasizing gesture, texture, rhythm, and intensity over conventional lyricism. The freeform pieces move between worlds. They may begin in a tonal or meditative space, pass through abstraction or dissonance, and return transformed, allowing the music to determine its own structure in real time.

Although I use these three categories to help listeners orient themselves, the improvisations are never planned in advance. Each one emerges spontaneously, and the genre becomes clear only afterwards. The improvisation emerged very clearly from the abstract genre. As with all of my piano improvisations, there was no prior plan, structure, or conception. I did not sit down intending to create an atonal piece, nor did I set out to make something intense or angular. It simply emerged that way in the moment. Looking back, I suspect it reflected the particular intensity of my inner state at the time – not in a literal or programmatic sense, but as a kind of emotional pressure translated directly into sound.

Because the music moves by tension, velocity, interruption and abstraction, I wanted the visual world to reflect that same character. Rather than using imagery that would soften or explain the piece, I chose visuals that would support its non-representational quality – something closer to motion, geometry, instability, and concentrated energy.

The goal was to illustrate a story, but to create a visual counterpart to the music’s abstract force.

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

There is no storyline in the video, and I did not want to impose one on the music. “Vector” is an abstract, atonal improvisation, so the visual approach needed to remain non-literal. The inspiration was really the character of the piece itself: compressed, intense, angular, and unstable. I wanted the imagery to reflect those qualities without explaining them.

The visuals are meant to create an atmosphere

The video was assembled and edited in DaVinci Resolve. I began by searching for visual material that seemed to share something with the character of the piece itself: compressed, intense, angular, and unstable. I wanted the imagery to reflect those qualities without explaining them. The visuals are meant to create an atmosphere of abstraction and movement – something geometric, unsettled, and concentrated – rather than a narrative sequence. For me, the video functions as a visual environment for the music, not a story about it.

What was the process of making the video?

The video was assembled and edited in DaVinci Resolve. I began by searching for visual material that seemed to share something with the character of the improvisation – not literal images, but imagery that suggested abstraction, motion, tension and instability.

From there, the process became one of correlation. I tried to shape the visual flow so that it moved with the music: more active and fragmented through much of the piece, with a small amount of color to give it energy and contrast, and then somewhat calmer as the improvisation itself begins to release near the end.

I also included a brief image of myself at the piano, not as a focal point, but as context – a reminder that this is still a human, physical performance, even when the musical language is highly abstract.

The title “Vector” came afterward, as my titles always do. It seemed to reflect the underlying character of the improvisation: direction, force, motion, and a kind of concentrated trajectory.

About Mario Mattia

Mario Mattia is an improvisational pianist and graduate of the New England Conservatory whose work is rooted in spontaneity, deep listening and emotional presence. Drawing on influences ranging from Johann Sebastian Bach to Keith Jarrett and Brian Eno, his music bridges classical, jazz, progressive and ambient traditions.

Each performance is created entirely in the moment, without predetermined themes or structures. While his primary work centers on solo piano improvisation, Mattia also maintains an electronic studio practice that serves as a parallel and occasional extension of his explorations in sound.

Working from his rural studio, Mattia captures every nuance of sound, inviting listeners into immersive, contemplative spaces where music unfolds as lived experience.

Keep up with everything Mario Mattia on his Website

05.29.26

by Jane Lambert

A Song in Motion -Wayward Sparrow Finds Form in “Gravel and Broken Glass”

If there’s one thing that runs through certain strands of Americana and modern folk songwriting, it’s the sense that stories don’t always arrive in straight lines. Many of them settle into meaning slowly. “Gravel and Broken Glass,” which is the latest single from Wayward Sparrow, leans into that idea with confidence creating a song that is as much about atmosphere and suggestion as it is about traditional song structure.

Detroit-based songwriter Rich Clark continues to develop Wayward Sparrow as a fully independent project, self producing and self recording the material with a deliberately stripped back approach to the arrangements. What emerges is not an attempt to recreate a genre in its polished form so much as to engage with its origin: storytelling, space, emotion.

On “Gravel and Broken Glass,” that philosophy is immediately apparent. The song did not begin in its final form. Originally written around a different chord structure, it shifted significantly during the recording process when Clark began experimenting with a new rhythm guitar part. That change re-directed the entire track. What was once a more conventional idea gradually became something darker and more atmospheric, shaped in real time rather than imposed from the outset.

he acoustic guitar carries a steady forward motion, and a Telecaster solo enters midway through not as a climactic moment, but as a tonal shift, slightly distant and bridging sections with a sense of mood rather than spectacle.

Vocally and lyrically, the song continues Clark’s focus on imagery and implication. Rather than spelling everything out directly, the writing leans into suggestion, letting meaning form gradually through repetition and reflection. It’s a style that feels closely tied to the broader intent behind Wayward Sparrow: lyrics that reward patience where interpretation is part of the listening experience rather than something resolved immediately.

Like much of Wayward Sparrow’s work, it feels less concerned with arrival than with the actual journey, much more about capturing the moment a song decides what it wants to be.

About Wayward Sparrow

Wayward Sparrow is the independent music project of Detroit-based singer-songwriter Rich Clark. Self-recorded, self-produced, and self-funded, the project embraces sparse arrangements that put honest storytelling and atmosphere at the forefront.

With a sound centered in folk, Americana, and subtle bluegrass influences, Wayward Sparrow explores the darker, often unspoken corners of life through music that is intimate and deeply human. Clark’s work has been described as “whiskey lamentations and hymns of the hopeless.”

