Raised between Malaysia and Australia and now based in Singapore, Sanjay’s multicultural upbringing has shaped an approach to songwriting rooted in authenticity, connection and the universal language of rock. His sound combines thunderous guitar riffs, infectious choruses and blues-driven attitude, creating music that feels both familiar and distinctly his own.

‘Baby Baby’ taps directly into the era when guitar-led rock dominated stages, airwaves and popular culture. Drawing inspiration from icons including Jimi Hendrix, AC/DC, Guns N’ Roses and Van Halen, Sanjay channels the attitude, swagger and sense of fun associated with classic rock without simply looking backwards. His conversational, almost spoken vocal delivery gives the track an immediate personality, while the combination of blues influence and full-bodied rock production provides a powerful framework for the song.

The single follows a growing catalogue that has established Sanjay as an independent artist committed to keeping original guitar music at the centre of his work. His debut album, ‘Rocking Into Midnight’, earned critical attention, with Music-News describing it as a “modern rock masterpiece”, while The Farsighted highlighted its connection to the “Sunset Strip sounds of the late 80s and early 90s.” He subsequently released the stripped-back ‘Wall Street Blues’ EP, a rawer statement that The Big Takeover praised as a significant step forward in his artistic development and a deeper return to the genre’s gritty roots.

‘Baby Baby’ builds on that momentum with a bigger, more expansive sound, retaining the rawness and immediacy of Sanjay’s earlier work while pushing his songwriting into another stage of development. It is a track built around groove, guitar and personality, blues at its core, rock in its execution, and delivered with the tongue-in-cheek confidence that defined so much of the genre’s golden era.

The accompanying music video reinforces that aesthetic, pairing remastered audio with Sanjay and his band performing in a bar setting, brought to life through striking visuals and a distinctly rock ’n’ roll atmosphere. Together, the single and video capture an artist embracing the traditions that shaped him while continuing to carve out his own space within contemporary independent rock.

With ‘Baby Baby’, Sanjay Michael once again demonstrates that classic rock’s attitude and energy remain as compelling as ever when placed in the hands of an artist with a genuine connection to the music.

• 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.

Producing the single is Stuart Epps — a titan of the British music industry with more than fifty years of experience and a track record that includes Led Zeppelin, Elton John, George Harrison, Oasis, and Robbie Williams, among many others. Epps also contributes drums, bass, organ, and backing vocals to the track, bringing the full weight of his musicianship and expertise to a song that is, at its heart, enormous fun.

The story of how the collaboration came together speaks to the kind of happy, audacious leap that defines the best moments in any artist’s career. Zachary reached out to Stuart Epps in early June 2026 with three demos. Uncertain of the response, he was delighted to receive praise for all three — and even more delighted when Epps chose “Man Of The Universe” as the one he wanted to produce. As Zachary later told Epps himself, it was a real privilege to work with a “man of the music world” on a song called “Man Of The Universe.”

“Man Of The Universe” harks back to the golden age of pulp science fiction magazines — a gloriously vivid tale of a man who roams the cosmos like he owns it, flying a powerful spaceship, fighting off aliens and space pirates, and accumulating devoted admirers across the galaxy along the way. It is the kind of song that makes you grin before the first chorus is out — a bundle of infectious, unapologetic fun delivered through a lens of space rock psychedelia that will feel familiar to fans of Zachary’s earlier sci-fi EP, 5…4…3…2…1…

The track’s combination of classic rock energy, psychedelic texture, and tongue-in-cheek storytelling gives it a timeless quality — music that could comfortably live alongside the influences Zachary holds closest: Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, and The Beatles.

At 29, Zachary Mason has quietly assembled one of the more remarkable independent music stories currently being written in the UK. Since the spring of 2021, working from a recording kit gifted by a relative, he has created between 200 and 250 demo tracks — across genres, across moods, and with a restless creative instinct that refuses to settle into a single lane. That prolific output has found its way into the world in meaningful ways.

