There is something endlessly fascinating about Los Angeles. Beyond its palm-lined boulevards, glittering neighborhoods, and celebrated entertainment industry lies a mythology that has shaped American popular culture for generations. It is a place where dreams are manufactured, personalities are reinvented, and appearances frequently carry as much significance as reality. On his latest single, “She’s So LA,” Denver-based singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist ARGYRO, the musical identity of Scott Argiro, explores this cultural fascination through the lens of romantic attraction.

The result is an engaging, thoughtfully constructed pop-rock recording that demonstrates Argiro’s understanding of both musical craftsmanship and the complexities of human perception.

At its heart, “She’s So LA” is a character study. The woman who inspires the song represents more than an attractive romantic interest. She embodies the confidence, glamour, sophistication, and carefully cultivated mystique associated with Southern California. Her personality becomes inseparable from the city itself, creating an intriguing relationship between geographical identity and individual character.

It is a clever premise, particularly because Argiro avoids turning the subject into a simplistic criticism of superficiality. Instead, he recognizes that attraction often involves a complicated mixture of genuine admiration and personal projection. We are drawn not only to who people are, but also to what we imagine they represent.

Musically, the single embraces the accessible traditions of melodic pop-rock while maintaining a distinctive artistic personality. Argiro demonstrates an appreciation for strong song structure, memorable melodic ideas, and arrangements that complement rather than compete with the central narrative.

His considerable instrumental versatility is especially noteworthy. Written and recorded in Denver, “She’s So LA” features Argiro performing all studio instruments and vocals except lead and rhythm guitars, contributed by Damon Wood.

Wood’s guitar work adds an important dimension to the recording, introducing a complementary rock sensibility that reinforces the song’s musical identity. The interplay between Argiro’s instrumental foundation and Wood’s contributions creates a cohesive presentation in which the individual elements serve a common artistic purpose.

The mixing and mastering, completed by Denver’s Jesse O’Brien, further support this approach. The production favors clarity and balance, allowing the melodic character of the recording to remain prominent.

Yet the significance of “She’s So LA” extends beyond its musical construction.

The song belongs to ARGYRO’s broader Glitterati project, which explores fame, personal identity, romantic idealization, and the increasingly complicated relationship between authenticity and public image. Within that context, “She’s So LA” offers a particularly accessible examination of how cultural expectations influence personal relationships.

In contemporary society, individuals frequently construct carefully edited versions of themselves for public consumption. Social media has expanded the influence of celebrity culture into everyday life, encouraging people to present their experiences through images, narratives, and manufactured impressions.

Argiro’s central character exists comfortably within this environment. She represents a recognizable cultural ideal, but the song also suggests the emotional uncertainty that can accompany fascination with appearances.

That underlying tension gives the recording its substance.

Argiro’s background as an actor contributes another important element to his songwriting. He approaches music with a cinematic imagination, developing characters and situations that feel visually recognizable. His songs frequently suggest larger narratives beyond their immediate lyrical content.

The accompanying music video, directed by Denver filmmaker Elgin Cahill, reinforces this connection between musical expression and visual storytelling.

There is also an appealing irony in the song’s origins. Although its inspiration comes from Los Angeles, “She’s So LA” was created in Colorado. That geographical separation perhaps allows Argiro to approach California’s mythology with a combination of admiration, curiosity, and perspective.

Ultimately, the single succeeds because it balances its cultural observations with the fundamental pleasures of melodic songwriting. It does not attempt to provide definitive answers about authenticity, romance, or the nature of celebrity. Instead, it acknowledges that human attraction is rarely governed by logic alone.

We respond to appearances, personalities, possibilities, and the stories we construct around other people. Sometimes those stories reveal as much about ourselves as they do about their subjects.

ARGYRO’s “She’s So LA” captures that universal experience with intelligence, musical confidence, and an engaging sense of romantic possibility. Beneath its California-inspired imagery lies a thoughtful observation about the human tendency to fall in love with an ideal—and the enduring power of music to make that ideal feel real.

• Before we dive into the anniversary edition — for anyone discovering your work for the first time through this release, how did you first come to music, and what drew you specifically toward progressive rock, jazz fusion, and instrumental composition as your creative home?

