They said AI can't have soul. Then I made "Hey Ranger." Gospel Synthwave. That's what I'm calling it. Synthesizers washing over lyrics that are literally a prayer. Electronic basslines under verses calling out to the Divine Shepherd. The algorithm generating sound that's asking God to "open up the clouds above me." Here's what nobody wants to admit: the Ranger doesn't care what tools you use. The Divine doesn't check your production credits before listening to your heart. "He

NYE was a quiet haze 🥂 Hours 2-7? Lost to the chaos. The DMs filled in the gaps. This is the visual story of how "Maybe That Was Yes" was born - in the space between the night and the morning after. 10:47 PM - ARRIVAL Black suit. White v-neck. Polished shoes. Hair perfect. The club entrance is packed with people in formal wear, smoke machines already running, security checking the list. This is the version everyone sees on Instagram. Composed. Ready. Professional. 12:15 AM -

The joggers keep passing. Normal people doing normal things. I've been on this bench for three hours. City skyline behind me. Headphones beside me. Hands covering my face because I can't think straight anymore. Instagram sees the champagne. The rooftop parties. The packed clubs. The hands in the air. Nobody sees this. The morning after a set when you can't sleep because your brain won't stop. The voices asking if any of it matters. The exhaustion that comes from performing fo

January 16, 2026. 14 platforms. Simultaneous worldwide release. Six tracks I never would have made if things had gone according to plan. Not because they weren't ready. The masters were finalized weeks ago. UPC codes assigned. ISRC codes registered. Copyright declarations filed with the U.S. Copyright Office. Every technical box checked. I never would have made them because two years ago I was drowning in reverb and minor chords. Different band. Different name. Shoegaze—walls

They told us the algorithm killed spontaneity. They were wrong. Somewhere between the high-rise condos and the graffiti-tagged walls, underground music culture is alive. Not the sanitized, bottle-service version. The real thing. Picture this: concrete courtyard, zero permits, speakers stacked like Tetris blocks, and 300 people who found out about it three hours ago through a screenshot of a screenshot. This is how techno was meant to be experienced. The Pioneer CDJs feel dif

If you're holding champagne at a rooftop party, you're not really working. They teach you this in music school—if they taught anything useful. The best sets happen when you forget the optics. When it stops being about the photo op and becomes about the sound. But here's the thing about Las Vegas rooftop parties : sometimes the optics ARE the work. The city sprawls below like a circuit board. The Strip's neon bleeds into the night sky. Someone hands you a glass of champagne, a

The best validation doesn't come from Spotify playlists. It's 6:47 AM. I'm in the back of a black Escalade, somewhere between the afterparty and wherever I'm supposed to be next. The driver's playing electronic music—his own playlist, not the radio. Then I hear it. That bassline. Those synths. That's... that's my track. "You know this song?" I ask. He turns it up. "This right here? Fire. Been playing this all week. Artist called REGGATRONIC or something." I don't tell him. No