Entertainment

Freddy Will Gives a Breakdown of His Music

Published

3 years ago

May 1, 2023

This article consists of two parts. We chronicle the creative method of a Grammy-nominated independent recording artist. Some know him. Many don’t. Freddy Will said he is a Mande. He dropped his first joint in 2006. As for his cultural environment, he is from Sierra Leone and raps in Krio and American English while combining old school Hip Hop with Afrobeat, Calypso, Soca, Rock, and Classical. Perhaps that’s why he describes himself as an Afropolitan who records and performs crossover Hip Hop.

We checked to verify the “City Boy” artist’s claims. Our investigation revealed that he had lived his life in stages. The first was when he was born in Brookfields Freetown, Sierra Leone, to a high school principal and a nurse. They became UN diplomats and Gospel preachers. Freddy entered his second phase when his parents moved to Liberia. There he received a Catholic education. At the same time, he was active in Church with his parents, learning to sing, compose, and play musical instruments.

This preacher’s son told us a friend introduced him to Hip Hop, but a civil war ensued. After some clashes with rebel militants, he entered the third phase of his life by returning to Sierra Leone. The gist of this part of his story is that he was separated from his family. They emigrated to the United States while he stayed with his father’s parents and relatives in Sierra Leone. He attended three secondary schools, Christ the King College, Methodist Boys High School, and Ansarul Muslim Secondary School.

We are sure there is a story. It could have something to do with the civil war. After running with the national soldiers, the preacher’s son graduated from high school. The Islamic school explains his reverence for Islam. Hip Hop was very unpopular in Sierra Leone in the early 1990s. Freddy Will’s conservative relatives opposed his adherence to the music culture. He was later one of many refugees who immigrated to The Gambia as the Sierra Leone civil war escalated. This was the fourth phase in his life journey.

In The Gambia, a teenager Freddy Will spent most of his time writing music and screenplays. He compiled volumes of handwritten Rhyme Books. Freddy briefly moved to Senegal to reconnect with an uncle before emigrating to the States to join his parents, grandparents, and siblings. His father is from the Loko people of Sierra Leone. His maternal grandmother was an African American of Guyanese descent. While his father’s parents lived in Sierra Leone, his mother’s parents lived in the United States.

We learned that Mande is an ethnic people from which various groups descend. They are Susu, Loko, Mandingo, Gio, Bambara, Vai, Gbandi, Mende, Kissi, and many more. Freddy is Mande, as his father is from the Loko people, while his mother is from the Mandingo people. However, his mother’s background also includes African American and Guyanese on her mother’s side. Her father’s lineage stretches back to Mali, Senegal, and Guinea. He was a Sheikh with a peculiar birthright among his people.

In Freddy Will’s mind, he became an Afropolitan after naturalizing in the United States and entering his sixth phase with emigration to Canada. During the fifth phase, he put his music career on hold to pursue other opportunities like his post-secondary education. In Toronto, he returned to music, recording Hip Hop albums, a mixtape, and an EP, and released them independently. He later came in his seventh phase when he moved from Canada to Europe. His emigration gives his Afropolitical perspective.

We also note that he transitioned from rapping to literary writing between his sixth and seventh phases. We focus on his sixth phase, when he recorded and released his albums in Toronto. Freddy has published a book series in Europe and released two albums there. When asked about his transition, he gave three reasons. One was his age. He was in his mid-thirties. Another reason he gave was his influence on the fans. He didn’t want to make music with an adverse impact; the last was to “follow his dream.”

Q: Why do you refer to yourself as an Afropolitan?

Freddy Will: “The best way to describe where I belong is to say I’m an Afropolitan. I feel loyal to all the countries I’ve lived in. Yes, I’m a proud American, but in a way, I’m also Liberian, Gambian, Senegalese, Canadian, Belgian, and even German. It’s a kind of psychological connection. Life has given me a transnational identity with my roots in Sierra Leone.”

Q: Very well. What do you say to those who only want you to represent Sierra Leone?

Freddy Will: “Oh, make no mistake, Afropolitans get criticized. Considering how the system works, everyone won’t get that being an Afropolitan is not an aspiration. Life happens. You keep relocating from country to country. You move around the diaspora. Of course, I’m a Sierra Leonean at heart. We call Sierra Leone ‘the land that we love.’ I sprout from deep roots in Gbendembu. It’s my heritage. Whether people realize it or not, everything I do, every failure or accomplishment, represents Salone.