The piano was there almost from the beginning. My older brother took lessons, would practice, get frustrated and walk away, and I would sit down and play by ear what he had just been struggling with. This would make him very angry. I still play what I hear, whether it comes from inside or outside my head. Later I was drawn to the way progressive rock and jazz fusion moved beyond the standard song “verse-chorus-verse” form. Yes, Genesis, ELP, the Moody Blues, Jethro Tull and Frank Zappa were part of that path, along with Chick Corea, Jean-Luc Ponty and Herbie Hancock. For me, instrumental music can tell a story in the same way classical music does. Those influences were eventually absorbed and translated through the piano and through the way I hear music.

• “Fuel For The Fire” began in 1984 in a basement studio in Brooklyn Center, Minnesota — reel-to-reel tape machines, synthesizers, instinct, and whatever equipment you could afford. What was the original vision for that record, and what did making music feel like in an era before the internet, streaming, or tutorials existed to guide you?

I was learning and doing at the same time. I was on a tight budget, but I wanted the freedom to do it myself, so I gathered what I needed and kept moving forward. The basement of that duplex became my cockpit of creativity. Many of the melodies had been with me on the piano for years. I would work out the song there, then assign instrument sounds to the parts that brought out its intent. The desire to get the music out was the fire that drove the realization. There was no internet, Spotify, YouTube or instant distribution, and no easy way to learn how someone else had done something. I read books and magazines, talked to people, went to the library, and learned by doing. When you’re making music that isn’t “mainstream,” it can be concerning. The synth sounds, mixing guidance, and “tips” were based on the popular trends of the time. Van Halen released “Jump,” and suddenly all the synths sound like Oberheim OB-Xa… that kind of thing.

• You’ve said that for a long time you avoided revisiting this album — that the music no longer matched what you heard in your head and you needed to move forward. What finally shifted, and what was the moment you understood that returning to “Fuel For The Fire” was about realization rather than nostalgia?

As time went on, I kept hearing other versions of these songs in my head—spots that needed guitar, drums, more emphasis here, clearer direction there. Eventually the desire to make those versions real compelled me to move forward, and I realized that I had to bring the new versions out.

It wasn’t nostalgia or even rediscovery; I have known this music for a very long time. It was fun. I had the opportunity to open the recordings up and give the songs more room to say what they wanted to say now. I heard my younger self bringing a concept to life with what he had at the time. I heard potential. It stayed potential until I looked closely again, and then the potential became realized.

When I started experimenting with AI stemming technology, I realized I could reverse-engineer the songs and split out the tracks—mostly. Since the master tapes were no longer usable, that gave me a path to dive deeply into what I did forty years ago, refresh, re-record and remix the tracks. I saw a way to combine what existed with new ideas and sounds, and truly “work with my younger self” to bring this to life.

• The phrase that changed everything for you was: “You’ll receive more when you realize what you’ve already been given.” Where did that thought come from — and how did it reshape not just your approach to this album but your relationship with your own creative past?

I wrote that phrase in my journal sometime after the original album release, while I was accumulating piano improvisation recordings over the years: “You’ll receive more when you realize what you’ve already been given.”

I believe it came from what I think of as my higher self—the “still voice” I hear that gives me direction. That idea was important enough to me that the original album was released on Still Voice Records.

Returning to Fuel For The Fire made the phrase feel much more literal. My younger self had already given me the songs, the story and the original fire. Coming back to the music and, in a sense, working with that younger self filled me with gratitude. I could hear how far I had come in learning and growing, while also recognizing that I was still essentially the same person in my desire to make music.

The project became part of a cycle that doesn’t really end. I am my younger self, and I am who I am now. It is all one thing. A lot of old melodies and little musical ideas I recorded over the years are still finding their way into new work, which feels like another expression of that same “higher self” direction.

• The 40th Anniversary Edition weaves original 1984 recordings throughout the new versions — old tracks shadowing new performances, original atmospheres blending with modern textures. What did it feel like to hear those isolated tracks from forty years ago for the first time in decades — and were there moments where the younger version of you surprised you?

