by Jane Lambert

VIDEO VOYAGEUR: 3 Q’s WITH SCARLET AYLIZ

Every artist has that one song that refuses to be left behind. For rising rock artist Scarlet Ayliz, that song is “Say I.”

Originally written when she was just seventeen during an impromptu basement jam session, the song lay dormant for years before being rediscovered and transformed into the powerful alt-rock statement it is today. Drawing inspiration from 90’s grunge, classic rock, and the trials and tribulations of growing up, “Say I” captures the raw emotions of youth while showing an artist determined to carve out a sound entirely her own.

With an accompanying music video created alongside Ikon Media, vibrant visuals, and a renewed sense of artistic purpose, Scarlet Ayliz is entering an exciting new chapter in her musical journey. We caught up with her to discuss the origins of the song, the creative process behind the video, her influences and why “Say I” represents far more than just another single release.

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

My new song ‘Say I’ was written by me when I was seventeen. I had gone through multiple bands, and the pandemic hit shortly after. The band I was with was having a jam session in my basement, so I took control of what I heard, shot out a few directions, and sang a bunch of nonsense until something started to hit me. I had just wanted to rant about how crappy life had been recently with regards to growing up, having crushes on douchebags, and being scared of falling back into the loop of fake friends, and unrequited feelings.

The initial recording was a voice memo of me and my old band having a jam session, I had liked what they were fooling around with and decided to give them some directions in hopes they’d like what I came up with to give the song more structure. The demo came out great, but after we split I completely forgot about it until I was looking through my files and began to listen to it again. I presented the recording to my executive producer, and we redid the track with all new instruments and a clean final mix. We switched up some of the format, but the heart of the song remains the same.

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

I was heavily inspired by 90’s grunge and 2000’s “dad rock” for the sound. My band and I at the time played mostly covers that leaned into a classic rock genre, but decided to shift gears once I started presenting more songs to them to learn. I wanted to fuse genres and make my own rock sound. Say I marks the end of fitting a mould, and the beginning of putting together my own unique sound.

What was the process of making the video?

For my new MV, Say I, I partnered with Ikon Media to bring to life a fun summer-esque vibe, that has a bit of edge to it—the bright colors and rocker edge are meant to paint a picture of moving forward into brighter days, while remembering how tough the past was in certain aspects.

Keep up with Scarlet Ayliz on her Website

06.03.26

by Jane Lambert

Ammar Farooki’s “Twelve” – An Album for Those Still Searching

Some albums are collections of songs. Others feel more like conversations. Ammar Farooki’s Twelve falls firmly into the latter camp, and it’s an album less interested in telling listeners what to think and more concerned with asking the sort of questions that tend to continue long after the music has been heard.

Written and recorded between Brooklyn and beyond, Twelve finds Farooki wrestling with themes of identity, loss, love, spirituality as well as personal transformation. That might sound heavy – and, at times, it is – but this is not an album that disappears into its own philosophy. Instead, it uses those bigger ideas as fuel for songs that remain remarkably human and relatable. Whether reflecting on the uncertainty of leaving behind a stable corporate career to pursue music or exploring the ways people search for meaning in an increasingly chaotic world, Farooki approaches every song with honesty rather than certainty.

Musically, the album occupies a fascinating space between indie rock energy and singer songwriter intimacy. There are moments that soar, moments that simmer, and moments that seem content to simply sit with difficult emotions. Tracks such as “Wanderer” embody the album’s central theme of growth through self-discovery, using driving guitars, keys and an uplifting sense of momentum to capture the experience of shedding old identities and stepping into the unknown. Throughout the record, the arrangements serve the songs rather than the other way around, which is a surprisingly rare quality these days.

Farooki says about The Wanderer “The song is really about me growing as an individual, as an artist, and leaving everything I knew to be comfortable and familiar behind to pursue the dream of being an independent musician in NYC. This song as well as all the other tracks were composed, recorded and produced by myself, Diane Desobeau and Sarmad Ghafoor.“

What makes Twelve particularly compelling is that it never feels confined by geography or cultural labels. Farooki’s story may stretch from Lahore to New York City, but the questions he asks belong to everyone. Themes of belonging, purpose, heartbreak, and reinvention are presented not through the lens of nationality, but through shared human experience.

