Artist Reviews

Charles Connelly’s artist page is HERE

My usual standard to gauge if a song is good is what I call “the Street Hummability Factor”; in other words: how often do I find myself humming a song while I’m walking down the street.

When talking about NAS songs, there are quite a few songs that meet this criteria: mentioning them one by one would make this review unnecesarily long. But there is one that has been UNDOUBTEDLY the most Street-Hummable song on NAS.

Charles Connolly’s “Come The End”

The virtues of the song speak for themselves. There’s no need of me mentioning the brilliant arranging, the great mix or the beautiful sonic palette; it would be much easier for me to just dwelve into the technical side of things, but this would bore most readers who aren’t audio-oriented.

I wanna focus on two things really, and the main reasons why I love this song. The first one being Charles’ vocals and how they mutate along the piece. For those of us who are really familiar with his catalog, Charles hangs in the “light tenor” range for most of his song. But this song hits differenty: “CTE” is sung with a solemn feel to it. While not exceptionally low for him, he goes low enough for the lyrics to hit deep (no pun intended). And when the drums come in, the solemnity is replaced with sheer determination. But still retaining that “X factor” that makes his vocals so appealing to me.

The second motive are the lyrics, and how they strongly resonate with me. The fear of insignificance.

I was once asked by my sister, as part of a public exercise, along with 50 other people, to write down our greatest fears on a piece of paper and then put it in a box. After a long time and serious consideration, I added my own piece of paper to the box.

OBLIVION.

Being forgotten. Not being remembered. Not making enough of a mark on the world, or on the people closest to me. Having my name fade away shortly after death. It’s not a fear of dying; it’s perhaps… a fear of dying in vain.

Come the end, I just wanna feel your pride

More than I do at this present time

Come the end, I just wanna make you proud

You’re allowed to shed a tear now

At its core, “Come The End” is a heartfelt self-examination about life, death, and how we are remembered. It is not just about the fear of death, but more about wanting to live in a way that brings pride, meaning, and connection with others.

There are two songs on NAS that I love but did not write myself. One of them is JHM’s “Into The Wilderness.” “Come The End” is the other. And when you combine a brilliant song with great vocals, strong arrangements, and a beautiful overall presentation, you get a truly street-hummable tune.

And that is why I love this song.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist: Andres Guazzelli

Their artist page can be found HERE

Coumarin’s artist’s page is HERE

One of my favourite discoveries on the NAS playlists is a spacey indie rock song called Remedy, one of many singles from Stuttgart, Germany–based artist Coumarin. I was immediately drawn in by the swirling synths, atmospheric guitar, and the catchy chorus melody. What I really love is how quietly the song begins. When you first put it on, you barely hear anything at all. It starts with a droning guitar, and then suddenly the drums, instruments, and vocals all arrive together. What follows are evocative lines that perfectly paint the picture of a relationship that has fallen apart, yet one where the speaker still carries deep feelings for the other person.

I’m digging out my heart today

Hanging in the burning rain

Look at what our love became

Swirling synths and propulsive drums keep everything moving steadily toward the chorus, where you might expect some kind of explosion. Instead, the instruments drop out, leaving us with utterly devastating, emotional lyrics:

Even through fire and hail

You erased all the pain in me, baby

Through every hurricane

All the rain ricocheted

You used to be my remedy

These lyrics reminded me so strongly of relationships I’ve been in—times when lingering feelings remained, when the other person once felt like everything, but no longer was. That longing for what used to be, for the good the other person brought into your life, is at the heart of this song. I’ve known many people who’ve left that kind of imprint, where letting go is incredibly difficult. That sense of devastation—of losing something that once healed you but now can’t—carries straight into the next verse.

The song largely stays in this emotional space, with the exception of the chorus, where a few synth layers drop out and the words come sharply into focus. The vocals are never pushed, and that restraint is essential. I wouldn’t like this song nearly as much if they were. The protagonist is sad and wounded, and that’s exactly how the voice sounds. The melody doesn’t span a wide range; instead, it stays almost conversational, like someone sitting across the table quietly telling you how they feel.

