That lingering sense of relevance is exactly what gives the song its power. The original critique of class inequality, militarism, and political privilege still lands with uncomfortable precision today. “Some folks are born made to wave the flag, the red, white and blue…” feels just as bitter now as it did decades ago, while the repeated “It ain’t me, I ain’t no senator’s son” becomes a frustrated rejection of systems that continue protecting the powerful while demanding sacrifice from ordinary people. Motihari Brigade deliver the lyrics with sharp urgency, stripping away any sense of nostalgic familiarity and replacing it with confrontation.

Matching the weight of its message, the production feels enormous and suffocating all at once. Astral guitars collide with textured drums and thick garage rock distortion, creating a soundscape that feels psychedelic, industrial, and deeply apocalyptic. From the opening countdown,  “T minus 10 seconds to ignition,” the atmosphere already feels tense and combustible. Beneath the chorus, a low mechanical drone hums ominously, reinforcing the anti-war pulse simmering underneath every line.

What truly elevates this reinterpretation, however, is how intentional every creative choice feels. Brief fragments of interference and ghostly broadcast textures interrupt the arrangement midway through, hinting at propaganda, media overload, and modern political chaos. The transcendental guitar solo offers a fleeting moment of introspection before the explosive finale crashes down with devastating force.

As the first glimpse into their upcoming album Problematic, Motihari Brigade’s “Fortunate Son” stands as more than a cover. It is protest music reborn for an era still trapped inside the same cycles of war, power, and manipulation the original warned about nearly sixty years ago!

“Everybody Bleeds” thrives on emotional honesty. Morrison does not dramatize pain for effect; he presents it as something universal, unavoidable, and quietly consuming. Lines centered around everybody bleeding and carrying unseen struggles become less like grand declarations and more like reflections muttered to yourself during difficult nights. There is something powerful in how direct the song is emotionally. No overcomplicated metaphors, no excessive theatricality, just raw confrontation with the reality that everyone is fighting something beneath the surface.

That sincerity becomes even more striking knowing the song originated from a 14-year-old demo Morrison discovered during a period when he was obsessing over his own struggles. You can hear traces of that emotional chaos embedded throughout the track. Yet rather than drowning in despair, the song pushes toward release. There is resilience hidden beneath the distortion, especially in the explosive chorus that feels designed for crowded rooms screaming every word back in unison.

The track balances grit with clarity remarkably well. The guitars remain fierce and emotionally charged while the rhythm section keeps the momentum constantly surging forward. Small atmospheric touches, particularly the organ and keyboard layers, subtly widen the emotional landscape of the song, adding brief flashes of light through all the heaviness. The production feels polished without losing its rough edges, allowing Morrison’s vocals to cut through with urgency and conviction. Every element serves the emotional weight of the song rather than distracting from it.

Beneath the loud instrumentation and anthemic energy lies a song about survival, perspective, and the invisible wounds people carry every day. “Everybody Bleeds” by Morrison transforms those feelings into something cathartic instead of hopeless, creating a track that feels equally suited for solitary late-night listening and full-volume live performances. It is nostalgic rock energy, yes; but bruised with a modern wound that makes it deeply resonate..

Musically, this song is absolutely haunting with its beautifully simplistic layers of intimate acoustic guitar and piano, laying down those heartbreaking chords to create an atmosphere that envelops the listener immediately. The drums elevate the song by creating this melancholic staring-out-the-window vibe that you can’t help but be affected by. The star of the show is definitely the vocals and the beautifully written melodies, whether sung or not.

The contrast between the song’s emotional weight and its optimistic message is what makes “The World Began This Morning” work as well as it does. Eric Folino is writing the kind of song that acknowledges how hard it is to face yourself before it asks you to do it anyway. If this is what the full album sounds like, the March 13th release show at Huether Hotel in Waterloo is worth the trip.

“Hype” delves into the concept of hype by employing diverse musical scales—including the dorian, phrygian dominant, natural minor, and pentatonic—to evoke a range of flavors and colors, mirroring marketing strategies that promote products through varied approaches. The single focuses on achieving a powerful, full guitar sound while prioritizing musicality, resulting in a vibrant sonic experience that pushes boundaries in the instrumental rock genre. Recorded using premium equipment such as Paul Reed Smith and Ibanez guitars, alongside a Line6 HX Stomp, the track encapsulates Chiappini’s dedication to artistic expression and innovation.