Follow Wayward Sparrow on Instagram

Stream music on Soundcloud and YouTube Music

05.27.26

by Jane Lambert

Animals in Denial Channels Chaos and Cultural Friction on Latest Release “We’re Dangerous”

“We’re Dangerous” arrives like a signal bleeding through from somewhere slightly off-grid. It’s too loud, too dense, too emotionally charged to behave itself in the way modern alt-rock often politely insists it should.

Animals in Denial don’t seem interested in that politeness anyway. Christian Imes builds this thing like he’s holding multiple ideas in his hands at once and refusing to drop any of them, even if they clash, even if they spark, even if they threaten to overload the system.

There’s an almost basement level urgency running through the track, the kind you used to hear when bands had something to prove and not much interest in smoothing the edges for wider consumption. Guitars are stacked and slightly unruly, not in a sloppy way, but in a way that feels human with small variations left in the mix, textures allowed to overlap instead of being neatly separated into their own lanes. It doesn’t sound “produced” so much as assembled under pressure like the song might have broken out of the room if it had been given just one more pass.

And yet, for all that abrasion, there’s something strangely controlled underneath it. The drums hold steady like a metronome refusing to be dragged into chaos. The bass sits deeper in the structure, doing its job without calling attention to itself. It’s the tension between those grounding elements and the surrounding noise that gives the track its shape. Without that discipline, it would collapse into pure distortion.

“We’re Dangerous” is a song about being misread. About generational friction. About the way language gets flattened when one group looks at another and decides it already understands them. But unlike a lot of modern “statement” tracks, it doesn’t reduce that idea into slogans or clean takes.

There’s a moment in the track where everything feels like it’s pushing slightly out of alignment with layers pressing against each other, vocals cutting through. That’s where the song really clicks.

And that’s something a lot of modern alternative music seems to have forgotten how to do. “We’re Dangerous” does the opposite. It leans into friction. It lets the rough edges stay visible. It trusts that intensity doesn’t need to be smoothed in order to be understood.

Is it chaotic? Absolutely.
Is it controlled? Just enough.
Is it necessary? That’s the real question.

Because somewhere inside all that distortion and density, there’s a clarity and the sense that this is what it sounds like when someone refuses to simplify themselves for easy interpretation.

It’s loud, it’s uncomfortable, and it doesn’t apologize for either of those things.

Keep up with Animals In Denial on the Website

Stream music on Spotify and YouTube Music

04.28.26

by Jane Lambert

Holding the Moment in A Is For Atom’s “Out of the Blue”

There’s a tendency in modern indie music to either overcomplicate or oversimplify – to dress songs up in layers of production until the meaning disappears, or strip them back so far that there’s nothing left to hold onto. The real trick, of course, is finding the balance. Out of the Blue, the latest album from A Is for Atom manages this really well.

This is not an album built on big statements. There are no obvious centrepieces demanding attention, no moments engineered to go viral or dominate playlists. Instead, Mike Cykoski has created a slow-burning collection of songs that reveal themselves over time. It’s a confident move, and one that gives the record a kind of quiet durability.

The title track, Out of the Blue captures a shift in perspective: that moment when something long familiar suddenly feels different. But it avoids cliché in favour of something more observational. There’s no rush to resolve the feeling, just an acceptance that change has already taken place.

As the album develops, it circles similar themes from different angles. “Closer” explores connection as something active, almost deliberate, rather than something that simply exists. It’s a subtle but important distinction, especially in a world where distance, emotional or otherwise, can so often feels like the default. “Love Birds” takes a softer approach, more tentative, focusing on the fragility of relationships and the space they require to survive.

Then there’s “Babylon,” which shifts the lens outward. Where much of the album feels personal, this track engages with a wider sense of instability: social, cultural and even existential. It’s one of the more expansive moments on the record and, if anything, it reinforces the idea that personal experience is always shaped by the world around it.

“Upriver” adds another layer, bringing in mythic imagery to explore ideas of love and return. It could easily have felt out of place, but instead it fits neatly into the album’s broader narrative. The references may be larger-than-life, but the emotions remain grounded: longing, responsibility and the pull of something familiar waiting at the end of the journey.

Musically, this record has indie rock as the backbone, but it’s softened by electronic textures, ambient details and a strong sense of pacing. Arrangements feel intentional but never overworked. There’s a noticeable absence of excess – no unnecessary flourishes.

This sense is also what defines the album. It trusts the listener to stay engaged, and create music that is more than lasting. These are definitely tracks built for longevity.

In the end, Out of the Blue doesn’t try to answer the questions it raises. It doesn’t tidy up the emotions it explores or force them into neat conclusions. Instead, it reflects the way things actually are as fluid, uncertain, evolving and often unresolved. It’s a record that understands you don’t always need to say more to mean more. Sometimes, saying just enough is exactly what gives a song its power.

About A Is For Atom

A Is for Atom is the Brooklyn based project of songwriter and producer Mike Cykoski, blending indie rock with subtle electronic textures and deeply personal, narrative driven songwriting.

With a background that includes studies at New York University and The Juilliard School, along with experience at Harvest Works and Dubspot, Cykoski brings together technical precision and creative instinct in equal measure.

Known for tracks like “Love Birds” and recent releases including “Enola,” “Closer,” and “Out of the Blue,” A Is For Atom has built a reputation for music that favours emotional clarity and atmosphere.

Find out more about A is For Atom on the Website