On the other hand, life goes on. Every Afropolitan feels thankful to the diasporas where we’ve lived. Each one adds something to our experience and character. Our awareness shifts from one culture to another. There’s also that downside where we often don’t fit in as newcomers after living in a different country. Sometimes the only hope is to go back to our roots so we grasp our culture. You know what I mean? That’s why I identify as an Afropolitan. It’s the best way to understand people who live like we do.”

Q: Speaking about roots, we learned that your grandfather was a Sheikh with connections to Mali, Senegal, and Guinea, and your grandmother was African American with ties to Guyana. You straddle Africa, the Caribbean, and the United States.

Freddy Will: “Yes. There were a lot of mixed marriages. My mother’s father, Alhaji Sheikh Abdul Gardrie, was a Mandingo. These are the people who founded the Mali Empire. When you trace his lineage, it goes from Senegal to Mali and from Guinea to Sierra Leone. I’m still determining the Yoruba part, but it’s there. Even my last name, Kanu, is primarily Nigerian. I’m figuring out how this Nigerian last name ended up in Sierra Leone. But that’s on my father’s side. The Yoruba is on my mom’s side.

Our family, we even have relatives in Canada now. The Kanu lives there too. Plus, Canada plays a significant role in Sierra Leone’s history. Yes, my mother’s mom was African American. I don’t remember exactly, but they say my grandma’s mom was Guyanese, and her dad was African American. On my father’s side, we’re from a place called Gbendembu. The Loko and the Mandingo are sub-groups of the Mande ethnic group. Some are Muslims, while others are Christians. I’m all that culture in my lineage.”

Q: Tell us about your music. How would you describe it?

Freddy Will: “My music expresses cultural, religious, political, and social experiences. Sometimes it’s a celebration, and other times it’s a howling. At the core, it’s Hip Hop. This genre has shaped many aspects of me. I rap in most of the music. Although, on the production end, the sound could be more assorted. I’d describe my music as a crossover Hip Hop.”

Q: How were you introduced to music?

Freddy Will: “Before he became a born-again Christian, my father used to play music in the house. Back in Liberia, he had an entertainment system. It had a record player. He had many records. My parents threw parties, if I remember correctly. Our neighbors did the same thing. Liberia was a very musical place when I was growing up. Every birthday came with a party, with lots of music and dancing. When my parents converted to born-again Christianity, the music changed to Gospel but still music.”

Q: Were you in the Church choir?

Freddy Will: “No. I’ve always been an outcast. I don’t fit in, so I do my thing. That was the same case in the Church. The choir was there, but I couldn’t get in. I’d watched them sing. I watched them practice, but they didn’t let me join. For me, the answer was always no. Although when I lived in Bo, they had a youth group at our Church. I wasn’t a full member, but once, they let me participate in a convention where we sang on stage and acted in a play from the Bible. It was nice. I was never in the choir.”

Q: You didn’t like Church.

Freddy Will: “I wouldn’t say that. I wasn’t in the groups. I could sit in the audience. The Church in Bo was the best of them. They let me attend or participate in group meetings. I wasn’t a full-fledged member, but I affiliated. As I said, that one time when they had that big convention when all the other Churches met in Bo, and they sent singing groups to represent them, my Church let me participate. I was the kid who hung around watching. During those years, it was all about me wishing and hoping.”

Q: How did you learn how to compose music?

Freddy Will: “I taught myself. I was already rapping before moving to Sierra Leone. I hung around the youth meetings and choir at the new Church, watching them practice. Then I studied the formats in hymn books. I’d ask the guitar or piano player to show me a thing or two every chance I got. Then I’d beatbox the rest. I created the music in my mind. Once my friends put me onto Gangsta rap, I started lip-syncing over instrumentals. As time went on, I started to hear songs in my mind. Randomly, a new song would come to me.”

Q: Who writes and composes your songs?

Freddy Will: “I wasn’t kidding when I said I never fit in anywhere. Okay, maybe I exaggerated a tiny bit. But no, I didn’t get the mentor or the protégé. Most times, when someone showed, they were there to defeat me. I had to write my lyrics. A beatmaker or producer would back me up on the production end. The song comes to my mind, and I’d beatbox the rhythm to myself while writing the lyrics. Then I’d find a producer and hint at a rhythm for the song. Then they’d hit me with whatever they’ve got.”

