On a crisp October morning, as autumn leaves painted Italian streets in warm hues, composer Giuseppe Bonaccorso quietly released what might be one of the year’s most intriguing experimental albums. “Plastic Triode,” dropped on October 23, 2024, isn’t your typical classical-meets-electronic fusion – it’s something far more peculiar and captivating.
In an era where modern composers often struggle to find their unique voice, Bonaccorso seems refreshingly unconcerned with fitting into any particular box. Perhaps this fearless approach to creativity runs in the family; his father, a sculptor and painter, nurtured his son’s artistic inclinations from an early age. Young Giuseppe started with pottery sculptures – an unlikely beginning for someone who would later push the boundaries of electronic music.
“Plastic Triode” feels like a natural yet surprising evolution of Bonaccorso’s journey. The album’s six tracks weave together like chapters in an abstract novel, each one revealing another layer of his distinctive musical vocabulary. Take the opening track, “Luminescence” – it’s not just a song but rather a tapestry of sound where mysterious vocals float above experimental sound effects, while Bonaccorso’s masterful acoustic guitar work grounds the piece in something tangible and real.
As you dive deeper into the album, things get way more interesting. “Melting Watch” plays with digitally manipulated vocals that sound like they’re being broadcast from another dimension. Then there’s “Rabbit Hole” – and yes, it lives up to its name. The track employs some seriously clever panning techniques that make you feel like you’re tumbling through space and time. It’s the kind of song that rewards repeated listens, revealing new details with each spin.
But it’s “Persona,” the album’s 7-minute-23-second centerpiece, that really shows what Bonaccorso is capable of. When asked about this track, he explains with surprising candor, “The term ‘Persona’ literally means ‘Mask,’ and the presence of consonance followed by many dissonances helps you live the struggle of an ordinary person fighting against all his masks.” It’s heady stuff, sure, but somehow it works – the unconventional instruments, scattered vocal samples, and that impossibly rich bass guitar create something that feels both intellectually stimulating and emotionally resonant.
“Plastic Triode” by Giuseppe Bonaccorso
Bonaccorso’s path to this experimental style wasn’t straight or simple. Like many artists, he started somewhere completely different. His early musical education included studying modern composers like Leo Brouwer, but it was his discovery of avant-garde musicians – Edgar Varèse, John Cage, Karlheinz Stockhausen – that really lit the fuse. “It was like a flash,” he recalls, his eyes brightening at the memory, “but I immediately realized this approach was the only way to express my mind.”
The album closes with “Nucleation,” a track that somehow manages to make clockwork sounds, mechanical gears, and chip tunes sound not just musical but meaningful. Bonaccorso describes it as exploring “the perception of fragmentation in the life of an individual who follows a routine” – a surprisingly relatable theme for such an experimental piece.
What’s particularly fascinating about “Plastic Triode” is how Bonaccorso’s classical training shines through even in its most experimental moments. Years of classical guitar study have given him the ability to articulate multiple voices simultaneously, creating rich textures that somehow make the electronic elements feel more organic, more human.
When asked about the album’s challenging nature, Bonaccorso doesn’t apologize for its complexity. Instead, he offers this thoughtful observation: “My music is very experimental and avant-garde. Hence, it might be a little bit ‘hard’ to listen to, but I firmly believe everyone can understand the messages hidden between the notes.” There’s something refreshingly honest about that statement.
Already, Bonaccorso is at work on his next album, though he remains characteristically tight-lipped about its direction. He does, however, light up when discussing potential future collaborations, particularly mentioning violinist Caroline Campbell as a dream collaborator. One gets the sense that for Bonaccorso, the creative journey is never-ending.
At 33 minutes, “Plastic Triode” might not be a long album, but it’s certainly a dense one. It stands as a testament to how classical training can be transformed through modern experimental techniques without losing its soul. The album feels like a conversation between past and present, between tradition and innovation.
For those intrigued enough to dive into the journey, his work can be found on Spotify and Apple Music. Curious listeners can also explore more on his website, where both his musical compositions and published poetry offer additional insights into his creative mind.
Love it or be puzzled by it, “Plastic Triode” is impossible to ignore. It’s a reminder that in an age of algorithmic playlists and formulaic productions, there are still artists out there willing to follow their own peculiar visions, wherever they might lead.
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There’s something refreshing about an artist who doesn’t chase volume. “I don’t make music to sound loud. I make music to sound deep,” says iurisEkero, and after diving into his catalog, you get exactly what he means.
Born in Mendoza, Argentina, iurisEkero (stylized in lowercase, like his approach to fame) grew up in a house where music wasn’t just background noise—it was the main conversation. His grandfather recorded albums as a vocalist, his father played trumpet, and young Iuris absorbed it all. But here’s what’s interesting: instead of just carrying the torch, he’s completely reimagined it.
Now splitting time between the USA and Argentina, iurisEkero creates what he calls “sonic exploration”—pop mixed with electronic textures, ethereal vocals, and these atmospheric moments that genuinely make you want to hit pause on everything else. He pulls inspiration from unexpected places: cities at night, red wine, those comfortable silences between people who know each other well, and what he describes as “the glitch of memories.”
His latest single, “This Summer Night,” dropped on August 19th and perfectly captures that specific magic. At 3:17, it’s packed with synths that stick in your head and a melody that somehow feels both nostalgic and brand new. Other tracks like “The Sun, The Wine and You” and “Midnight Drive” show his range—each one catching different emotional frequencies while keeping that distinctive warmth that comes from his bicultural perspective.