His music has been covered by Rolling Stone En Español, The Big Takeover, TJPL News, 1111CR3W, Cage Riot, M.E.I. News, and many others. An interview appeared in SPIN Magazine in 2025. His single “I Wish Humans Were Made In A Factory…” reached the semi-finals of the ISC 2025. “I’ll Get Through” charted at No. 41 and No. 93 on the indie radio charts in 2024. Songs have been accepted into the sync catalogues of YTINIFNI Pictures — a prestigious film and television company — and Relva Music, a Brazilian film and TV company. His total stream count exceeds one million.

Beyond music, Zachary writes under his real name Daniel Macintyre, publishing literary work at scribblings.uk and through Fevers of the Mind.

“Man Of The Universe” is his most significant single to date — and with Stuart Epps at the production helm, it sounds like it.

The three-track EP is a deeply personal and emotive collection filled with reflection, melancholy, and resilience. The opening track vividly recounts a period when medication dulled the artist’s ability to fully experience the emotional depth of autumn, a season close to his heart. The EP continues in this introspective vein with the tracks “I Need Freedom” and “Me And I” (Mason’s personal favorite), delivering raw vulnerability and quiet strength.

The EP was mixed and mastered by Grammy-nominated American producer and engineer David E Beats (based in Toulouse, France), who also contributed rhythm guitar and bass on the second track. Additional standout performances come from Nate Barnes (drummer for critically acclaimed rock band Rose Hill Drive) on tracks 2 and 3, and John Thomasson (bassist for Little Big Town) on the final track.

“This EP is a return to where I feel most at home — honest, acoustic-driven storytelling,” says Zachary Mason.

About Zachary Mason

At 29 years old, Zachary Mason is a prolific artist based in Guildford, UK. Since spring 2021, he has created 200–250 demo tracks using a gifted recording setup. Versatile across genres, he performs with acoustic and electric guitars as well as keyboards. His music has earned features in Rolling Stone En Español, SPIN Magazine, The Big Takeover, TJPL News, and many others. His single “I Wish Humans Were Made In A Factory…” reached the semi-finals of the ISC 2025, and he has accumulated over one million streams. Mason also writes literary works under his real name, Daniel Macintyre.

“Welcome To My Heart” is now available on all major streaming platforms.

The Devil You Know exudes snarl, feist, and bad romance. It is a record built on the energy of whiskey-soaked nights, a cool death rattle, and carpe diem impulsiveness. Untethered rawness and authenticity take center stage in a scrappy collection that lets go of the wheel completely, wearing its bloody punk heart with pride.

The album serves as a snapshot of a powerful “his, hers, and ours” songwriting collaboration between Will Croxton and Judy Ann Nock. Together, they inject a punk and garage rawness into an expanding Americana sensibility, creating themes that are deeply personal, political, and darkly romantic.

“This album came straight from authentic New York subculture. It conjures the energy of fast cars and dive bars, heartbreak, with a hint of hope for our tangled times.”

The album’s emotional gravity is anchored by its title track and single, “The Devil That You Know,” a darkly romantic duet detailing anguish, love, regret, and grief. Written by Judy Ann Nock, the song is a melodic interpretation of events that occurred almost five years ago when her husband, David, took his own life. The intensely sad chorus wails, “Let me, let me lie in the bed I made, …let me lie in an early grave,” capturing the intense guilt often felt by suicide survivors.

“My husband David suffered from the mother of all mental illnesses; schizophrenia, paranoid type,” says Judy Ann Nock. “One of his symptoms was aural hallucinations and I wanted to try to understand how that might have felt for him, with many voices firing off all at once.”

This title track follows the limited-release diss track “30 Dolls” (named Jim Testa’s Constant Listener Song of the Week) and the wildly popular “SPIT,” which garnered highly favorable reviews across The Big Takeover, Vents, Nashville Music Guide, and Hella Fuzz.

