Bruno Galvez was born to a working-class Spanish family in Valencia, where the scent of orange blossoms mixed with the sound of distant flamenco was part of everyday life. Raised in a modest apartment above a small tapas bar, Bruno’s earliest memories include the strum of his grandfather’s old guitar and the rhythm of heels tapping against the tiled floor. Music wasn't just tradition — it was identity.

To support himself through school, Bruno played guitar on the streets and metro stations of Madrid, his case open for coins, his eyes always scanning for inspiration. These years shaped both his sound and his soul. The rawness of performing for strangers taught him to listen deeply to people’s silence — and to fill it with something honest. His fingers spoke when words failed, and soon his name became familiar in the underground corners of the city.

He studied Anthropology at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid, drawn to human stories, rituals, and rhythms — the same themes that echo in his music. By night he was a student of culture; by day, a transmitter of it, blending traditional flamenco with the urgency of the modern world. His academic lens gave new depth to his compositions, adding layers that resonated beyond melody.

Today, Bruno Galvez is no longer just a street performer. He’s a storyteller, a cultural bridge, and a reminder that music — especially flamenco — is not meant to be caged. It is meant to move, to cry, to celebrate, and most importantly, to survive.

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Melly Rich, born to a Lebanese family in Amsterdam, grew up surrounded by two worlds: the culinary brilliance of her father, Chef Khaled Rich, and the rich cultural heritage of the Middle East. Her father is the head chef of La Maison des Délices, one of France’s most prestigious Michelin-starred restaurants, known for its fusion of French and Middle Eastern flavors. Despite her father's fame in the culinary world, Melly's passion led her down a different path.

Though her family assumed she would follow in her father’s footsteps, Melly was captivated by music from a young age. With her father’s full support, she began singing, though her formal education took her into the world of architecture at the University of Amsterdam.

Balancing her studies with her love for music, Melly began to develop a unique sound, blending her Middle Eastern roots with the vibrant energy of Western pop. Her breakthrough single, "Damn, I Wish I Were in Istanbul", captures this fusion perfectly. The song carries hints of oud and traditional Arabic rhythms, interwoven with modern pop beats, creating a bridge between two worlds. It’s not just a catchy tune—it’s a love letter to her cultural identity, filled with nostalgia for the warmth and chaos of the Middle East, while reflecting her cosmopolitan life in Europe.

The song quickly gained attention, especially for its atmospheric vibes that pull listeners into a dreamlike vision of Istanbul, with its bustling bazaars and shimmering Bosphorus views.

Melly's ability to infuse her music with Middle Eastern influences sets her apart in the global music scene, and though she’s still juggling her architectural studies, there’s no doubt that music is where her heart truly lies. With the world now watching, Melly Rich is on her way to becoming an international sensation, blending cultures and genres like her father blends flavors at his famous restaurant.

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Imagine the grit and spirit of Seattle's best alternative music, colored with the blues of an often-drizzly city. Enter Dax Merrill, an artist who manages to distill the emotional richness of his surroundings into his melancholic masterpieces.

Dax hails from the birthplace of grunge, drawing upon the city's legacy with his murky, atmospheric guitar riffs and a voice that's gravelly yet beautiful. His music is an evocative blend of the gloomy skies and evergreen optimism of Seattle, weaved seamlessly within the fabric of his melancholic melodies.

From his mother's garage, he first strummed out the notes of a self-taught spells. His most notable song, "Memories That Stay", is a haunting testament to his past—a cathartic narration of his journey and a tribute to his resilient spirit.

Dax Merrill is as real as it gets, mates—unapologetically raw, generously insightful, undeniably talented. He's your heart's post-rain fog, the echoing muse on those sleepless nights. Listening to Dax is like tracing the outline of your own emotions, one chord at a time. So grab your headphones and let this Seattle-sound virtuoso take you on a sonorous adventure of an indie kind.

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Known for producing groovy beats that put a wiggle in your walk, Zahna Krouphouse is the hidden gem of the electronica scene with a penchant for igniting spontaneous kitchen dance parties. To the unassuming listener, Zahna's refreshing sound spells out freedom, exhilaration, and well... sheer joy!

Zahna got the break they've been waiting for when they were scouted by Filodyo. What started as a soundtrack for the aisle wanderers in stores turned out to be the foot-tapping, head-bobbing anthem for headphone warriors worldwide. Zahna's style? Think a vibrant fusion of Aphex Twin’s heart-thumping rhythm with Daft Punk's rhapsodic harmonies. But they punctuate it with a zesty twist of their own, stirring up their Krouphouse magic that flip-flops your heart and has your toes tapping a Morse code of elation.