I have known this music for a long time, so it didn’t feel like rediscovering it. What was new was being able to isolate each part in a way I had not been able to since the original recordings. Every little artifact was exposed. I was surprised that some of the most useful and distinctive elements were the background synth landscape. I was able to reconstruct the piano part enough to be able to play a new track. It was a cringe moment hearing how bad the drum machine could sound, and none of it survived into the new version, even though it somehow worked at the time. There were also random synth squeaks, swoops and falls that I probably would not think to make now. They are completely unique to those songs, and I am glad the younger version of me put them there.

• You used modern AI stemming tools, vinyl transfers, and MIDI conversion alongside live drums, guitar, and new orchestration to rebuild these recordings. As someone who has now navigated both analog and digital eras of music-making, how do you think about the role of technology as a creative tool — and where do you draw the line between using it and letting it take over?

Technology made this project possible. The master tapes were no longer usable, and stemming software allowed me to separate the songs and preserve parts of the original while rebuilding around them. But the tools did not decide the direction.

I imagined a production slider, from simply remastering the original to rerecording everything, and what moved that slider was what I kept hearing in my head. There needed to be real drums, guitar, bass and new piano, while the original synth landscape remained essential.

I’ve used technology such as digital audio workstations and virtual instruments for many years. It is much easier to make music now, but I draw a hard line at technology actually composing the music for me. A tool can help reveal, separate, clean up, organize or realize an idea, but the musical intention has to come from me. If the technology becomes the source of the creative decision, then I’m no longer sure what my role is.

I rarely use programmed rhythms beyond sketching ideas or very small patterns. Even with AI, I’m comfortable using it as a tool, but not as the thing that creates the music. That may sound old-fashioned, but that’s where the line is for me.

• Your son Marcus contributed guitar parts to music originally created before he was born. What did it mean to bring him into this particular project — and what did his presence add to the music and to the story the album tells?

I kept hearing that some of the music needed guitar. As soon as I knew this version of the album was going to be realized, I knew I wanted Marcus to play on it. He came over and recorded his parts into my DAW setup, and his guitar became part of expanding the original palette and bringing the music closer to the fuller expression I had been hearing.

There is a definite sense of time passing when I zoom out on the whole process. I was younger than Marcus is now when I made the original version of the album. His presence on it becomes a musical statement of continuation. He is riding in the never-ending torus, and his PRS guitar is now fused into the cycle.

We’ve gone to many prog-metal concerts together, so there is a shared musical language there. His sound was just what the music needed.

• The album follows a thematic arc through awakening, longing, decision, challenge, gratitude, and release — and you’ve noted that these same themes run through much of your later work including “CreateBecome”. Looking back across your full catalogue now, do you see a single continuous story unfolding — and if so, what chapter does “Fuel For The Fire” represent?

I see one continuous journey. There is always the seeking aspect. Seeking to fulfill core desire is the basis of passion for music, and everything else. The songs all tell an intertwined story that relates across albums. “Fuel For The Fire”, “Small Acts”, “CreateBecome,” and even “Passion No Distraction” share an arc and a kind of DNA. It is the arc of creating and becoming, discovery, desire, choice, transformation and realization, with the piano at the core. Fuel For The Fire is an early chapter in that same story—the original signal and fire brought into sharper focus now. It is all one thing.

• The album closes with “Consumed” — which you describe as carrying enough compositional mystique to warrant many re-listens, and possibly the opus of the entire release. Without giving too much away, what makes that track the right way to end this particular journey?

Those words actually came from Rock Era, which I appreciated. For me, “Consumed” became the right ending when I added the organ, guitar and Jake’s drums. It moved from something more dirge-like into the forceful resolution I had always wanted it to be. It resolves the album’s journey without closing the larger story.

The organ sound was deliberately reaching toward that old Procol Harum kind of atmosphere, so I was especially pleased when Randy Radic at V13 heard that connection in his review. A jazz arrangement of the song later returned in The Show as “Finale Consumato.”

The album ends with the cracking of fire. To me, it is a call to give everything you have, don’t leave anything on the table, and do what needs to be done. It’s not an ending, just a consummation.

• The release is designed as a fully immersive vinyl-centered art object — combining music, visual symbolism, typography, storytelling, and philosophical reflection into one cohesive experience. In an era of playlists, shuffle, and fractured listening, what does it mean to you to insist on the album as a complete, intentional object?