Formed in 2024, St. Divine quickly made their mark with the widely acclaimed May 2025 release of their debut EP, you can’t go forward and you can’t go back. Their distinct sound has drawn high-profile comparisons to PJ Harvey & Nick Cave, Lee Hazelwood & Nancy Sinatra (Jim Derogatis, Sound Opinions), and The Kills (Eduard Banulescu, ALT 77).

Since their inception, the band has achieved significant global exposure, racking up over 350 independent and college radio spins. Notably, they have been featured on the NPR syndicated show Sound Opinions (featuring Jim Derogatis and Greg Kot), WFMU, and the SiriusXM channel Little Steven Van Zandt’s Underground Garage.

The band has also been building a formidable live presence, recently playing the Hideout in Chicago alongside The Handcuffs (featuring Brad Elvis of the Elvis Brothers and the Romantics), sharing the stage in Somerville, MA with Girl With a Hawk, and playing New York City with The Cynz.

Golf Cart Life. The title alone tells you everything you need to know about how seriously this band takes itself — and how seriously it takes its music. Both answers: completely.

Golf Cart Life opens with “Hell No” — a track that exemplifies one of Idiot Grins’ defining creative qualities: an organically grown song that begins from a single member’s seed and blooms into something the whole band makes its own. It sets the tone immediately.

“Flip Flop” is what the band does when it’s just being itself — real rock and roll with a not-so-serious smile. A classic Idiot Grins song in the best sense: tight, irreverent, and completely alive.

“Riff 24” is described by the band with characteristic economy: “Simple Rock and Roll that is just more enjoyable to play and listen to than complicated rock.” It is also a song about RFK, his mother, and his son — proof that even the simplest-sounding track in the Idiot Grins universe carries something worth paying attention to.

The album closes with “The End of Everything” — a campfire sing-along ghost story that brings the record to its end with exactly the combination of warmth and chill the title promises.

Golf Cart Life is the sixth chapter in one of independent rock and soul’s most consistently rewarding catalogues. Idiot Grins have been releasing music since Quarry (2012) and have never made the same album twice.

Big Man (2015) drew widespread critical praise — Elmore Magazine declared it “a blend of what they accomplished before and their admiration of Stax classics” with a new spin on a vintage sound, while Big Takeover called it “a classy, burning slice of soul that would have easily found a home in the record shops of the 60s.”

State of Health (2017), featuring the Byrd Sisters on harmonies, became their most acclaimed record to date. HuffPost called it “a scrumptious album” with melodies “drenched in charming harmonics.” Lead single “Get Busy Dying” reached the Top 10 on digital radio; “Take it Back” hit Top 20. Seattle PI singled out “Get Busy Dying” as “a dynamite soul number full of bright horns and the radiant harmonies of The Byrd Sisters.”

Thoughts & Prayers (2020) took a sharp creative left turn — a full reinterpretation of the Louvin Brothers’ 1959 country-gospel album Satan is Real, covering tracks including “Satan is Real,” “The Christian Life,” and “The Angels Rejoiced.” Obscure Sound praised its “passionate vocals” and its appeal to fans of roots, Americana, and country music.

Most recently, Hounds of Mess Around (2024) delivered the lead single “Not Reggae” — which climbed to #3 on the Digital Radio Tracker Independent chart and #30 on the Rock chart.

Golf Cart Life arrives as the confident, genre-defying next move from a band that has never stopped evolving.

Overtime takes its title from the sudden-death hockey period, used here as an extended metaphor for pressure, consequence, and the moment when everything sharpens. The EP leans heavier and more focused than the band’s debut, pairing Pytel’s gravel-edged vocals with punchy, direct arrangements that waste zero time. The lyrics widen their scope too. Politics surface naturally, filtered through experience rather than slogans. As Pytel puts it, “I made it all the way through side A without a single song about a breakup.” The shift is subtle but intentional, and it gives the record real weight.