Their crowning jewel? The catchy ditty christened "Self Mastery". Proving to be more than a hyped-up joyride, it's an electronic odyssey that weaves in the pulse of self-discovery, self-love, and well, mastering one's self. As Zahna says, it's the "digital lullaby of the self-actualized soul," if that doesn't make you double-click on their playlist, what will? On that happy note, may Zahna Krouphouse's music echo in your heart, head, and, inevitably, hips. Could you ask for a more funky companionship on your journey of self-mastery?

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Hamartia, born Juliet Steiner, grew up in a strict Catholic family in Dublin, where expectations were high, and tradition ran deep. From an early age, Juliet knew she was different, but her family’s reaction to her sexual orientation was anything but supportive.

Feeling isolated and misunderstood, she sought solace in Greek mythology, where she discovered the concept of hamartia—a tragic flaw that often leads to downfall in ancient stories. Embracing the name Hamartia became her way of owning her identity and turning pain into strength, using it as a symbol of defiance against the societal norms that tried to suppress her.

Her move to Dublin’s vibrant underground music scene gave her the freedom to truly explore her voice. Hamartia quickly stood out for her unique vocal techniques, blending haunting tones with an emotive, almost ethereal quality that captivates listeners.

Her style, a mesmerizing fusion of Amplified Heart and pop dance, reflects both her inner turmoil and resilience. Each performance feels like a cathartic release, with her vocals carrying the weight of her past while moving toward something liberating and triumphant.

Hamartia's music doesn’t shy away from the complexities of love, loss, and self-discovery. Tracks like "I Don' Know" and "Eyes Wide Open" speak to the tension between vulnerability and empowerment, a delicate balance she has mastered through her songwriting.

Now a rising figure in Dublin’s pop dance scene, her unapologetic artistry resonates with fans who find strength in her journey. And as she continues to perform in venues across the city, Hamartia’s star keeps rising, proving that sometimes our flaws, real or perceived, are what make us truly extraordinary.

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The Faded Ticket Booth is a four-piece Scottish acoustic group built around a warm, narrative-driven female vocal. Their music leans into everyday poetry rather than spectacle: upright bass, brushed drums, clean acoustic guitar, and voices that feel like shared conversation rather than performance. They sound like a street you’ve walked before but can’t quite place, a melody you remember without knowing when you heard it.

They formed on the quieter edges of Edinburgh’s busking circuits, shaping their sound in places where attention isn’t guaranteed — doorways, market corners, the brief hush that follows passing footsteps. That background taught them presence without volume; phrasing without force; sincerity without staging. Their arrangements remain intentionally uncluttered, preferring atmosphere over punch.

Influenced by the acoustic honesty of late-80s British folk-pop and the conversational phrasing of Eddi Reader, they record with a philosophy of leave the human parts in. Light string squeaks, the breath before a high note, the soft brush of a chord change — if it’s true, it stays. The result isn’t retro, but unhurried; not nostalgic, but familiar in a way that feels quietly earned.

Their recorded work is released in a deliberately limited way: not everywhere at once, not across every platform, but carried by NOT FM and Filodyo as their primary homes, where their catalog lives with the same intention as their songwriting. It isn’t framed as exclusivity for the sake of strategy — just a quieter kind of presence, placed where it feels understood.

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Meet Camille Duret, the French femme fatale of the pop scene, who manifests the charm of Parisian streets and the sunlit magic of the French Rivier into her songs. She's not just another 'joie de vivre' gal, folks, her tunes will make you feel like dancing on the cobblestones with a warm croissant in hand!

Camille was made in France, quite literally, and her music is neither too rich, nor too thin, rather, much like the perfect crème brûlée. Her infectious pop anthems, dripping with sweet melodic lines, makes you question if sugar may run in her veins. She makes you believe that you're sip-sip-sipping champagne on the Seine, no matter where you are.

Surely, you've bopped your head, maybe even twirled a bit, to her banger “Never Too Late”. A cocktail of happy heartbeats, tasty hooks and irresistible refrains, laced with a sing-along chorus, it's classic Camille at her best. This melodious masterpiece is like a delightful dance with a macaron - sweet, colourful and leaves you wanting more.

So, let's raise our glasses to Camille Duret, the Parisian pop princess who consistently proves that pop can be served well done, medium rare or, occasionally, à la mode. Trust us, once you've had a bite of Camille’s music flambé, there's no going back – Bon Appétit!

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Meet Viktoria Klein - the voice that's spreading joy across the alternative music scene with her infectious killer hooks and luminous personality. With her hit track "Strong City Woman" tearing up playlists, she's quickly becoming an essential fixture in the world of independent music.