The numbers tell their own story. Nearly 3 million Spotify streams. Over a million YouTube views. But when you mention this to iurisEkero, he seems genuinely surprised. “I don’t even understand those numbers,” he admits. “I just enjoy and am grateful.”
What he hopes listeners take away is simple: that urge to play a song again, whether you’re remembering someone, dancing alone in your kitchen, or waiting for something you can’t quite name yet. Even his breakup songs somehow feel optimistic—there’s always this undercurrent of possibility in his work.
Currently working on a new album featuring various guest artists, iurisEkero seems ready for whatever comes next. The sound explorer from Mendoza has found his frequency, and people are definitely tuning in.
What happens when you achieve everything you dreamed of before turning 23, but there’s no one around to celebrate with? That’s the question Alain Mékani wrestles with in “Quiet,” his introspective new single that dropped August 1st, 2025.
The Dubai-based artist, who grew up in Beirut speaking Arabic with his mom and French with his dad while MTV played in the background, has been carving out his own corner of the Middle Eastern pop scene since his 2023 debut “Fool.” But this latest track hits different. It’s raw, honest, and uncomfortably relatable for anyone who’s ever felt alone in a room full of people.
Written during a period of professional success while living abroad, “Quiet” runs just over three minutes but packs an emotional punch. The track opens with Mékani reflecting on his younger self’s dreams—the car, the new place, all achieved before his 23rd birthday. But here’s where it gets real: “I left it all behind just to find myself / But am I really free?”
The chorus doesn’t pull punches either. When he admits “I’ve been going through some changes and my mind is fucking racing,” you feel that restless energy. It’s not polished pop perfection; it’s someone working through their stuff in real-time. The official music video, which premiered July 31st, visually captures this internal conflict.
“Quiet” by Alain Mékani
Family threads through every verse — and you can feel it. There’s the promise to make his mother proud, the desire to share his victories, and that gut-punch line about missing the people who matter most. The bridge transforms into something between a mantra and a desperate reminder: “Be somebody if you’re nobody.” It’s less motivational poster, more survival mechanism.
Since emerging with tracks like “Awlad El Haram” and his licensed reimagining of the Lebanese classic “Tallou Hbabna” earlier this year, Mékani has built a reputation for blending French, Arabic, and English lyrics with what critics call a “melancholic awakening” sound. Regional outlets including Musivv and Buro 24/7 Middle East have taken notice of his ability to pair cross-cultural production with genuine vulnerability.
The artist, who taught himself guitar after starting on accordion at eight, turned to songwriting as therapy following his father’s death in 2015. While working a marketing day job in Dubai, he spent nights and weekends learning production, eventually creating the demos that would launch his career.
Currently working on collaborations with Rayan Bailouni and Jay Janith, Mékani is pushing further into French territory with his upcoming releases. It’s a natural evolution for someone who grew up switching between languages at home. As he puts it: “I write in three languages because some emotions need more than one passport.”
The first thing that hits you about Siren isn’t just her voice—it’s the sheer audacity of someone who taught themselves everything. No formal training, no music theory classes, just pure instinct driving her to create something that sounds like Rammstein got into a late-night conversation with Lana Del Rey while Massive Attack played in the background.
At 24, this LA-based artist has already written around 70 songs, most still unreleased, sitting in her vault like secrets waiting to surface. Born June 13, 2001, Siren started making music in 2019, and what’s emerged since then defies easy categorization. Her sound pulls from trip-hop pioneers like Portishead, the industrial weight of German metal, and the cinematic drama of Tchaikovsky—yes, the Swan Lake composer.
“Every ache must be turned into art,” she says about her approach to music. It’s this philosophy that drives her self-described “raw confessions where melancholy meets beauty.” Her mezzo-soprano voice shifts between whispered vulnerability and soaring intensity, creating what she calls “cold waves of sound that mesmerize like a siren’s voice in the night sea.”
Siren
The artist’s journey started unexpectedly early. One of her most vivid childhood memories involves her grandmother singing Russian folk songs on a winter swing—an experience she describes as “blue, cold, wintry, dark, nostalgic, deep, soulful, and melancholic.” By twelve, she’d discovered Rammstein, which she credits with awakening “strength, courage, resistance, and the spirit of a fighter.” The band shaped about 60% of her musical taste, while Lana Del Rey, who she calls her “musical mother,” opened up the other side of her artistic personality.
What’s striking about Siren’s work is how she balances opposing forces. She describes her music as reflecting both her anima and animus—the feminine emotional vulnerability paired with masculine instrumental drive. This duality shows up everywhere in her sound: acoustic piano meets electric guitars, string arrangements collide with rock drums, trip-hop grooves support orchestral swells.
Her latest release, “Devil 2019,” dropped on August 3, 2025, running 3:28 and showcasing her hypnotic vocal control. But it’s just a taste of what’s coming. Her debut single “Siren Heroine,” released on June 13, previews her upcoming album “Blue Blood,” which promises an oceanic, siren-themed concept drawn from songs written three to four years ago.
Siren
Beyond music, Siren works as a visual artist, filmmaker, and photographer, creating her own visual concepts exactly as she imagines them. She admits to both loving and fearing the ocean—thalassophobia mixed with an obsession for deep blue imagery. “I reflect what I fear. I am what I fear,” she explains.
When asked about dream collaborations, she mentions Hans Zimmer, Rammstein, and Lana Del Rey—though she notes that most of her musical heroes are dead. Her approach to creation remains uncompromising: “I don’t write for people—I write for myself. Music is how I let you know me.”