The EP was recorded by John Raham at Afterlife, formerly Mushroom Studios, a room steeped in Canadian music history. Raham’s resume includes work with Frazey Ford, Dan Mangan, Tanya Tagaq, Destroyer, and Pharis, and his approach here keeps the performances immediate while giving the songs room to move. Mixing duties were handled by Dave Ogilvie of Skinny Puppy, whose touch adds grit and tension without sanding off the edges. Overtime was mastered by Ronan Chris Murphy, whose work spans artists such as King Crimson, Ulver, and Gwar, bringing clarity and punch while preserving the EP’s raw, guitar-forward bite.

⇒ Order SLIP~ons’ Music and Merchandise

The roots of SLIP~ons stretch back decades. Pytel first emerged in the late 1980s as the singing drummer of Montreal pop-punks Doughboys, releasing two acclaimed LPs and touring North America alongside bands like Descendents and ALL. At the height of that momentum, he stepped away entirely, traveling to Igarpuri, India to practice Vipassana meditation and study Pāli. “I had a habit of going to extremes,” Pytel recalls. “At the time it never occurred to me that I could deepen my practice of meditation and play in a touring punk rock band. It was just, ‘I’m going to shave my head and become a monk.’” SLIP~ons later took shape when Pytel and Minato began collaborating in 2012, eventually solidifying into a four-piece with the addition of Matharu and Wilson.

That long road shows. SLIP~ons formed as a straightforward rock and roll project built around chemistry and feel, and Overtime captures a band that knows exactly what it wants to say and how long it needs to say it. No excess. No filler. Just songs that move with purpose. That confidence is backed by momentum. The band’s previous EP Heavy Machinery landed with impact, generating more than sixty international press hits, premieres with Scene Point Blank and New Noise Magazine, and widespread support across college, indie, and mainstream radio. The release saw airplay across CBC, SiriusXM, and major Canadian commercial stations, alongside coverage from Exclaim!, Spill Magazine, Global News, The Big Takeover, and dozens of international tastemakers. Overtime builds directly on that foundation, pushing harder, sounding sharper, and proving the band isn’t slowing down any time soon.

The two interlocking guitar parts are the essence of the narrative, like two people that weave around each other, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in friction, but always connected. At the climactic end, they finally join in unison, which is the emotional resolution. The track was recorded live at Stagg Street Studios with Brad and Vee on guitars, Brad on lead vocal and Hammond, Nick Maybury on electric guitar, Sharlotte Gibson and Carol McArthur on backing vocals, and a vocal solo from McArthur. Rodrigo Crespo handled mastering.

To describe this song as a slow burner would be an understatement. This is like an entire movie or “Hero’s Journey” in a song. Acts 1 and 2 of the story are told over a slow simmer with some of the most beautifully harmonized guitar and vocals I have heard in a while. I was lost for words from its sheer beauty and the warmth of the sound. The killer production helps with that, too, but the vision and execution of the music itself and the sheer drama are what make this special. Act 3 was a surprise, even though you will probably expect a resolution to acts 1 and 2, but the power with which they stick the landing here is remarkable. Complete with a wall of sound composed of backing vocals, guitars, and huge sounding drums. The calm after the storm that follows feels like an epilogue to what came before it, a bittersweet ending.

Social Gravy‘s been at this since 2016 with releases including Fools, Behind Every Yes, California, Let It Out, A Different Kind, Lone Wolf, and These Are The Times. “Rapture and Rupture” shows they’re still channeling raw emotion through a modern rock lens without losing what makes them distinct.

ALEX: That just came from how pretty the chords sounded and how I visualized the song to be. It needed a bit of calm contrasted with chaos. The part that I didn’t write originally and that emerged organically in the studio was the 3/4 outro that turns into the 4/4 outro. That’s one of my favorite parts of the song but I didn’t originally have the written

• What does “contentment among chaos” mean to you personally?

ALEX: It’s like the example I gave earlier. You’re on a quiet, midnight bus, loaded on drugs and booze, you look out on this gorgeous city of lights and across the Hudson River it looks pretty and peaceful. But you know that once you’re inside the city it’s fucking loud and dirty and bonkers and all that. The eye of the storm and all that gear.