Viktoria's journey to alt-pop goddess was anything but ordinary. As the story goes, she used to croon to sheep in her grandma's Yorkshire farm, using a pitchfork as a microphone- the sheep sure as hell didn't mind the free gig! This unorthodox "tour" harnessed her melodious chops, and the rolling English countryside became the stage where she honed what is now touted as "cripplingly delightful" tunes.

Klein's music mourns none and pleases many. Her "happy" mode of operation disguises the edgy undertone of her sound, striking a perfect chord between sunny optimism and biting realism. Listening to her tunes, you'll feel like you've been let in on a secret club - the kind that serves tequila at breakfast and sees exposed brick as the height of interior design. Each strum, every beat feels like Viktoria is sharing a personal punch-line; you practically hear her ironic chuckle as you navigate her audial landscape.

It’s near impossible to walk away from a Viktoria Klein track without a spring in your step or, at the very least, a glazed look of contentment. The alternative scene may be awash with talent but no one quite offers the Viktoria Klein experience – a merry romanticism that leaves heartache outside the nightclub door, making sure your ears are filled with nothing but good times. Watch out world, there’s a new 'Strong City Woman' in town!

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Scoot over, Marley, there’s a new reggae sheriff in town. Straight from the sunny sidewalks of Kingston, Jamaica, the Dreadlock Boys are laying down fresh beats in the reggae scene.

This pair of plaited prodigies isn't your grandma's reggae. Combining traditional roots rhythms with just a hint of ska spice and a not-so-subtle sprinkle of dancehall energy, these boys aren't just playing by the book – they’re writing their own. And don't let that laid-back island vibe fool you; these guys are as serious about making you laugh as they are about perfecting the offbeat.

Their standout single "Riddim of Peace" might just be the happiest jam this side of Montego Bay. With its earworm melody and bouncy bassline, it’s as infectious as a belly laugh in a silent library. It's the kind of track that leaves the grumpiest of gurners grinning like a Cheshire cat at an all-you-can-eat fish buffet.

So come, sit, and sway to the soothing sounds of the Dreadlock Boys. They'll be your pint-sized purveyors of peace, your lyrical lifesavers when the going gets tough. After all, joy does come in the morning and the Dreadlock Boys are here to serve it up with a side of reggae, none of those nasty grimaces, thank you very much.

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“If it doesn’t ask questions, it’s not music.”

LYA (pronounced “Lie-uh”) is a genre-defying artist from Berlin whose roots stretch from conservatory string quartets to the depths of fog-drenched warehouse raves. A classically trained violinist who once performed Vivaldi at age nine, she left formal music behind in her early 20s to pursue something more fractured, more real. What emerged was a sound as delicate as it is defiant—where harpsichords coexist with 2-step beats, and questions matter more than answers.

Her music exists in a liminal zone: somewhere between dance and disassociation, pop and poetry, cathedral and club. LYA often weaves spoken-word passages into her songs, transforming internal monologues into melodic mantras. Vocals—sometimes her own, sometimes spliced and AI-shifted—glide over textured layers of cello, muted synths, and ambient distortion. Think: if Imogen Heap grew up listening to Burial and wrote haikus in code.

LYA’s debut EP “Syntax of Sleep” was a quiet cult success among insomniac circles on Bandcamp, praised for its “introspective maximalism.” Her live sets, often accompanied by generative visuals and interactive lighting that reacts to audience movement, blur the line between concert and hallucination. She isn’t afraid of silence, nor of noise. Both, to her, are forms of rhythm.

LYA doesn’t write songs to explain. She writes them to wonder. “What’s It Made Of?”—her latest single via notfm—isn’t just a title. It’s a dare. A whisper in the hallway between thoughts. A reminder that meaning isn’t always the point.

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Romi Sage doesn't chase the spotlight — he teases it. With a smirk behind every lyric and a groove under every syllable, Romi walks the fine line between smooth and subversive. Born in Lisbon and raised between record shops and rooftop parties, he grew up idolizing the effortless cool of Prince, the rhythmic swagger of George Michael, and the punchy charm of early 2000s pop.

His voice slides — not in haste, but in style. It dances over slap basslines and syncopated guitar licks like it’s dodging commitment. Romi doesn’t just sing about love; he dissects it with irony, flirts with it, then leaves it on read. His stage presence is magnetic — not because he demands attention, but because he never asks for it.

Beneath the glam and glitter, though, there’s always a crack. That’s where Romi shines the most — in the clever melancholy, the playful ache, the smile that knows better. His performances are less about perfection, more about pulse.

Plastic Skies & Paper Towns isn’t a love song. It’s a stylish spiral — romantic delusion in disco heels. It's funk with a wink. And with Romi Sage at the mic, it’s impossible to ignore.

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