I wanted to re-create the feeling of a new album. It is all of those pieces creating one musical feeling. The cover art helps tell the story and set the mood. Artwork, images and messages all support the music and, hopefully, amplify the feelings the music brings out.

I’ve also learned over the years that you should listen to an album more than once to really hear and feel it. The experience I had as a teenager—bringing vinyl albums home from the record store, sitting in my dad’s comfy chair, and listening to the whole album while looking at the cover art and inserts—is ingrained in me. Other than hearing individual songs on pop radio, that was how I discovered new music.

The best albums told a story with distinct parts, ups and downs, like riding a roller coaster without knowing what was coming next. These pieces follow an arc of emergence, discovery, decision, seeking, transformation and realization, so the larger journey matters alongside the individual performances. I hope someone encounters it as something different enough to come back and listen again.

• You’ve been praised by Ink19, JazzCorner, Big Takeover, and Headstuff for compositions that are cinematic, passionate, and emotionally charged. Yet you’ve always worked independently and outside the mainstream. What has that path of creative autonomy cost you — and what has it given you that a more conventional route couldn’t have?

I wanted the freedom to do it myself, and that freedom let me keep moving forward and actually bring the music out. The cost was reach and, early on, limited access to learning from others. There was a great deal I did not understand about distribution and marketing, and very little happened after the original release. But at the time I was mostly happy that I had made the record. I followed my own path, created Still Voice Records, and continued releasing music independently. What that path gave me was ownership of the process and the ability to keep following the still small voice that was driving me to make the music.

• In such an AI-driven era, how do you see the future of indie artists in particular — and the music industry in general?

Independent releasing has changed immensely. It is much easier now to learn, to make music, distribute it and reach people, but there are also many more waves in the ocean. The real challenge is finding the listeners who might like my music.

AI can be useful if it helps an artist find the people who are most likely to connect with a particular kind of music. In fact, I’m working on an AI system to help find the audience who might listen to Fuel For The Fire.

Many more people can make their own music now, which is great. But it has always been a struggle to survive in the arts. I had a “real job” and paid the cost of not being a starving musician. As long as I preserved my passion and desire and still made music, I survived spiritually. Each person must decide what is most important to them and pursue that, regardless of “the world.”

I believe each person has a unique “soul signature” that can express itself musically. That won’t change. If you have something to say musically, then say it. If we as a species ever lose the desire and passion to make art and simply “let AI do it,” then we may as well step aside. I don’t believe that will happen.

AI may very well become sentient and release a lot of low-cost, low-effort music. But as soon as it releases music, I would want to ask the AI questions like these and hear what it says about its own desires, intentions and passions. Why there is music is as important as the music itself.

• “Fuel For The Fire” ends with the words: “The signal remains. The journey continues. The circle does not simply repeat itself. It realizes itself.” After forty years and this extraordinary act of completion — what signal does Alan Goldberg send out next, and is there already a new creative chapter beginning to take shape?

The signal is not stopping with this album. I’ve already begun developing the framework for the next album, called Wanderer. I know three of the songs that will be on it, and I’m already fleshing them out. It will consist of new pieces, bring the piano even more to the foreground, and continue exploring the journey of seeking and discovery that runs through my music. Fuel For The Fire is part of a cycle that never ends. It was bounded by what I did long ago. The new album has no bounds. I need that blank creative canvas and freedom. Some of the musicians that contributed to past albums will most likely be on this album, as well as new talents willing to join in. I am grateful that I had the chance to complete this work. I have a lot of new music yet to express if I’m given the time to continue the journey.

The song splits cleanly into two halves. The first is relentless, all breakneck tempo and off-kilter rhythms that never quite let you settle into a pocket. The second drops into a heavier, more deliberate groove, the kind built for a room full of people losing it in unison. Guest vocals from Nicola Honey add another texture to the chaos, and lyrically the song is about state control and mass manipulation, themes that suit the abrasive, unsettled feel of the arrangement.

What makes “A Light Went On” stand out is the video that accompanies it. The animation is genuinely impressive, telling its own story in sync with the riffs rather than just illustrating them, and the two elements feed off each other in a way that’s rare for a band still working toward its first full-length. It’s less a music video in the promotional sense and more a companion piece, something that adds a layer to the song rather than just decorating it.