I’m a sucker for this kind of atmospheric synth pop. It reminds me of the best moments from Sir Sly’s debut album You Haunt Me, mixed with touches of Nested for Rest, and a little Depeche Mode for good measure. If this is your kind of music, you’ll love this song. And once it really sinks in what it’s about, you may find yourself reeling—emotionally undone, reminded of relationships much like the one being described here. I know I was.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist: Lavender Fire

Their artist page can be found HERE

Soledad Sonora’s artist page is HERE

Reflejos lejanos avanza sin prisa. Desde el primer momento, la propuesta de Soledad Sonora deja claro que no busca imponerse, sino acompañar. Es una canción pausada y minimalista, construida desde la sensibilidad, donde cada sonido parece ocupar exactamente el espacio que necesita, sin excesos ni adornos innecesarios. Esa economía sonora es, justamente, una de sus mayores virtudes.

La producción es discreta y cuidadosa, y genera un entorno que invita a bajar la velocidad y a mirar hacia adentro. Dentro de esa quietud aparecen breves contratiempos; estos matices funcionan como pensamientos que irrumpen durante una divagación mental: breves, inesperados y fugaces.

Reflejos lejanos no es una canción pensada para el ruido del día. Su verdadero lugar aparece cuando cae la noche, cuando el entorno se aquieta y la escucha se vuelve más íntima. Es una pieza ideal para ese momento en que el día se apaga.

La letra acompaña este clima con un lenguaje simple y directo. No busca grandes declaraciones, sino que va entrelazando paisajes, acciones y pensamientos abiertos para que cada oyente proyecte sus propias vivencias: el eco de la memoria, los propios “reflejos lejanos”.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist Senti-Ente

Their Spotify Artist page can be found HERE

Alan Elettronico‘s artist page is HERE

If I’m in my car driving home late from a gig or hanging out with friends, there’s always one kind of music I put on to keep me awake and alert:

Electronic music.

There’s just something about driving late at night that calls for synth-heavy music in the background. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of the best parts of Drive, a severely underrated movie starring Ryan Gosling from the early 2010s. Or maybe it takes me back to those long scenes of Crockett and Tubbs driving to an enemy’s hideout or their next stakeout in Miami Vice. If I’m driving late at night, I want synth-heavy music to soundtrack the journey.

And that’s exactly what this song does. Inner City by Italian artist Alan Elettronico scratches that itch for pounding bass and swirling synths that keep me awake and focused. It’s even better if I happen to be driving through a downtown area on my way home while this track is playing.

There are no lyrics in this song—but it doesn’t need them. When you’ve got pounding synths and melodies weaving in and out, words would feel unnecessary. This track is pure atmosphere. Even when I’m listening to it while doing chores, I feel like I’m driving through a city at midnight, surrounded by cars and headlights coming at me from all sides, trying to stay awake long enough to make it home.

And I only wish it were longer. Every time the song fades out, I just want it to come back. That feeling of escape—of getting away and being out in the world—is something this track delivers perfectly for me.

Even without words, there’s still plenty of movement in the song. The best instrumental pieces always have structure: parts that arrive and depart, motifs that repeat, and sections that evolve. In this track, small elements weave in and out, drop away, and then return. There’s a clear structure, even in the absence of lyrics.

It’s not easy to make a song without words truly engaging, but this one succeeds. Its atmosphere pulls you directly into the experience of being in a busy city late at night. This is my go-to “gotta get home and stay awake” anthem—and hopefully it will be yours too.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist: Lavender Fire

Their Spotify Artist page can be found HERE

Pistacho’s artist age is HERE

Hay piezas que no necesitan palabras para articular un mensaje claro, y “Marea alta”, de Pistacho, es un ejemplo magistral de ello. Esta composición instrumental contemporánea se despliega como una invitación inmediata al bienestar, logrando desde sus primeros segundos una sensación de ánimo positivo que se siente genuina y revitalizante: literalmente, la fuerza que trae la marea alta.

Gracias a una producción detallista, la obra crea una experiencia sensorial completa. Un elemento que aporta una humanidad inesperada son los sonidos de inhalación y exhalación; un recurso que no solo remite al relajo físico, sino que conecta la música con el pulso vital del oyente, convirtiendo la escucha en un ejercicio de respiración consciente.

Pistacho sigue con elegancia la “receta” clásica de la armonía y el ritmo, pero la dota de una frescura propia a través de una célula melódica impecablemente diseñada. La estructura se apoya en el juego académico del antecedente y el consecuente, manteniendo al cerebro en un estado de satisfacción constante. Esta progresión nos conduce con naturalidad hacia el único “coro” de la canción: un clímax que reafirma una arquitectura de pop instrumental pensada para la permanencia.