Q: Take us through your creative process.

Freddy Will: “I watched the choir practice. I’d studied the lyrics in hymn books. Then I taught myself to use the same format. On the rapping side, I learned how to lip sync a few popular songs like ‘Around the Way Girl’ by L. L. Cool J, ‘OPP’ by Naughty by Nature, ‘Down with The King’ by RUN DMC, and ‘Lord Knows’ by Tupac Shakur. Once I could freestyle the lip-synced lyrics, I started to rap them over their instrumental. Shortly after that, I made up my raps and spat them to the instrumental with the hook.

This was between the early to mid-90s. By the mid to late 90s, I was writing lyrics. Now the music comes to me like a download. I hear the song (in my mind) and replicate it. Sometimes I produce it exactly, and other times it turns out differently. Perhaps I was sleeping and dreaming when a song came, and I wrote it down and made a reference recording. Or, I’d listened to a beat, and the song came instantly. At the very least, I’d have written the lyrics if I couldn’t remember the melody or the rhythm.

The chorus or the hook comes first, then the verses. Depending on the producer or engineer, the song could be whatever. With an excellent producer, I’d hint at a drumline, harmony, or baseline, and he’ll take it from there. A beat-making producer might already have a beat where I’d match my hook and verses to his rhythm and adjust. Then I’d take that to the studio. It all depends on the situation. I can rap to any beat and do several genres. It’s a typical format that most artists use to create songs.”

Q: Does that explain the crossover claim you make?

Freddy Will: “The crossover is between two or more genres on the same song. I’d go with Funk, Soul, R&B, Gospel, Reggae, Calypso, Soca, Africana, Classical, Dancehall, Rock, or Country music. Africana music splits into branches like Sukus, Gumbay, Zouk, and Afrobeat. When you bring all that to Hip Hop, you end up with the Afropolitan sound. It’s crossover. That’s like what Afrobeat is in some cases. It’s a work in progress. I’m still looking to make that perfect crossover but blending genres is it.

As I’ve said earlier, the songs come to my mind. I could be cleaning the kitchen, walking, or sleeping. The rhythm comes, I beatbox it, then the rap lyrics start to flow. I’d have a new song if I could find a pen and pad quick enough to write it down and a recorder to freestyle a reference recording. Later, I’ll rewrite and edit it. On the production side, I’d either make the beat or choose a beatmaker’s beat. When everything felt right, I’d go to a studio and record what I’d been working on the last few weeks or so.”

Q: Can you name six of your crossover songs?

Freddy Will: “Yes. ‘City Boy,’ ‘Maria,’ ‘Providence,’ ‘Girl from Happy Hill,’ ‘Pickin,’ and ‘While I’m Still Young.’ I started making crossovers when it was unpopular. People used to criticize it. When I first recorded ‘City Boy,’ many people didn’t get it. The term is a popular slogan now; everyone’s making some crossover. It became a trend years later. I’m not saying they got it from me. I’m saying I was heading in the right direction with that.”

Q: Nice! Tell the fans about your first release.

Freddy Will: “’Stay True.’ We released it off of an independent label in Toronto. I said we because I was with a music producer and his team. It had been almost a decade since I’d rapped or performed professionally. A stroke of luck found me out there, recording my debut album. It was like a dream. He was the producer. I loved his sound. It was perfect for my style. That’s when we recorded ‘Animal,’ ‘So Hard,’ ‘Somebody…’”

Q: We’ve seen rappers who freestyle a song instantly. They have such an intense work ethic that they can write and record several pieces in one go. Are you one of them?

Freddy Will: “I’ve written and recorded two to three songs on the same day and performed them on the same night. I’ve created dope pieces that way. Lately, I don’t prefer that method anymore. As I said, songs come to me. Someone can invite me to a studio, an engineer plays a beat, and they ask me to get in the booth. I would. Typically, the message will not be positive when I spit off the top of my head or write a song within minutes in the studio. That’s where you’d hear all sorts of profanities and shit.