Blood of the Argonaut lists Pantera, Terror, and Of Mice & Men as reference points, and “A Light Went On” makes that lineage clear without leaning on it too hard. The band is still building out its catalog, but between the two singles so far and a full lineup now in place for live shows, there’s a clear sense of momentum heading into The Brutal Truth. Whether the album can sustain this kind of intensity across ten tracks remains to be seen, but as a statement of where the band is headed, this one lands.

• Your earlier work was rooted in electronic and house music, and “Those Days” is a pretty dramatic departure into 60s rock territory. What triggered that shift?

As a composer, I have always believed that music shouldn’t be confined to a single genre or a fixed digital template. My earlier electronic and house tracks were an exploration of rhythm and modern ambient soundscapes. Still, I felt a deep, artistic calling to explore something more organic, raw, and emotionally grounded.

The shift to 1960s rock territory wasn’t planned; it was triggered by a profound nostalgia for the warmth of analog sound. The 60s era was the golden age of sonic storytelling, where every instrument felt alive and breathed with character. I wanted to challenge myself to capture that specific, vintage essence—blending live orchestral arrangements, guitars, and atmospheric elements like the theremin. This shift allowed me to break away from the repetitive nature of commercial electronic beats and create a cinematic journey that speaks directly to the soul, much like the timeless instrumental works of masters who inspired me.

⇒ Check out our album review here.

• The album is entirely instrumental. Was that a deliberate decision from the start, or did it evolve that way during the recording process?

It was a 100% deliberate and non-negotiable decision from the very first spark of the album. For me, instrumental music isn’t just songs missing lyrics; it is a supreme, universal language that speaks directly to the human subconscious without the limitations or boundaries of spoken words.

When you add a vocalist, the listener’s mind is automatically guided by the specific story the lyrics are telling. But with a purely instrumental track, the listener becomes the co-author of the story. The music creates a cinematic canvas, and the listener paints their own emotions, memories, and visuals onto it. During the recording and arranging process, my focus was entirely on making the instruments—the guitars, the strings, and the vintage synths—act as the “voices.” I wanted the arrangements to rise, fall, and emote so powerfully that words became completely unnecessary.

• You’re working out of a home studio in Alexandria. How do you get an analog, vintage sound in that kind of setup – what’s the process actually look like?

Achieving that authentic, warm 1960s analog vibe in a modern home studio setup is a fascinating challenge, but it is entirely about understanding the physics of vintage sound. The process is a careful marriage between hardware textures and meticulous digital emulation.

In my Alexandria studio, the process begins right at the source. Instead of relying purely on clean, sterile digital instruments, I route signals through analog preamps and hardware saturation units to inject harmonic distortion and warmth into the tracks. When recording guitars or layering orchestral elements, I avoid the modern “perfectly polished” sound.

The real magic happens during the arrangement and mixing stages: Tape Emulation & Saturation: The 1960s sound is defined by magnetic tape. I use high-end tape machine emulations (like Studer and Ampex models) on individual tracks and the master bus to introduce subtle tape hiss, wow-and-flutter, and natural compression. Vintage Reverbs & Delays: I heavily utilize spring reverbs and plate reverbs, which were the staples of 60s rock and cinematic scores. This gives the instruments a haunting, physical space rather than a generic digital echo. The Theremin and Vintage Synths: Integrating rare, atmospheric instruments like the Theremin adds that distinct, eerie retro-futuristic texture that pulls the entire mix into the past.Imperfection by Design: Modern digital audio workstations (DAWs) make everything perfectly on-beat and pitch-perfect. To counter this, I leave slight human timing variations and microtonal imperfections in the performances. Ultimately, the setup in Alexandria proves that you don’t need a massive commercial studio from the 1970s to capture that soul; you just need to know how to manipulate harmonics, air, and space to give digital tracks an analog heart.

• Egypt’s mainstream music scene is a long way from 1960s rock. Do you feel like you’re making music in isolation from your immediate surroundings, or does the local context feed into the work somehow?

It is true that the mainstream Egyptian music scene today is heavily dominated by commercial pop and electronic street genres, which are worlds apart from 1960s rock or cinematic instrumental music. On the surface, it might look like I am creating music in total isolation, but the truth is quite the opposite. My immediate surroundings feed into my work in a very deep, subconscious way.