Sin embargo, la propuesta de Pistacho deja al oyente con una ambivalencia inevitable: su brevedad. La pieza dura lo suficiente para transformar el estado de ánimo, pero termina justo cuando se desea más. Podría considerarse una estrategia de deseo; nos obliga a regresar al inicio, a buscar de nuevo esa marea que sube para limpiarnos del ruido mental. En definitiva, “Marea alta” es una joya del pop instrumental que nos recuerda que la sofisticación no reside en la duración, sino en la capacidad de mover el estado de ánimo.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist Senti-Ente

Their Spotify Artist page can be found HERE

Bernice Marsala’s Artist Page is Here

I love this song because it resonates with the deepest parts of my soul, capturing the complex and often overwhelming nature of the human experience. Listening to it feels like stepping into an emotional and physical journey—like being trapped inside a dark, suffocating room where flickering lights cast fleeting shadows and every breath feels heavy with unspoken pain. The song vividly depicts the sensation of carrying invisible chains of emotional suffering and mental anguish, weighing down both body and spirit. It feels as if my own heartbeat is pounding irregularly, echoing the chaos within, fighting to break free from the torment that threatens to consume everything.

What makes this song so powerful and meaningful to me is the way it illustrates the internal struggle so many of us experience: clenched fists, a tight chest, holding back tears or overwhelming emotions, all while the voice trembles and reveals raw, unfiltered vulnerability beneath the surface. The sense of disconnection described in the lyrics—like icy cold spreading through the limbs, creating numbness and detachment from the world—feels painfully real. It’s an honest portrayal of moments when despair takes over, manifesting physically as pounding headaches, constricted throats, or sinking stomachs—visual and visceral signs of inner turmoil.

Yet, despite all this pain and chaos, there is an undeniable flicker of resilience woven throughout the song. It speaks to an unyielding desire to survive, to find peace amid the storm raging inside our bodies and minds. The clenched jaw and tightened fist become symbols of innate strength—an unspoken promise that even in our darkest moments, we possess the capacity to endure and transform pain into growth. This realization elevates the song from emotional expression to a deeper, philosophical reflection on life itself.

What I truly love about this piece is how it invites us to contemplate the profound interconnectedness of our physical sensations and mental states. It challenges us to find meaning within chaos and to recognize that suffering and hope are two sides of the same coin. Through its raw honesty and emotional depth, the song reminds us that despite the storms we face, there is an unbreakable core of resilience within us all—an inner light that guides us through darkness and toward hope.

In essence, this song is a powerful reflection of the delicate balance between suffering and hope, body and soul, darkness and light. It reminds us that even in our most vulnerable moments, we carry the strength to endure, grow, and eventually find peace. That’s why I love this song: it touches the core of what it means to be human, embracing both our fragility and resilience with honesty and grace.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS Rich Allen Music

Their Spotify Artist Page can be found HERE

Panem’s artist page is HERE

Whilst there are many diverse and talented artists and songs in the NAS universe, there are certain tracks that stand above the rest. “Zeitgeist / Absolute Monopoly” by Panem is one such piece that exemplifies this distinction.

I remember when I first heard this track, shortly after joining NAS, and I was absolutely blown away. From the very first listen, the writing, performance, and production struck me as truly outstanding. The track begins with a compelling guitar introduction, immediately setting a solid foundation. As the song progresses, soaring harmony vocals join in, accompanied by lively, authentic drums, elevating the music to an even greater height.

The bass is deliberately held back until the chorus, and when it finally makes its entrance, it lifts the track once more. This approach demonstrates excellent production instincts—knowing precisely when to withhold and when to introduce key elements for maximum impact. The arrival of the bass is a perfect example of how restraint can enhance a song’s dynamic range.

Among all the exceptional performances on this track, the bass stands out most for me. The part is immaculately crafted and expertly played, fulfilling its essential role: anchoring the root of the track and driving the groove. The groove itself is infectious, yet just as you begin to settle into the song’s direction, it shifts into a breakdown section where the bass once again shines, maintaining momentum while adding depth.

The track is further elevated by beautifully executed harmony vocals, which soar above the instrumentation and breathe life into the lyrics. Although the song was released in 2021 and received critical acclaim at the time, its lyrics remain strikingly relevant to the world today, as if they were written only yesterday.