Once I’m peer-pressured to make a quick song, the lyrics go in the stereotypical direction. You’ll get the streets – being inebriated, debauchery, wealthy, or violent situations. When I take my time to write, I’m more thought-provoking. I prefer working on a song for a few days or weeks before recording it. Once we record, that’s it. Once we release it, that’s it. I get songs, write them, and record them at the studio. I could bring two or three to a session and record them simultaneously.” …TO BE CONTINUED.

www.freddywill.com/music

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Entertainment

Serag Baddar Built An Entire Song Out Of The Parts Most Metal Bands Use As A Breather

Published

3 days ago

August 27, 2026

Popular Hustle Staff

In heavy music, the clean section usually has one job. It gives the listener a moment of air before the distortion comes back, a few bars of arpeggios and space that make the next riff hit harder. Serag Baddar wanted those sections to be the whole song. “Limerence,” released on August 13 and running four minutes and ten seconds, is what happened when he finally built one.

Baddar is a 30-year-old composer based in Malta who describes himself as someone who’s into philosophy and happens to write music. He got his start the way a lot of players do, badly and by accident. His father bought him a cheap vintage Flying V and a small Kustom amp when he was around 14, and while the amp sounded great, the guitar was awkward to play sitting down, so he never took it seriously. A year later his middle brother bought him a BC Rich Mockingbird, and that was the one that stuck. He pushed himself past beginner level on his own. By 16 he had a garage with two friends where he wrote most of his riffs, and as he got more introverted he moved into production, learned to record guitar and vocals himself, and never went back. These days a DAW is where songs start.

One riff from that period refused to go away. Baddar wrote it at 15 or 16 and understood immediately that he wasn’t good enough at songwriting or guitar to build the song he was imagining, so he set it aside until he could do it justice. “It’s a very nice riff,” he says. “Even the way it’s played on the guitar, every note is placed conveniently where your hand can reach without having to stretch or move anywhere at all. For me, as a 15 or 16-year-old, writing that riff meant I had a melody that sounded professional, and I was very proud of that because at the time I really sucked at my instrument.”

The song went through multiple iterations before it landed, originally under the title “Lotus,” a nod to Buckethead’s “Padmasana,” whose rhythm guitar shaped one section of the track. Padmasana is the lotus pose, which is where the working title came from. Over time, “Lotus” became “Limerence.” Baddar says he got attached to the song even in its unfinished state, partly because so many versions of it contained things he wanted to keep and couldn’t.

What holds the thing together is a structural decision rather than a stylistic one. Baddar loves the clean passages in Opeth and Tool, and rather than treat them as contrast, he made them the foundation and left the distortion off entirely. “Opeth combines metal with clean riffs, especially inspired by 70s bands. I always wanted their clean sections to be entire songs, and from Opeth we only got one record like that, ‘Damnation’,” he says. He points to Buckethead’s “Electric Tears” and “A Real Diamond in the Rough” as proof the approach can stay accessible. “It’s always through wanting more of this that kept me inspired to keep my distortion off and stay clean.”

The most revealing moment comes at the end, where Baddar takes the hook apart in front of the listener. The main riff plays, then stops. The bass comes in. The second guitar riff arrives on top of the bass. Then everything runs together once. It’s a small act of transparency, and it makes a point that’s easy to miss on a first pass, which is that none of these parts are doubling each other. “I’m very happy and proud of the fact that every instrument plays something completely different and sounds really good when put together,” he says.

That kind of patience comes from treating music as a hobby rather than a job. Baddar writes for what he calls dopamine, meaning everything he keeps has to make him feel like he’s listening to a favorite band, and he works on sparks, those bursts of creative energy where good material arrives without effort. “There’s no pressure at all. I do whatever I want and release material at my own pace,” he says. “If there was ever a demand, I wouldn’t be able to keep up with it because of the way that I write.” The lyrics came late and stayed personal, including a passing reference to a Metallica song about love going on, before the track closes on a repeated request to be talked to.

Next up is vocal writing for “Electric Smoke,” a bluesier track he wrote with Kyuss in mind, and eventually an EP collecting the rest of his clean material. He doesn’t play live, and he’s upfront that the vocals will take time, so things will be quiet for a stretch. His advice to other writers is the same rule he applied to that teenage riff. Write out of love for the craft, skip the cheap satisfaction of having a song finished, and work on it until it’s right even if that takes years. Fifteen years is a long time for a riff to wait, unless the four minutes it turns into are worth it.