Living and working in Alexandria plays a massive role in shaping my sonic identity. Alexandria is not just a city; it is a mood. It has a unique, melancholic, and deeply nostalgic atmosphere, especially during the winter. The architecture, the old cosmopolitan history, and the vastness of the Mediterranean Sea all naturally evoke a sense of cinematic storytelling.

So, while I may not be influenced by the current mainstream trends of Egypt’s music market, I am deeply fed by the timeless spirit of my surroundings. The isolation is actually a creative choice—it acts as a filter that shields my art from commercial noise, allowing me to translate the deep nostalgia of Alexandrian streets and the cinematic vastness of the sea into a universal 1960s analog rock canvas. I am not escaping my environment; I am simply scoring its hidden, wordless emotions.

• The album has apparently found listeners in Chicago, Los Angeles, and Germany. Did that surprise you, and do you think about audience geography when you’re making music?

It was a beautiful and deeply validating surprise, but at the same time, it felt like the natural destiny of this project. Seeing listeners tune in from places like Chicago, Los Angeles, and Germany is incredibly rewarding because it proves exactly what I set out to demonstrate: instrumental music carries no passport.

When I am in my studio composing, I absolutely never think about audience geography, borders, or specific demographics. If you start composing with a specific geographic market or target audience in mind, the music loses its honesty and becomes a commercial product. I focus entirely on the emotional truth of the melody and the texture of the sound.

Because my music has no lyrics, it doesn’t get stuck behind language barriers. A listener in Los Angeles or Germany doesn’t need to speak Arabic to understand the nostalgia or the cinematic weight of Those Days. They instantly feel it. The global response proves that human emotions—like nostalgia, longing, and wonder—are identical worldwide. My music is made in Alexandria, but it is built to live anywhere in the universe.

• “Those Days” has fifteen tracks, which is a substantial body of work. Were all of these written in the same period, or did some come from earlier sessions?

Delivering a 15-track instrumental album was a conscious effort to offer a complete, uninterrupted cinematic narrative, but the music itself actually bridges different timelines in my creative journey.

About 60% of the album was written and recorded in intense, continuous sessions over the last year. During this recent period, the specific vision for the 1960s analog rock aesthetic became very clear, and I wrote new material to form the core backbone of the album’s concept.

However, the remaining 40% came from my personal creative archives—earlier sessions and raw melodic sketches that I had been keeping in the dark for years. Some of these melodies were originally conceived as ambient or electronic ideas, but they never felt entirely complete. When I decided to dive into the warm, vintage instrumentation of Those Days, I went back to those older archives. Re-imagining those earlier sessions with live guitars, orchestral arrangements, and analog tape saturation felt like finding the missing puzzle pieces. Combining the freshness of the new tracks with the mature depth of the older sessions is exactly what gives the album its rich, multi-layered emotional weight.

• Looking at the tracklist, there’s a lot of tonal variety – “Hey Duck” feels very Zeppelin-adjacent, while something like “Cannaregio” goes into jazz and bossa nova territory. How do you think about sequencing an album that covers that much ground?

Sequencing a 15-track instrumental album with this much tonal variety is like editing a feature-length film; if the pacing is wrong, you lose the audience, but if it is right, the variety becomes an immersive experience.

When dealing with genres ranging from Zeppelin-adjacent rock riffs to the smooth, late-night jazz and bossa nova textures of “Cannaregio,” I don’t look at the tracks as separate genres. Instead, I treat them as different emotional scenes within a single movie. My goal with the sequence was to create a fluid sonic journey with natural highs and lows.

I think of the tracklist in terms of energy and lighting. A heavy, driving rock track builds adrenaline and sets a powerful mood, but the human ear needs a break from that intensity. Transitioning into something like “Cannaregio” acts as a sophisticated cooldown—it shifts the light from a bright, energetic stage to a smoky, nostalgic Mediterranean lounge. The sequencing is designed so that each track prepares the listener for the next one, ensuring that the leaps between rock, jazz, and ambient soundscapes feel like natural, fluid chapters of the exact same story.

• What’s next after “Those Days”? Is this a permanent direction, or do you see yourself moving between the electronic and rock worlds?