Drawing inspiration from instrumental rock luminaries like Joe Satriani, Andy Timmons, John Petrucci, and Jeff Beck, “Hype” showcases Chiappini’s technical prowess and creative vision. As Abdelrahman Khaled of Rock Era Magazine notes, “Musically, Luigi Chiappini follows in the footsteps of instrumental rock giants like Joe Satriani, Andy Timmons, and Jeff Beck to create melodies that are truly memorable.”

This release marks a significant milestone for Decadent Heroes, highlighting Chiappini’s commitment to crafting music that resonates on a profound level.

Holly Woodlove is the solo musical outfit run by San Diego-based Alexander Dausch, who takes his DIY approach rather seriously, writing, recording, mixing, and mastering all aspects of his music by his own hands, blending analog tapes with digital recording equipment. The results are stupendously good, as can be heard on ‘Run Back’, with all its rich, guitar glory.

Starting with a wailing wall of vintage-sounded guitars, ‘Run Back’ immediately sets the tone for a rather timeless rock palette. Then, proceeding with a healthy song structure of well defined verses, choruses, and pre-choruses, ‘Run Back’ goes rather confidently through its moderate runtime, aided by the fantastic, rich, and colorful yelps of frontman -and everyman- Alexander Dausch, whose vision puts everything together very nicely. The guitars carry the brunt of the song’s arrangement, being gritty, overdriven, and endlessly jangly. An intricate layout too, with multiple layers delivering the song’s different parts, most notably the bending-based riff that opens the song, and the western-inspired figure that repeats in the background during the choruses, lending the song a particular surf vibe. Do not forget to pay very close attention to the fantastic synergy between the bass and drum parts. Groovy, locked-in, intricate, and massive.

‘Run Back’ is what can be called a simple, good time. A healthy rock song that’s passionately written and performed, Holly Woodlove effortlessly won me over with this one.

Musically, Luigi Chiappini follows in the footsteps of instrumental rock giants like Joe Satriani, Andy Timmons, and Jeff Beck to create melodies that are truly memorable. As someone whose favorite genre is instrumental rock, I can confidently say the execution on “Hype” is flawless, with a guitar tone that is simultaneously punchy and warm, to not become fatiguing to listen to. The song is structured with confidence in its own melodicism, with no flashy parts just for flashiness’ sake. Each section serves a purpose to keep the momentum of this electric track going.

What makes “Hype” work is that Luigi Chiappini isn’t trying to impress you with speed or technical complexity for its own sake. The focus stays on melody and actual songcraft, which is rarer than it should be in instrumental guitar music. It’s the kind of track that holds up beyond the first listen, which is the real test.

The “Superhuman” Concept

The EP is a direct challenge to the traditional constraints of songwriting. By utilizing AI as a “musical superpower,” Schwartz has assembled a virtual ensemble of the “greatest musicians that never lived” to execute performances that would be physically impossible for most human musicians.

“Part of songwriting has been to work within the constraints of the musicians and vocalists you have access to. AI removes those constraints,” says Schwartz. “The goal was to push musicality to a superhuman level across all genres.”

⇒ Read our full review here.

The Sonic Journey: A Strategic Genre Bridge

Superhuman is meticulously structured to transition Schwartz’s core following—initially built on “Heavy Melodic Rock”—into a broader musical landscape.

• The Foundation: The EP opens with the focus track “Rock Superman,” an 80s-inspired anthem designed to capture the high-energy engagement of classic arena rock.
• The Turbo Peak: A high-velocity “Turbo” version follows, pushing the concept of instrumental virtuosity to its absolute limit.
• The Pivot: The sound then evolves through Pop, Acoustic Traditional Country, and Modern Country.
• The Finale: The journey concludes with Folk, featuring “superhuman” arrangements of acoustic guitar, flute, and piano.

Chart Success & Data-Backed Momentum

Schwartz is no stranger to the charts. His previous release, “Ready for Doom,” achieved significant international recognition, peaking at #2 on the Euro Indie Music Chart and finishing the year at #62 on the 2025 Year-End Chart.

This momentum is continuing into the new year: “Ready for Doom” recently surged to 35% popularity on streaming algorithms, boasting an impressive 7.3 streams per listener among active fans. Curators have previously described his work as “a challenge, a provocation, and a conversation starter.”

Joseph Schwartz is an artist and storyteller from Chicago who uses his music to express personal rants, emotional journeys, and calls to action against injustice. Every track is both a creative expression and an experiment in the future of song creation.