“Limerence” is on all streaming services, with the single and lyrics available on Bandcamp and his catalog on Spotify. More on Baddar can be found at his official site, on Facebook, and on Instagram.

Entertainment

Vanessa Béjine Takes Best Christian Song at the Hollywood Independent Music Awards

Published

3 days ago

August 27, 2026

Popular Hustle Staff

When Christian pop artist Vanessa Béjine stepped onto the red carpet at the 2026 Hollywood Independent Music Awards, she arrived as a nominee. What she didn’t know was that the story of the night would continue well beyond the ceremony.

Dressed in an unforgettable blue custom-tailored Versace gown, Béjine completed the look with gold Versace heels, and a matching handbag. She attended the ceremony with co-producer Eleni Thompson, celebrating the nomination of her single Help Me Help Them in the Christian/Gospel category.

Another entry was mistakenly announced as the winner. Then came an unexpected development. Following the ceremony, it was discovered that the song originally awarded the honor was completely AI-generated. The original result was subsequently voided, and HIMA apologized and awarded Best Christian Song to Béjine for Help Me Help Them.

For an artist whose work is rooted heavily in lived experience, the circumstances surrounding the win made the recognition particularly meaningful.

Music Made From Real Life

Béjine believes the relationship between an artist and listener is built on something technology cannot manufacture: shared human experience. Her songs often begin with things she has lived through, witnessed or deeply cared about — faith, loneliness, perseverance, injustice and the decision to keep going through seasons that don’t make sense.

It’s also why Béjine holds a firm position on AI-generated music. While artificial intelligence has become increasingly present across entertainment, she believes music itself should remain a human art form. To Béjine, listeners don’t simply connect with a melody. They connect with the person behind it. A song about heartbreak carries weight because someone has experienced heartbreak. A song about faith can resonate because someone has wrestled with doubt, waited for an answer or found the strength to keep believing.

Music, in her view, is not simply an end product. It is an art form shaped by human talent, creativity, emotion and experience. There is a fundamental difference between an artist creating a song and someone prompting a computer system to generate one — particularly when the two are placed in competition for recognition of artistic achievement.

That philosophy is woven throughout Help Me Help Them.

A Song Rooted in Compassion

At its core, Help Me Help Them is about compassion. The song gives a voice to those who are easily overlooked — including people experiencing hardship, abandoned children and animals waiting for someone to notice them. Its message acknowledges an uncomfortable reality: no individual can save everyone. But everyone can help someone.

That simple idea captures much of what Béjine wants her music to accomplish. For her, success isn’t only about being heard. It’s about creating something honest enough that another person can hear their own experience reflected back to them — and perhaps feel a little less alone because of it.

The Long Game of an Independent Artist

The HIMA win represents another step forward for an artist who has continued building her career independently. Béjine has developed a sound that crosses contemporary Christian pop, dance, R&B-pop and cinematic influences, allowing individual songs to take on different identities while maintaining the same foundation: faith and honest storytelling.

There is also something fitting about the way this particular award arrived. The recognition came only after the initial result was revisited and corrected. HIMA’s decision ultimately ensured that an award intended to recognize artists and their creative work went to an eligible human artist — an important distinction as the music industry continues confronting questions surrounding artificial intelligence and creative ownership.

For Béjine, the moment isn’t about diminishing the awards organization that ultimately corrected the result. Nor is it simply about opposition to a new technology. It’s about protecting something she believes is worth preserving: the human talent, artistry and human connection with listeners at the center of music. Songs have historically allowed people separated by geography, background and circumstance to recognize themselves in someone else’s story. That connection begins with a human being having something to say.

And as Béjine continues building her catalog and reaching new listeners, Help Me Help Them now carries another distinction with it: Best Christian Song. For an artist whose music has always centered on faith, resilience and giving a voice to those who need one, it’s a recognition that feels especially fitting.

Entertainment

AKASHIC GODS Shatters Digital Hypnosis with an Arena-Sized Spiritual Awakening on ‘The Ether Element’

Published

1 week ago

August 22, 2026

Popular Hustle Staff

“Orphans of wisdom” is the kind of phrase that either lands or it doesn’t, and AKASHIC GODS has built an entire album around making it land. The line names the fourth track on The Ether Element, the concept record the one-woman project releases this August, and it describes how the artist sees a culture that is, in her words, “information proud” yet starving for truth. The album’s thesis is simple enough to fit on a placard. Its execution takes ten tracks and a lot of distortion.