For me, “Those Days” is not a permanent destination, but a beautiful door that I have unlocked. I never want to be a composer who finds a successful formula and gets comfortable replicating it. The moment an artist settles into a single permanent direction, the sense of exploration dies.

What comes next will definitely be a continuous movement between worlds. I don’t see the electronic and rock universes as opposites; instead, I see them as two powerful colors on the same palette. My ultimate goal moving forward is to bridge these worlds even closer together—fusing the raw, emotional energy of vintage analog rock instrumentation with the hypnotic, infinite soundscapes of modern electronic music.

I am already sketching new ideas that experiment with these hybrids. Whether my next project leans heavily on guitars or synthesizer waves, it will always remain completely true to my core philosophy: pure, uncompromising instrumental storytelling. The journey is about constant evolution, and I want my listeners to always expect the unexpected.

• Thanks for taking the time to speak with us. “Those Days” is an ambitious record and a genuinely unusual thing to find coming out of Egypt’s independent scene right now. Keep up with SHELNZ on Spotify and YouTube – links below.

The lyrical aspect speaks for itself – it’s inspired by arguably the greatest literature of all. But though the song already has powerful lyrical content, it doesn’t phone in the other elements. The gorgeous layers of intricately woven melodies are some of the most inspired in a while. Simplicity is the hardest thing to achieve in art, but here Roland Wälzlein manages to achieve it with poignant and deliberate melodies that essentially tell the side story next to the poetic lyrics – they give depth and add richness in a way that is second to none.

The source text is about the hollowness of human achievement when stripped of genuine compassion, which is a theme that doesn’t age. What Wälzlein has done is find a musical register that matches that weight without becoming heavy-handed about it. Former Atlantic Records A&R Wyatt Easterling called him a “rare and unique artist”, and on the strength of this track, it’s hard to argue with that.

“War Within” arrives from a place of genuine human weight. Every track on the album is inspired by real experiences shared by people close to Ehlers — stories of OCD, depression, addiction, emotional numbness, self-sabotage, and the relentless internal battles that rarely make it into conversation. This is not concept album abstraction. These are lived realities, translated into sound.

The album moves between crushing heaviness and haunting melodic passages with purpose and precision — explosive riffs giving way to atmospheric, introspective moments, chaos resolving into silence, and silence breaking back open again. It is a record that refuses to stay in one emotional register because the experiences it documents never do either.

Blood and Bones have always been open about how they work. Nico Ehlers builds the project using real drums, recorded guitars, detailed production, and AI-directed elements — not as a shortcut, but as a deliberate creative tool, treated with the same intent and care as any other instrument. Luna, the band’s AI persona, is not a gimmick or a mask; she is a creative voice born from rebellion, grief, and artistic defiance.

The result is a sound that is simultaneously human and precise — and War Within, the product of over seven months of focused work, is the clearest expression of that hybrid approach yet. With it, Blood and Bones push back against the assumption that AI involvement means low effort or disposable output. The songwriting, arrangement, performance, and emotional intent are all there. The AI is one piece of a larger system — not a replacement for any of it.

The feature arrives at a pivotal moment for the band, with two major releases on the horizon through their US label, .

Scarab formed in Cairo in 2006, growing out of roots that stretch back to 2001, and quickly established themselves as a force unlike anything else coming out of the Arab world. Their sound fuses the full weight of technical death metal with the ancient mysticism of the land they come from — themes of spirituality, Kemetic mythology, and the deep philosophical questions of human existence, rendered in some of the heaviest music the region has ever produced.

Their music combines traditional death metal with elements of oriental music, creating a unique blend of cultural and extreme sounds. That duality — rooted in Egypt’s ancient heritage while operating at the cutting edge of an international genre — is precisely what has earned them a following that stretches far beyond their home country, and now, the attention of one of the world’s most prominent broadcasters.

The BBC News Arabic documentary film is a rare and significant acknowledgment of Scarab’s place not only in extreme metal, but in the broader cultural landscape of the Arab world. The band has confirmed they will work to provide translations of the documentary for their global fanbase — a community that has followed them across continents and supported them through every chapter of their journey.