Media Contact:

• Artist: Joseph Schwartz
• Email: joespi314@gmail.com
• Website: jepspi-card.co
• Release date: February 6, 2026

The EP is structured as a deliberate genre tour. It opens with “Rock Superman,” an 80s arena rock anthem that functions as the anchor for his existing audience, then moves through a high-velocity “turbo” version of the same track, followed by Pop, Traditional Acoustic Country, Modern Country, and Folk. It’s an intentional bridge, designed to pull his core rock fanbase into unfamiliar territory one step at a time. The concept is coherent, and as a structural exercise, it’s genuinely interesting. Each variant is produced with the kind of technical polish that AI does well: clean arrangements, competent performances, nothing out of place.

That polish, though, is also where the EP runs into its central tension. Joseph Schwartz has built his reputation on sharp social and political commentary, and his lyrics carry real intent. But across six genre shifts, the AI vocals deliver all of it with the same consistent, frictionless proficiency, and that frictionlessness starts to work against the material. The genres themselves are rendered accurately enough, but they don’t carry the weight that comes from a performer actually inhabiting them. Country and folk especially tend to rely on that human specificity, the imperfections and lived-in qualities that signal authenticity, and that’s precisely what gets smoothed out here.

That said, “Superhuman” is doing something genuinely provocative, and Joseph Schwartz isn’t hiding the ball. He’s openly using AI as the instrument and asking whether the songwriting and concept can carry the emotional load on their own. It’s a fair question, and the EP is an honest attempt to answer it. Whether you find that compelling or frustrating will probably come down to how much you think the performance itself is part of the meaning.

What stands out first is the physicality of the sound. “Bulldog” feels lived-in: amps pushed hard, textures left rough, space allowed for imperfections to breathe. The production keeps everything close and tactile, favoring presence over precision. It doesn’t sound assembled; it sounds unleashed. That rawness gives the track a sense of momentum that never quite settles, which keeps it engaging from start to finish.

Batson’s vocal delivery is expressive, unpredictable, and unapologetically character-driven. Rather than aiming for control, he leans into attitude, letting phrasing and tone do the storytelling. There’s humor threaded through the performance, but it’s the kind that carries an edge: knowing, slightly menacing, and very much intentional.

“Bulldog” works so well because it refuses to chase relevance or nostalgia. It pulls from glam, hard rock, and punk instinct without ever feeling like a reenactment. The song trusts its own logic, its own energy, and that confidence is what gives it staying power.

By the time it fades out, Bad Boy Butch Batson’s “Bulldog” leaves behind the sense that you’ve just witnessed something unfiltered: loud, stubborn, and fully committed to being exactly what it is..

John Beckmann continues to treat Mortal Prophets less as a fixed band and more as a shifting framework, and here that flexibility becomes an aesthetic principle. The album moves with dream-logic: scenes bleed into one another, moods recur in altered forms, and nothing fully resolves. Psychedelic dream-pop, art rock, shoegaze haze, and noir-pop gestures circulate freely, but never harden into genre exercise. Everything feels provisional, in motion, slightly unstable.

Sonically, the record favors suspension over impact. Guitars blur into color fields rather than riffs, synths ripple like distant signals, and rhythms often feel implied instead of asserted. Vocals drift in layered states; intimate one moment, vaporous the next, creating the sensation of listening through glass or memory. It’s an album that resists forward momentum, choosing instead to hover, loop, and quietly deepen.

What gives Hide Inside The Moon its pull is how carefully it balances atmosphere with emotional weight. For all its softness, there’s tension here: longing that never fully names itself, time folding back on itself, identities doubling and slipping. The songs don’t explain these feelings; they enact them. You’re not guided through a narrative so much as placed inside a mental weather system that slowly alters your sense of scale.

There’s also a cinematic awareness running beneath the surface. Not in a grand, orchestral sense, but in how each track behaves like a scene: lit, staged, and then allowed to fade before overstaying its welcome. Silence, restraint, and negative space do as much work as melody. The album trusts mood over message, suggestion over declaration.

By the end, Hide Inside The Moon hasn’t snapped back into focus, and that’s precisely the point. Mortal Prophets leave you suspended, slightly off-center, attuned to subtleties you might otherwise miss. It’s an album that doesn’t demand attention so much as quietly recalibrate it.

In that sense, Mortal Prophets’ Hide Inside The Moon succeeds by staying out of sync; inviting the listener to linger in that off-phase state, where feeling precedes clarity, and drifting becomes its own kind of destination..