“Zeitgeist / Absolute Monopoly” is a prime example of songwriting and production at their finest. If you have not yet experienced this track, you are in for a real treat. I have since become a devoted fan of Panem and appreciate their many excellent songs, but this particular track is a true standout and deserves a place on everyone’s playlist.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist Franklin & Bell

Their Spotify Artist Page can be found HERE

Blue Sky Effect’s Artist Page is HERE

Blue Sky Effect’s latest release, Ghost in the Sun, oozes British musical charm, bringing with it the unlikely blend of realism and optimism that appears in so much British pop. The guitar-led broken chords of the introduction feel like a nod to the mighty Manic Street Preachers, and when the vocals come in—along with a fuller accompaniment—we’re treated to a new layer of flavour. Ammar, the man behind Blue Sky Effect, has a rich baritone voice, but not in the style of a smooth crooner. Sticking with the British theme, his voice recalls Edwyn Collins, and toward the end of the song, as he reaches for higher notes, Marti Pellow also comes to mind.

This blend of realism and optimism has a long and rich history in British music, often using good weather as a metaphor for hope. Songs such as “We’ll Meet Again” by Vera Lynn, “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles, and “Always the Sun” by The Stranglers all draw on this imagery. More recently, George Ezra has sung of “green, green grass” and “blue, blue sky” in a song about death. The name Blue Sky Effect presumably reflects Ammar’s aim to create music with an optimistic feel, filling the listener’s imagination with a blue sky more associated with sunnier climes than often-grey Britain.

But the light, poppy feel of Ghost in the Sun slightly veils a more complex use of that imagery. While there is hope in references to “sunlight shimmering” and in the question, “can you break the clouds apart, reach the sunshine up above?”, the idea of a ghost in the sun speaks to loss. After a couple of verses and choruses, a guitar solo leads into the final section of the song, uncovering the heartbreak that has been bubbling beneath the sunny surface, culminating in an almost anguished closing refrain: “you’ll never be there if I need you.”

Musically, however, optimism reigns. There’s an incredibly catchy chorus, beautiful backing vocals (again, I’m tempted north of the border to make a Deacon Blue comparison), and the drums… wow. You can almost see the drummer’s arms moving at great speed under a brilliant blue sky, as the ghost in the sun is soon gone.

So by the end, should we feel exhilarated by the positivity of the music, or drained by the heartbreak revealed in the lyrics? In real life, it’s rarely one or the other. It’s always refreshing when a song doesn’t try to answer every question, but instead embraces the complexity of life—all within a four-minute pop song.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist fábjáni

Their Spotify Artist page can be found HERE

Crash Worlds’s artist page HERE

When I first saw the title “Cup of Coffee,” I immediately pictured a cozy, café-themed track filled with warm, laid-back melodies—something about morning routines or quiet conversations over a fresh brew. I couldn’t have been more wrong, and I couldn’t be happier about that delightful surprise.

The song opens with a gentle acoustic guitar paired with soaring violins that feel less like background accompaniment and more like a heartfelt invitation to lean in and listen closely. This organic introduction is a breath of fresh air in an era often dominated by electronic production, setting a tone that is both intimate and expansive from the very first note. As the track unfolds, a rich organ weaves through the background, adding depth without overwhelming the core arrangement, while subtle backing vocals provide just the right amount of emotional weight to carry the message forward.

What truly sets “Cup of Coffee” apart is its powerful thematic focus on resilience and perspective. It’s the kind of song that wraps around you like a blanket, encouraging forgiveness and the ability to let go of the things we can’t change. The lyrics capture this sentiment perfectly:

“These are days where love is all we’ve got / These are days where we can’t connect the dots / These are days where we don’t feel in control”—a concise reflection of life’s unpredictable nature and the choice we have to respond with grace rather than frustration.

The track reminds us that while circumstances may be out of our hands, our reactions remain firmly within our control. Crash World has crafted a piece that balances musical beauty with meaningful storytelling, proving that sometimes the best surprises come when our expectations are turned completely upside down.

Nung una kong nakita yung pamagat na “Cup of Coffee,” akala ko talaga parang kantang pang-kapehan lang ito—yung tipo na mainit at relaxed, parang makikita mo pa yung sarili mong nakaupo sa isang maliit na kainan, may hawak na mainit na tasa habang nakikinig sa mahinahong tugtog. Akala ko mga usapan tungkol sa umaga, sa mga simpleng kasiyahan, o baka naman tungkol sa pagkakaibigan o pag-ibig na parang kape—mainit at nakakapagpakalma. Pero hindi pala ganun! At sobrang saya ko talaga sa ganoong sorpresa; swerte ko naman na napakinggan ko ito!