Akashic Gods came up somewhere else entirely. Her earlier work sat in dance music, drawing support from DJs including David Guetta and Fatboy Slim, before the project as it exists now took shape in 2024. The three singles released ahead of the album have performed well on independent radio, with “Karmic Justice” holding No. 1 on the independent airplay charts for four consecutive weeks and “Weapons in Space” spending three weeks at No. 1 on the UK Talk Radio Hot 100. “Gods and Machines,” her first single under the name, reached No. 2, picked up international airplay and was featured on a national television music show in Norway. Away from radio, she was interviewed on the red carpet at the UK film premiere of Dream Hacker earlier this year and turned up as a guest on the Martin Talk Show podcast.

That track opens the record and sets its terms. “Gods and Machines” pits ancient religious imagery against automated modern life, and the artist describes it as a warning against trading a soul for the illusions of the digital age. The phrase driving the song is “mindless express,” and the rhythm track was built to match it, rigid and unstoppable, a train nobody gets to step off. The song’s official music video which stands as the essential doorway into the album’s sonic landscape.

The production leans into the same opposition. Working with producer Carlone Lewis, AKASHIC GODS set glitchy industrial synths and stiff electronic programming against warm orchestral strings and stacked, choir-like vocal harmonies. The stated aim was to make cold machinery and human voice fight over the same space in the mix. The record is built in two movements, The System, described as the weight of modern manipulation, technology and betrayal, and The Sanctuary, described as the awakening of the human spirit through divine justice and forgiveness. Whether that reads as a smart structural idea or a heavy-handed one, the method matches what the songs are saying.

“Orphans of Wisdom” makes the case more directly. The track borrows the biblical warning that people perish for a lack of knowledge and pairs it with Socrates’ admission that all he knew was that he knew nothing, plus a nod to Alexander Pope on fools rushing in where angels fear to tread. AKASHIC GODS frames online arrogance as the newest version of a very old problem, describing a swarm of screen-addicted tech titans who have traded virtue for silver screens and data streams. The verses stay tight and claustrophobic before the chorus opens out, a structure meant to mimic being stuck behind a screen and then getting out from behind it.

The preoccupation keeps resurfacing in different costume. “Weapons in Space” describes a numb society as sleeping satellites drunk on vanity and screen glare, dragging apocalyptic imagery into fast, distorted punk territory. “Live Your Epitaph” goes after the habit of killing time with fantasy, reinforcing that a life spent deferring to tomorrow is a life spent on autopilot. “Ancient Civilians,” the closer is a war track about technological advancement running alongside moral regression, asking what bombs could possibly know of a golden age. After a first full listen, Josh Robinson, CEO of LMSUK, the marketing agency working the album, said the album was “SO good” that he was “in shock,” while naming “Surf the Future” as his favourite of the ten.

AKASHIC GODS is candid about wanting the record to work as an intervention. “In a culture that constantly feeds us a loop of digital noise, outrage, and distraction, leaving us as ‘orphans of wisdom,’ this album is designed to act as an immediate circuit-breaker,” she says, adding that she wants the music to shock people out of tech-driven hypnosis. By introducing an immersive vocabulary filled with empires of lies, bleeding edge of the web, and cybernetic matrices, the album ensures that listeners who come for raw guitar grit stay for a thought-provoking philosophical awakening—bridging stadium-sized rock power with a brilliant, multi-layered spiritual manifesto.

What keeps the record so gripping is its absolute specificity. The core message here is not a simple rejection of technology, but an intentional exposure of how human attention has been quietly outsourced to an automated hivemind, and the songs keep returning to the mechanics of how that trade happens. The Ether Element arrives this August with “Bring in the Elohim” as its focus single and the official music video dropping this August, and full details on the album project are laid out in the artist’s press kit. Its central claim is one Socrates got to first. Knowing everything and understanding nothing are not the same thing as wisdom, and the orphans in the title made that swap themselves.

AKASHIC GODS can be found on Instagram, Spotify, Facebook, TikTok and X.

Listen to the Ether Element album on Spotify.

To explore more of AKASHIC GODS’ earlier work, creative development and the technology-and-war themes behind “Weapons in Space,” visit this Just News International profile.

Album artwork by DesignerAde Ltd.