There is also a poignant emotional thread running through the album. Twelve is dedicated to the memory of Farhad Humayun, the legendary Pakistani musician, composer, and producer who inspired Farooki to pursue music more seriously and whose passing in 2021 left a lasting impact. That sense of loss and artistic purpose quietly informs much of the record, giving it an emotional depth.

Perhaps most impressive is the fact that Twelve was entirely self-funded and self-produced. In an era when artists are often encouraged to chase trends, Farooki has done the opposite, creating a body of work that feels uncompromisingly his own. The successful Kickstarter campaign behind the album, recognized as a “Project We Love”, suggests that listeners are responding to that authenticity.

What Twelve ultimately offers is something increasingly valuable – space to reflect. It invites listeners to sit with uncertainty, embrace complexity, and perhaps discover something about themselves along the way. Music that challenges, comforts and connects in equal measure is a rare thing. Ammar Farooki has managed to make an album full of it.

About Ammar Farooki

Ammar Farooki is a Brooklyn based singer-songwriter originally from Lahore, Pakistan. His music brings together the musical traditions of indie rock, folk, and introspective songwriting. After gaining recognition in Pakistan’s independent music scene, Farooki released his debut EP Songs From the Cave in 2019, earning coverage from Rolling Stone India, Forbes, as well as other international publications.

Later that year, he relocated to New York City on an artist visa and has since become a regular presence on the city’s live music circuit, performing at venues including The Bitter End, Rockwood Music Hall, Pianos, and the American Folk Art Museum.

While his journey spans continents, Farooki’s music is rooted in universal human experiences, creating songs that transcend borders and cultural labels. His recent album Twelve, is his most ambitious work to date. It’s an entirely self produced collection exploring philosophy, spirituality and the search for meaning in an increasingly complex world.

Keep up with all things Ammar Farooki 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

05.22.26

by Jane Lambert

VIDEO VOYAGEUR: 3 Q’s WITH MARIO MATTIA

Improvisational pianist Mario Mattia continues to develop a deeply personal and exploratory musical language that exists somewhere between contemporary classical music, jazz improvisation and spontaneous composition. Rather than approaching improvisation as display or variation, Mattia treats it as a form of real-time architecture, shaping long form musical ideas through instinct, harmonic intuition, rhythm and emotional atmosphere.

His recent work has increasingly focused on the relationship between sound, abstraction, visual identity and spontaneous creation. With works such as Origin, Invention, The Unfolding Field, and now Abstract Boogie revealing different dimensions of his improvisational world.

In this exclusive feature, Mattia discusses the creation of Abstract Boogie, the tension between rhythmic propulsion and abstraction within the performance, and the visual language he has developed around his improvisational practice, including the symbolic Möbius imagery that connects his various musical forms.

The result is an artistic approach that is completely unique: grounded in the spontaneity of performance whilst also reaching towards something more immersive and deeply personal.

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

Abstract Boogie began spontaneously in my studio. It was not a preconceived composition, nor was it something I had planned in advance. I was recording in the moment, and the piece emerged from a chromatic, boogie-derived left-hand pattern that immediately took on a strong physical momentum. From there, the improvisation developed naturally, with the right hand moving in a more abstract, technically active direction above that driving foundation.

What interested me was the tension between that insistent left-hand engine and the more abstract, technically active right hand that emerged above it. It is not traditional boogie-woogie, but rather an improvisation that uses the rhythmic drive of boogie as a foundation for something freer, more chromatic, and more contemporary.

The visuals were chosen to reflect that intensity – the motion, pressure, and forward propulsion of the improvisation. The occasional glimpse of me at the piano is there to remind the viewer that this is a real-time performance, not something assembled or constructed afterward. I wanted the video to feel immersive, energetic, and slightly unstable, much like the music itself.

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

The inspiration was less about creating a literal storyline and more about finding visuals that could reflect the internal energy of the improvisation. Abstract Boogie has a restless, driving quality – the left hand keeps pushing forward while the right hand moves in a more angular and unpredictable way – so I wanted the video to feel active, intense, and somewhat abstract.

The imagery is meant to mirror that sense of propulsion and tension rather than explain the music in a narrative way. I was drawn to visuals that had movement, contrast, and a slightly unstable quality, because that seemed closest to what the improvisation itself was doing. The occasional image of me at the piano gives the viewer a human point of reference and reinforces that this was a spontaneous, real-time performance.

What was the process of making the video?