Bumukas yung kanta sa mahinahong tugtog ng acoustic guitar—yung tunog na parang kausap ka lang ng kaibigan, tahimik pero puno ng emosyon. Tapos biglang sumunod yung mga biyolin na parang hindi lang tugtog, kundi parang inimbita ka talaga na tumigil muna sa ginagawa, umupo ng maayos, at makinig ng buong puso. Ang ganda talaga ng simula niya—kakaiba kasi ngayon karamihan sa mga kanta ay puro elektronikong tunog na, medyo mabigat sa tenga minsan. Pero itong intro na ’to, sobrang natural at organic—parang hininga ng sariwang hangin na kailangan mo pala talaga.

Habang tumatagal yung kanta, biglang may naririnig kang organ sa background na hindi naman nakakasira o nakakasagabal sa pangunahing tugtog. Sa halip, nagdaragdag pa ito ng lalim at kulay sa buong kanta. Tapos yung mga tahimik pang kasamang boses—hindi sila sumisigaw o nanghihimasok; sakto lang ang damdaming ibinibigay para mas ma-feel mo talaga yung mensahe ng kanta.

Pero ang pinakamaganda at pinakamakapangyarihan sa “Cup of Coffee” ay yung mensahe nito tungkol sa buhay at kung paano natin ito dapat harapin. Parang yakap ka niya ng mahigpit, parang sinasabing, “Okay lang ’yan—pwede mong ipagpatawad at bitawan yung mga bagay na hindi natin maibabago.” Tama talaga yung liriko na nagsasabing:

“These are days where love is all we’ve got / These are days where we can’t connect the dots / These are days where we don’t feel in control.”

Eksakto yun. Minsan talaga hindi natin alam kung ano ang nangyayari—parang gulo ang lahat at wala tayong magawa kundi panoorin lang. Pero ipinapaalala ng kanta na kahit ganun, nasa atin pa rin ang pagpili: kung paano tayo kikilos, kung paano natin haharapin ang lahat, at kung paano natin gagamitin ang pag-ibig at pag-unawa para malampasan ang mga problema.

Ang galing talaga ng Crash World dito—napakahusay nilang pinaghalo ang magandang tugtog at makabuluhang kuwento. Patunay lang na minsan, mas masarap at mas makabuluhan ang mga bagay na hindi natin inaasahan. Hindi ko inakala na ang isang kantang akala ko’y tungkol lang sa kape ay magiging isa sa mga kantang magbibigay sa akin ng lakas at pag-asa.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist Emerson B. Ocampo.

Their Spotify Artist page can be found HERE

David Von Beahm’s artist page is HERE

I fell in love with ’80s synth-pop back in the early 2000s, and that love has never left me. If I have a choice of what station to listen to on SiriusXM radio, I’m choosing First Wave. A station that plays all the alternative ’80s acts I love—Echo & the Bunnymen, Depeche Mode, and New Order? Yes, please.

I mention that because The Glass Notebook is exactly the kind of song that would feel at home on First Wave. It sounds like something that could have been played on WLIR or KROQ back in the day, but the more modern production means everything is more upfront and louder than anything from the mid-’80s. This was another song that randomly came up on the NAS playlists and immediately hooked me. It’s got that throwback ’80s sound I love, along with some really beautiful lyrics that genuinely touched me.

Like a lot of the great ’80s songs I love—such as First Picture of You by The Lotus Eaters or Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush—The Glass Notebook takes a little time to get going. It opens with a fingerpicked guitar riff and light cymbals before the drums and other instruments rush in with urgency. When the vocals arrive, I immediately get strong ’80s vibes from David’s voice.

The structure of this song is particularly intriguing. The intro is a bit long, the verse that follows is rather short, and then it lifts into the chorus. The chorus is where we discover what the title means. What is a glass notebook? To me, it represents the transience of life and memory—the idea that everything you are could fall apart in an instant.

“I wrote my life in a glass notebook

but I threw it to the ground and it shattered to pieces,

my fractured words of a fragmented world,

I left them lying there as my final releases.”

From there, each verse introduces a different melody from the last. The only constant is the chorus melody, which returns twice at the end. It’s a really cool structure—one you don’t often hear outside of more alternative music.

With its unmistakable ’80s atmosphere and cryptic yet emotional lyrics, The Glass Notebook is a perfect slice of modern music that sounds like it could be from the ’80s—but isn’t. Ideal for fans of alternative ’80s acts like Echo & the Bunnymen and The Fixx.

This review was submitted by fellow NAS artist Lavender Fire.

There Spotify Artist page can be found HERE