What’s the story behind your latest song/album?
Honestly, it wasn’t planned as an album. It started as a few songs I couldn’t really get away from, and they all came from the same place. It’s that point where something’s already over, but there was never a real ending. No conversation, no explanation, just distance. And you’re left going back through everything trying to figure out where it actually changed. I didn’t try to dress it up or make it more than it was. I wrote it the way it felt while I was still sitting in it. Confusing, unfinished, and harder to let go of than it probably should’ve been. Over time the songs started to connect, even though they came from different moments. Same pattern, just seen from different angles. That’s what turned it into Only When You Come. It’s not really one story. It’s more that space you end up in when something ends without ever really ending.

How has your creative process evolved over the years?
It’s gotten a lot simpler, honestly. I used to overthink everything — second guess lines, rewrite things until they stopped feeling like anything. It felt like I was trying to get it “right” instead of just letting it be what it was. Now I don’t do that as much. If something comes out a certain way, I usually leave it alone. Most of the time the first version is closer to the truth than anything I’d come up with after sitting on it too long. I also stopped trying to explain everything. Not every line needs to be clear or tied up. Some things don’t make sense when you’re in them, so I don’t try to force it to. It’s less about control now, and more about not getting in the way of it.

Is there a specific moment in your career that felt like a turning point?
I don’t know if there was a single moment where everything changed. It was more gradual than that. I think the closest thing to a turning point was when I stopped trying to make songs that felt “acceptable” and just wrote what I actually meant. There’s a difference between writing something that sounds right and writing something that feels right, and I spent a lot of time stuck in the first one. Once I let go of that a little, the songs started to feel more like me. Not necessarily better, just more honest. It didn’t really come with a big reaction or anything. It was quieter than that. Just noticing that I wasn’t holding back in the same way anymore.

What’s one misconception people have about being a musician?
I think people assume it feels bigger than it actually does. Like there’s a clear moment where it all clicks or suddenly means something different. Most of the time it doesn’t feel like that. You’re still sitting in the same room, working through the same things, just trying to get something out that feels right. There’s also this idea that once you put something out, you get some kind of closure from it. That part’s not really true either. If anything, it just makes things more permanent. You don’t really move on from what you write about. You just get better at carrying it.

Who or what has been inspiring your music lately?
It’s been a mix of things, but a lot of it comes back to a breakup that kind of sat with me longer than I expected. Not just the ending itself, but everything around it — the parts leading up to it, the moments in between, and the things that didn’t make sense until after it was already over. I think that’s what’s been driving it lately. The bigger situation is there, but it’s usually the smaller details that come back up when I’m writing. Things that didn’t seem important at the time but end up meaning more when you look at them differently. I’ve always been drawn to artists who don’t try to smooth things out or make them easier to listen to. Alanis was a big one for me early on. There was something about how direct she was — like she wasn’t trying to protect anyone from what she was saying, including herself. That stuck with me. I don’t really sit down thinking about inspiration in a technical way. It’s more when something doesn’t sit right and doesn’t go away. That’s usually what turns into a song.

Can you share a memorable or unexpected moment from a live performance?
I wouldn’t say I have a lot of traditional live performance moments. I’ve never really been that comfortable in those settings. It’s something I’m still trying to figure out. There was one time I went to a friend’s show and somehow ended up getting put on the spot. They pulled me up to do one of my songs with almost no warning. I remember standing there for a second thinking, this is a terrible idea, but also not really having time to overthink it. It was that mix of being completely terrified and kind of excited at the same time. I got up there after being coaxed into it, and then… it’s pretty much a blur. I remember walking to the stage, and then I remember it being over. Everything in between is just gone. From what I was told, it went well. I’m choosing to believe that. And no, I wasn’t drunk. I think I’d had maybe two beers, so I can’t even use that as an excuse. I think I just didn’t have time to feel the usual anxiety, so I just did it and my brain decided to check out for the rest.

How do you handle creative blocks or self-doubt?
I don’t really handle it in a clean way. It’s usually a mix of avoiding it for a while and then coming back to it when it doesn’t go away. I’ve learned not to force it as much. If I try to sit there and push something out when it’s not there, it usually just makes it worse. It starts to feel fake pretty quickly. The self-doubt part doesn’t really go away either. I think you just get used to it being there. There’s always that voice that tells you something isn’t good enough or that you’re repeating yourself. Most of the time I just try to get something down anyway, even if I’m not sure about it. Sometimes it ends up being nothing, and sometimes there’s one line in there that actually feels right. That’s usually enough to keep going.

If you could collaborate with any artist, living or dead, who would it be and why?
I don’t think I’d want a long list. It would probably be Alanis. I’ve listened to her for a long time, and there’s something about how direct she is that’s always stuck with me. It never feels filtered or cleaned up for the sake of sounding better. It just is what it is. I think part of me would definitely be a little thrown off at first, just because of how much I respect what she’s done. But at the same time, that’s probably what would make it interesting. I don’t think it would be comfortable, and I wouldn’t want it to be. I think the best things come out of that space where you’re a little unsure and not trying to control everything.

