Into the Glitch — A Dazzling Descent with Hallucinations

Stray Planets’ Hallucinations is a kaleidoscopic trip through sound and sensation—one of those rare tracks that doesn’t just play to you but through you. Featuring Dara Kiely of Gilla Band on lead vocals, it’s a sonic fever dream built from distortion, pulse, and a strange kind of elegance that lingers long after the last note fades.

At its core, the song feels like a confrontation between human emotion and mechanical chaos. You can almost see the scene: a woman, her image splintered by a misfiring AI, watching herself morph into something unrecognizable. That story hums in the background while the music swells and mutates—sharp edges rubbing against melodic warmth. The production is vivid and daring, like someone painted with electricity.

Stray Planets manage to balance tension with beauty, making each twist in the song feel both unsettling and magnetic. Kiely’s vocals act as the guiding light through the madness—urgent yet oddly tender—pulling the listener through the static storm.

Hallucinations isn’t just a song; it’s a sensory experiment that blurs lines between art, identity, and machine. The result? A haunting, radiant masterpiece that proves Stray Planets aren’t afraid to chase the strange—and make it sound magnificent.

A Waltz Through the Dark—Xy Gala’s “Inside My Head”

With Inside My Head, Xy Gala doesn’t just drop a Halloween single—he opens the door to a haunted theater and invites you to take a seat in the front row. Every note feels hand-stitched from the fabric of a fever dream. The song swells and dips like a gothic fairground ride, marrying orchestral grandeur with a pulse of rock intensity that keeps the darkness alive and kicking.

There’s something cinematic in the way Gala builds his world. The strings sweep with tragic grace, the choirs echo like distant ghosts, and the pianos glimmer just enough to suggest there’s beauty even in decay. You can almost see the shadows pirouetting under a cracked moonlight. It’s equal parts drama and dread—melancholy made magnetic.

What makes this track stand out isn’t just its Tim Burton-esque theatricality, but the sheer intimacy beneath the spectacle. Gala’s voice doesn’t perform the madness—it inhabits it. You feel the ache of obsession, the blur between memory and nightmare, and the strange comfort of losing control.

In Inside My Head, horror becomes heartbreak, and despair becomes art. It’s gothic rock done right: bold, cinematic, and eerily human. Xy Gala turns the haunted mind into a stage, and somehow, you don’t want the curtain to fall.

Finding Calm in the Chaos

Alison Martino’s “Put It All Down” feels like a deep exhale after holding your breath too long. The Los Angeles–based indie artist, teaming up with collaborator Yan Clermont, crafts a song that hums with quiet wisdom — the kind that only comes from living, losing, and learning to let go. There’s something beautifully grounded about her sound: a blend of indie folk warmth, alternative edge, and a touch of Americana soul that makes the track feel timeless yet intimate.

From the first note, the production feels organic — acoustic textures meeting rich harmonies that wrap around Martino’s voice like sunlight through gauze. She doesn’t rush; she lets the song breathe, allowing the listener to settle into its calm pulse. It’s the kind of track you play when the day’s noise finally fades, when you’re ready to be honest with yourself again.

What makes “Put It All Down” linger is its sincerity. Martino isn’t just writing about friendship or self-compassion — she’s living inside those themes. You can hear it in the way her voice softens on the edges, the way each chord feels like an act of release. It’s a song for people who’ve carried too much for too long, and are finally learning to set it down. With this track, Martino proves she’s not just another indie newcomer — she’s a storyteller with heart and grace.

Glitter, Gold, and Growing Pains

Philip La Rosa’s “Glitter & Gold” shimmers with the ache of ambition meeting reality. It’s the kind of song born from a bruised dream—the moment when the bright lights fade, and what’s left is reflection. After spending time in Los Angeles and returning home to Perth with more questions than answers, La Rosa channels that disillusionment into something unexpectedly radiant.

Produced by Nic Rollo, this is La Rosa’s eighth release of 2025, and it feels like the culmination of a long, experimental stretch. The production glows—vocal layers stacked like soft velvet, harmonies glittering just beneath the surface, and a beat that pulses with both momentum and melancholy. You can sense the precision: every shimmer, every echo, carefully placed to create a soundscape that’s equal parts cinematic and intimate.

What makes “Glitter & Gold” compelling isn’t just its polish—it’s its emotional honesty. La Rosa doesn’t wallow in defeat; he alchemizes it. The track sparkles not because everything went right, but because it didn’t. That tension—the contrast between the song’s lush sound and the story of disappointment behind it—gives it a rare depth.

It’s a confident step forward for an artist unafraid to show his cracks. “Glitter & Gold” proves that sometimes the most luminous art comes from the shadows.

Funk in the Twilight — “Sexy Creep” by Ono Kimono

Ono Kimono’s “Sexy Creep” slinks in like a fever dream caught between a disco ball and a lava lamp — dripping with funk, grit, and a sly sort of confidence. It’s a song that lives in the neon glow of another era, where the line between groove and hallucination blurs in the best way possible. You can practically feel the 1977-to-1993 time warp that defines Ono Kimono’s world — all velvet basslines, warped synths, and that deliciously warped psychedelic haze that wraps the whole thing like a silk scarf.

The production is pure ear candy. That “yeauuh” bass nods knowingly to Pony-era sensuality while Daft Punk’s robotic charm hums somewhere in the circuitry. But Sexy Creep isn’t content to merely imitate — it reinvents nostalgia. Each layer feels handcrafted, from the elastic rhythm to the vocal-like textures that seem to flirt, taunt, and tease their way through the track.

What’s most striking is how alive it feels — as if the song itself is breathing, watching, waiting to pull you onto the dance floor at midnight. It’s strange, seductive, and just a little bit spooky — the perfect balance of charm and unease. Ono Kimono has created something rare here: a groove that’s both throwback and futuristic, a wink from the past that still makes you want to move in the present.

The Art of Outgrowing Nicely

Julia Kate’s “be nice princess” feels like sunlight breaking through the last fog of people-pleasing — tender, bright, and a little mischievous. What begins as a playful phrase borrowed from internet irony unfolds into something far more intimate: the story of a woman who’s learned that kindness without boundaries isn’t kindness at all.

The track glows with an effortless balance between modern pop shimmer and confessional storytelling. Julia’s voice — warm but edged with quiet defiance — moves through the song like a friend finally saying what she’s held back for too long. The production by Nick Rosen complements her perfectly: clean, buoyant, and full of tiny sonic winks that make the message land with both sweetness and bite. There’s no heavy-handedness here, just a knowing smile that says, I’ve changed — and that’s okay.

The “Alice in Wonderland”-inspired video extends that feeling, spinning self-discovery into a pastel dreamscape where playfulness meets reclamation. It’s self-aware without losing heart, a mirror for anyone who’s ever grown out of a version of themselves that others still cling to.

With “be nice princess,” Julia Kate doesn’t just craft a catchy pop gem — she builds a small anthem for gentle rebellion, for those learning to stay soft while standing tall. It’s witty, freeing, and quietly powerful — a wink and a boundary wrapped in melody.