The process began with searching for visual material that felt compatible with the intensity and motion of the improvisation. Because Abstract Boogie has such a strong physical drive, I wanted imagery that had energy, abstraction, and a sense of forward movement rather than anything too literal or decorative.

From there, I incorporated my abstract Möbius image, one of three Möbius images I use as visual signatures for the different improvisational areas I work in: meditative (blue), abstract (magenta), and freeform (green blend). Each image has its own distinct color identity, corresponding to the character of that particular genre. The meditative works tend to suggest stillness, depth, and inward motion; the abstract pieces are more angular, chromatic, and unstable; and the freeform improvisations are the most open-ended and exploratory. For Abstract Boogie, I used the abstract Möbius image because its color and visual character represents the intensity, tension, and unpredictability of the performance. The occasional images of me at the piano serve as a reminder that, beneath the abstraction, this is still a spontaneous real-time performance by a single musician responding in the moment.

I assembled and refined the video in DaVinci Resolve, working with the pacing, transitions, placement of images, and overall visual atmosphere until it felt aligned with the music. The goal was not to create a conventional storyline, but to build a visual environment that followed the momentum, intensity, and unpredictability of the performance.

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

05.08.26

by Jane Lambert

Where Folk Meets Jazz and Memory in Bruce Rosenblum’s New Album “Never Too Late”

Some albums announce themselves loudly, demanding attention from the opening seconds with oversized hooks or layers of production designed to overwhelm the listener. Bruce Rosenblum’s new album Never Too Late takes a very different path.

This latest release draws the listener in through atmosphere, detail and a quietly confident sense of his craft. It is less like a performance looking for an applause and more of an invitation into a carefully shaped musical world.

The album sits within the broad singer songwriter tradition, but Rosenblum doesn’t treat genre as a fixed destination. Folk is the framework here certainly, yet these songs continually allow for other influences to surface naturally. Jazz phrasing winds through the melodies, classical textures deepen the emotions and country folk touches add warmth and movement. Rather than sounding stylistically scattered, the album feels unified by curiosity and by Rosenblum’s willingness to follow wherever each song naturally takes us.

“My Way Home” opens the record with an easy charm that immediately establishes the album’s tone. Written during the isolation of the COVID lockdown, the song explores the paralysis that can come from overthinking life and avoiding difficult choices. Rosenblum delivers it with wit and lightness, and allows the humor in the lyrics to soften the edges of the message. Musically, the New Orleans inflected groove gives the song a relaxed momentum, while clarinet lines drift through the arrangement with a playful energy that keeps everything in motion.

Elsewhere, “Undertow” reveals a more introspective side of the album. Inspired by long walks on nearly empty Cape Cod beaches during the pandemic, the song turns the ocean’s unseen currents into a metaphor for the emotional forces that quietly shape our lives. The arrangement mirrors that feeling beautifully, unfolding with patience and space. Lori Laitman’s flute performance adds an especially haunting quality, floating above the track in a way that feels almost cinematic.

“Tumbling Down” shifts gears again, leaning into a more direct folk-rock energy rooted in social commentary. Echoes of the protest songwriting tradition are certainly present, but the song avoids sounding trapped in nostalgia. Organ and piano textures bring freshness and urgency, helping the track feel connected to the present moment rather than simply reflecting on the past. It’s one of several moments on the album where Rosenblum successfully bridges classic influences with contemporary concerns.

And then there are the quieter pieces, particularly “In Our Garden,” which may be among the album’s most affecting songs. Built around intricate fingerpicked guitar and supported by Rosenblum’s own string trio arrangement, the track reflects on long term love with warmth and maturity. Rather than relying on dramatic declarations, it finds emotional power in small details and genuine feeling.

One of the album’s greatest achievements is the way it balances sophistication with accessibility. Rosenblum’s background in classical music and his wide ranging musical interests are evident throughout, but the songs are not overly produced. Everything is very much rooted in melody, mood and storytelling. Even when arrangements become more layered, the focus stays firmly on emotional connection.

For all its stylistic range, Never Too Late remains remarkably cohesive because every song carries the same thoughtful voice behind it. This is an album shaped by experience, yes, but also by renewed creative energy.

Rosenblum may have returned to songwriting later than some artists, but there is nothing hesitant about the music here. If anything, Never Too Late sounds like the work of someone fully settled into his artistic identity and is making music not to chase trends or expectations, but because the songs still have something meaningful to say.

Connect with Bruce Rosenblum on his Website

Stream music on Spotify and Apple Music