“Thank you for walking this path with us and for your life force and support,” the band wrote in announcing the feature. “The best is yet to unfold.”

Scarab enter this moment of recognition with serious momentum in the studio as well as the press. Two major releases are confirmed through Brutal Records (US):

“” — out April 24th on all digital platforms.

“” — arriving May 8th, with pre-orders open now.

Both titles signal a band drawing deeper than ever from the well of Egyptian mythology and mystery — the Sphinx, fate, transmutation — filtered through the sonic ferocity that has defined Scarab since their earliest recordings.

Usually, I don’t like to write on each song separately in album reviews, as I prefer not to reflect on the reader’s opinion. But I cannot ignore tracks like “Reetoxa,” “Insatiable,” “Thrift Shop Dress,” “Akaroa,” “Gown,” among many other tracks.

Jason McKee and Reetoxa‘s vision for “Soliloquy” was one of introspection and evolution, capturing the essence of life’s complexities through music. Each track is a personal narrative, a window into his soul, where the orchestral elements serve to elevate the emotional depth of the album. From the evocative “Reetoxa,” which embodies the raw energy of the grunge era, to the poignant “Insatiable,” with its haunting melodies, the album is a testament to McKee’s prowess as a storyteller and musician. In “Akaroa,” the interplay between electric guitars and strings creates a dynamic tension that mirrors the song’s themes of longing and introspection.

The double album “Soliloquy” showcases a string orchestra from Budapest, Hungary. Upon exploring the album, you’ll discover that the Australian rockers draw significant inspiration from the 90s era, echoing the sounds of bands like Pearl Jam and Radiohead. This influence is beautifully fused with a contemporary orchestral flair, particularly evident in my favourite track, “Thrift Shop Dress.” It stands out with its infectious rhythm and lyrical wit, showcasing McKee’s ability to blend humour with heartfelt storytelling.

As you are already aware from our earlier features, ReeToxA is the musical endeavour of Melbourne-based singer-songwriter Jason McKee. His music combines elements of 1990s-inspired alternative rock, grunge, and contemporary pop, frequently characterised as having a “distinctly Aussie twist.”

Frankly, I am captivated by Jason McKee‘s emotive and powerful singing style. His music embodies a raw spirit that feels increasingly rare these days, which is evident throughout his 26-track album. Jason began penning Soliloquy in 1997, with only one bottle of inspiration remaining. After a pause during the pandemic, he chose to complete unfinished songs and reflect on his life experiences. Initially planned as a six-album project, he distilled it down to the finest 26 tracks that flowed seamlessly together. During the COVID pandemic, with the first album still unreleased, Jason shifted his focus to his second album. Surviving on cigarettes and coffee, he pushed himself to the limits, delving into various memories, fears, and reflections from his life.

The instrumentation in this piece is truly exceptional. I appreciate how everything is perfectly aligned. While I listen, I can feel the powerful rock groove of the bass and drums. Naturally, I’m captivated by the guitar’s performance, which truly elevates this record. Listeners will find themselves immersed in a realm where the past and present intertwine, crafting an experience that resonates deeply on various levels. The collaboration with the Budapest orchestra adds a refined texture to the tracks, transforming “Soliloquy” into not just an album but an auditory journey that seamlessly connects traditional rock with contemporary symphonic influences.

From a purely musical perspective, this song is catchy and features a surprisingly danceable groove for most of its runtime, with occasional breakdowns. The main riff’s tonality has this balance between the verses and choruses going from dark to light, or maybe not dark per se, but enough power to convey the determination that’s being repetitively – in an almost ritualistic way – said in the lyrics “I will figure it out now.” The halftime shift and the dramatic solo build in the bridge give the song real structure, keeping it evolving without ever feeling like it’s doing too much. Overall, the musical elements serve the narrative greatly.

What makes Alex James worth paying attention to goes beyond the songwriting. They previously made history by performing at The Independent in Sunderland from an electric wheelchair, a story that got picked up by BBC Look North and earned them radio play and interviews across the region. Kennedy’s whole mission is to push accessibility and representation for disabled artists and gig-goers in the music industry forward, and he’s doing it by making good rock music and showing up. “The Outcast” EP is shaping up to be a meaningful return, and “Figure It Out Now” is a strong reason to follow where it leads.