• Your sound pulls threads from NYC legends like The Strokes and The Velvet Underground. Do you see yourselves as carrying forward that lineage, or carving out something distinct?

ALEX: I think we’re just trying to make music that we ourselves enjoy. Inevitably we’re gonna be inspired by the bands we like, and being a bunch of New Yorkers, we’re naturally gonna dig some of the local heroes. If people tell us we sound like The Strokes or the Velvets then that’s great. I’ve heard that we sound like everyone from “rock n roll Dean Martin” to “One Republic”. So I always take that with a grain of salt. At the end of the day, we are Takeover and we’ll always be Takeover.

• When people describe your music as “indie rock” or “alternative,” does that feel accurate or do those genre labels miss something essential about your sound?

ALEX: I never really cared about labeling music with these genres, ya know? It’s useful to have a large umbrella, but once you get into sub-genres it’s a little tiresome. “Math Rock” vs “Prog Rock” vs “Doom Metal” vs “Sludge Metal” vs “Self-Fellation Rock” and on and on and on. I suppose we are “Indie Rock” because we haven’t got a major label record deal. I don’t even know what the fuck “alternative” even means. All my favorite contemporary bands got labeled “alt” when I was growing up so I guess we’re alternative too. I always think of us as “rock n roll”. Pure and simple.

• Do you approach writing with your New York audience in mind, or are you trying to reach something more universal?

ALEX: I think we try to touch on universal truths. Falling in and out of love, being young and having fun, all that stuff. We do have a song or two that’s a bit more NYC related but not so much that it couldn’t be applied to other cities too. “City Lights” was only really inspired by NYC. It isn’t about NYC.

• How do you know when a song is “finished”?

ALEX: When it’s recorded and pressed and distributed. Until then it’s an ever evolving entity. Some songs of mine need a ton of work, multiple demos, multiple re-writes, etc. And some songs, like “City Lights”, just write themselves and you never have to do much more than some a tweak or two.

• If Takeover could soundtrack any movie scene, what kind would it be?

ALEX: I think we’ve got a lot of tunes that could be great as the music in a Scorsese gangster movie. Something from Casino or Goodfellas or one of those movies with the main character doing a narration. For “City Lights” I think if Scorsese did some gritty blend of his gangster style and a futuristic Sci-Fi thing like “Blade Runner”, it could be in the scene where everyone’s getting whacked by laser guns or something. I can especially see that scene with the big sounding outro playing in the back.

• Where do you hope Takeover’s sound will evolve in the next year or two?

ALEX: Well, as we grow as a recording band, I’m hoping we learn how to try newer and newer things. We’re currently building our own recording studio and from there we’ll have a lot more freedom to push our boundaries. Rather than having to be on a tight 10 hour rental schedule where all the songs have to be pre-planned and limited in scope.

The opening guitar strums shimmer almost like scattered sparks, creating a fragile stillness that feels suspended in the air. But the calm doesn’t last long; soon the band leans into a storm of rhythm, guitars colliding and racing, the whole track charging forward with the urgency of a midnight drive. Vocals rise and tumble against the rush, not so much polished declarations as restless shouts to the horizon.

Lines like “Driving down the freeway at night, fireworks beaming so bright” and “Crashing, burning, seasons turning – it doesn’t matter much to me” capture that tension between fleeting joy and quiet resignation. The lyrics are vivid without being ornamental, painting the skyline as both escape and confrontation, a place where desire collides with the inevitability of moving on.

By the time the chorus of “these city lights” rings out, it’s less a refrain than a mantra, both celebratory and haunted, like a reminder that the brightness always comes with shadows. The words are tethered to a skyline that both promises and withholds, restless as the city itself.

By the end, Takeover’s City Lights isn’t just about the lights, it’s more about surrendering to their pull, the way they mirror the chaos and wonder of being alive in a place that never stops moving. It’s not nostalgia, and it’s not comfort. It’s the thrill of being swallowed whole.