What’s a piece of advice you wish you had received earlier in your career?
Probably that not everything needs to be understood right away. I used to feel like I had to figure everything out while I was in it — what it meant, why it happened, how it was going to turn into something. Most of the time that just made it harder to actually write anything honest. I think I would’ve told myself to leave it alone a little more. Let things sit the way they are instead of trying to force clarity too early. Some of the things that end up meaning the most don’t really make sense until later, and that’s fine. You don’t have to resolve it for it to be real.

What’s next for you—any exciting projects or goals on the horizon?
I’m trying not to get too far ahead of things. Right now it’s mostly about staying in the same headspace that led to this record and seeing where it goes next. There are a few songs already started that feel a little different, but I don’t really want to force them into anything yet. I’d rather let them sit and see what they turn into. I guess there is something I’ve been circling, though. It’s not a full album. Just a smaller group of songs that feel more like a continuation of the same conversation. A lot of it comes from things that happened after Only When You Come was already out… things that didn’t really have a place on that record, but didn’t go away either. So it’s kind of me trying to make sense of all of that after the fact. I’ve been thinking of it as Confrontations, but I don’t know exactly what it is yet. It’s a little more stripped back in some ways, but also a little more exposed. I think the difference now is I’m not just writing it anymore… I’m also dealing with what happens after you say those things out loud. Nothing really set beyond that. Just trying not to rush whatever comes next.

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Echoes in an Empty City

There’s something quietly unsettling about “Tokyo Ghost” by Black and White Rewrite—a kind of restless energy that never quite lets you settle, even in its softer moments. The track leans into that eerie space between motion and stillness, capturing the strange tension of being wide awake in a world that feels temporarily abandoned.

From the outset, the song pulses with urgency. Gritty guitars slice through the mix while the rhythm section drives forward with a sense of controlled chaos. It feels intentional—like the band is recreating not just a sound, but a moment. There’s a cinematic quality to it, as if you’re walking through long, empty corridors under harsh fluorescent lights, unsure whether to feel calm or on edge.

What stands out most is how the emotion builds without becoming overwhelming. The vocals carry a raw, almost anxious edge, but they never lose clarity. Instead, they guide you through the track’s shifting atmosphere, balancing vulnerability with intensity. It’s that push and pull that keeps the song engaging.

“Tokyo Ghost” doesn’t try to over-explain itself. It trusts the listener to sit with the unease, to feel that quiet isolation and the longing for connection underneath it. And maybe that’s where its strength lies—it doesn’t just tell a story, it lets you inhabit it for a few minutes.

For a comeback track, it feels less like a return and more like a reawakening.

A Little Chaos, A Lot of Comfort

Deptford Sound Collective return with We All Need to Get a Cat, and somewhere between the jangling guitars and sunlit synths, they’ve managed to bottle a feeling that’s both deeply personal and quietly universal. What starts as a playful, almost whimsical concept unfolds into something far more grounded—a story of grief, recovery, and the strange, soft ways life stitches itself back together.

There’s an easy warmth to the track. The rhythm section keeps things buoyant, while handclaps and shimmering melodies give it that breezy indie-pop charm. But underneath all that brightness, there’s a pulse of sincerity that keeps it from drifting into novelty. Deptford Sound Collective aren’t just writing about a pet; they’re tracing the emotional aftershock of loss and the unexpected ways healing sneaks in.

What stands out most is the balance. The song never leans too heavily into sentimentality, nor does it hide behind irony. Instead, it sits comfortably in that middle space—where humour, affection, and a touch of chaos coexist. You can almost feel the lived-in nature of the story, the kind that doesn’t need exaggeration because it’s already a little absurd and a little beautiful.

By the end, We All Need to Get a Cat feels less like a statement and more like a gentle nudge. Not an answer, just a reminder: sometimes comfort arrives unannounced, leaves fur everywhere, and refuses to follow any rules.

Cosmic Pulse in Motion

TillaTone’s Alien Love doesn’t ease you in—it grabs hold and lifts you straight into orbit. From the first beat, there’s a sense of momentum that feels both urgent and strangely weightless, like being caught between a dancefloor rush and a drifting daydream. It’s that tension—between force and float—that gives the track its identity.

What stands out immediately is the production. TillaTone leans deep into layered textures, stacking warped melodies over a bassline that pulses with a kind of hypnotic insistence. The soundscape feels alive, constantly shifting, as if the track is unfolding in real time rather than following a fixed path. There’s a cinematic quality here too, something expansive that makes the song feel bigger than its runtime.

Yet, despite its complexity, Alien Love never loses its punch. The rhythm keeps things grounded, driving forward with a steady intensity that makes it easy to get lost in. It’s music that invites movement but also rewards close listening—the kind where each replay reveals a new detail tucked beneath the surface.

There’s a quiet confidence in how TillaTone balances energy with atmosphere. Nothing feels overdone, and nothing feels held back. Instead, the track lands in that rare space where immersion and impact coexist.

With Alien Love, TillaTone isn’t just exploring sound—he’s stretching it, bending it, and letting it breathe in ways that feel both deliberate and free.