Axel Monroe was born on the edge of Athens, Georgia, where backroads hum with cicadas and old Fords rust under the southern sun. Raised by a single mother and a turntable, he grew up tracing guitar solos in the air before he ever held a six-string. His earliest memories are soaked in the sounds of Led Zeppelin’s "Physical Graffiti" and Thin Lizzy’s "Live and Dangerous"—records that spun endlessly in his living room, turning boyhood into something raw and electric.

He didn’t go to music school. He went to basements, pawn shops, and roadside dive bars—learning tone, timing, and truth the long way. Axel’s sound fuses the swagger of '70s rock giants with the cinematic punch of '80s anthems. There’s a southern drawl in his riffs, a touch of melancholy in his choruses, and a quiet confidence that only comes from living outside the algorithm.

His breakout track “Look At Them Dance” captures it all—a bittersweet anthem for anyone who’s watched joy from the sidelines, then decided to jump in anyway.

Now signed with NOT FM and releasing exclusively through Filodyo, Axel Monroe isn’t trying to bring back the past. He’s just making damn sure it never gets forgotten.

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Ian Merrow is an alternative singer-songwriter from the misty shores of Brighton, UK, whose music lives quietly but powerfully—exclusively on Filodyo. Blending melancholic guitar textures with intimate, confessional lyrics, Ian crafts songs that feel like late-night thoughts you were never meant to say out loud. His sound walks the line between indie rock and cinematic pop, echoing the raw sensitivity of artists like Jeff Buckley and the atmospheric pull of early Radiohead.

Rather than chasing the mainstream, Ian chose to remain deliberately off-grid. He records in his small seaside flat, using second-hand gear and a notebook full of scribbled lines. For him, imperfection is part of the truth. His debut track "Runaway Light" introduced listeners to a world of quiet emotional urgency, where love, regret, and longing flicker like headlights in the fog.

Ian’s connection to Filodyo wasn’t just a distribution decision—it was an artistic choice. “It’s the only platform that lets me stay invisible and be heard at the same time,” he says. No social media, no interviews, no labels. Just music. And for those who find him, it's like stumbling upon a secret worth keeping.

With each release, Ian continues to prove that volume isn’t necessary to make an impact. His songs don’t shout — they haunt.

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Turn up the volume, kids, 'cause we're about to delve into the sonic world of Junai Elen, the independent dance music artist with an unmistakably Eastern flare to her beats that'll have you both bobbing your head and searching for the meaning of life. With the name Elen bouncing off from the concrete heart of Tokyo, Japan, it's no surprise her sound is as energetically charged as the city's pulsating nightlife.

Junai exploded onto the indie dance scene like a sushi roll on a 5-alarm fire. Her tunes, a dynamite mix of insistent beats and whimsical lyrical narratives; imagine Walt Whitman having a dance-off with Avicii. The lighthearted "Wish You Well" is a prime cut of this intoxicating blend, a melodic chicane that leads you straight to Hope Avenue, her music's quintessential street.

Dont be fooled, Junai might not have the star-studded mansion or the paparazzi onslaught, yet. But she's sculpted a career from making her followers dance, dream and dare to hope through music. As unpredictable as Tokyo rush hour, and just as exhilarating, Junai Elen is the independent dance music artist who's whipping up a storm one beat at a time.

Get your smart shoes on and join Junai's journey. It's a ride interspersed with humor, your heart pounding to the beat, and at every turn, there's an insistent hopefulness that says, it's going to be okay. After all, you're in the party with Junai Elen - and she wishes you well.

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There’s a certain stillness in Celeste Raye’s voice — the kind that turns crowded rooms quiet and late-night drives cinematic. Born and raised in South London, she grew up mimicking the elegance of old soul singers and the cool detachment of ‘90s club divas. On stage, Celeste doesn’t reach for the spotlight — it finds her.

Her latest release, Velvet Switch, is a slow-burning club anthem soaked in longing. Produced by NOT FM and available exclusively on Filodyo, the track pulses with quiet intensity — as if it’s remembering something you forgot you missed. Celeste’s voice doesn’t cry out. It hovers, suspended above the beat, tracing the shape of absence with each note.

People don’t come to her sets just to dance. They come to feel understood — in dim lights, with their eyes closed, mouthing words they’ve never said out loud. Velvet Switch captures that moment between stillness and surrender, when the music takes over and you stop pretending you’re fine.

Celeste Raye isn’t trying to be timeless. She already is — not because she sounds like someone else, but because she sounds like a feeling you’ve had before, but never named.

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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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Meet The Blackouts: a vibrant rock quartet, hailing from America's city of all-nighters – Las Vegas. Armed with hopeful melodies and a thumping backbeat, they're your personal cheerleaders in the game of life.

Made up of charismatic front-man, Johnny "Nightlife" O'Reilly, dynamite drummer Tommy "Percussion" Knox, maverick bassist Ricky "Heartbeat" Steele and fiery guitarist Jimmy "Riffmaster" Adams, The Blackouts have been belting out rock anthems in the spirit of the 80s, but with a refreshing 21st century twist. O'Reilly's vocals may reminisce of a neon-tinted past but trust us, they've got their boots firmly planted in today's grit.

Their anthem, "Oh, Back Then" epitomizes their message — a nostalgia-infused ballad that somehow makes you want to throw back a shot of hope with a chaser of rock rebellion. When you're feeling low, The Blackouts are the human equivalent of the Vegas Strip: colorful, loud, and almost annoyingly optimistic.

Under contract with Filodyo, they're potentially the smallest act to ever hold residency in shopping mall speaker systems nationwide. But hey, if The Blackouts can make your grocery run feel like a concert, they're doing something right. Here's to them, turning life's mundane moments into a cause for celebration. Rock on!

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Elyra Dawn was born in Rotterdam, raised between ferry horns and late-night radio static. Music wasn’t a choice — it was everywhere. Her mother sang quietly while folding laundry, her older brother blasted trance through paper-thin walls, and Elyra? She listened. Carefully. Absorbing melodies like secondhand sunlight.

She spent her teenage years bouncing between school choirs, bedroom recordings, and weekend trips to Amsterdam’s record stores. The moment she first heard Robyn’s Dancing On My Own on a train platform at dusk, something clicked. It wasn’t just about sadness or joy — it was how you could wear both in the same voice. That duality, the push and pull between euphoria and vulnerability, would become Elyra’s signature.

After performing in local clubs and uploading small demos online, she received an unexpected email from Filodyo’s Hakan E — a message that simply said: “You sound like you’ve lived a little. Let’s talk.” What followed was a slow, careful collaboration: late-night file exchanges, voice memos from backstage, moments captured between flights. Elyra didn’t rush it. She never does.

Today, her voice balances two worlds — the sweaty rush of the dancefloor and the quiet ache of a Sunday morning alone. Her hooks stick, her delivery stings, and her presence on stage feels at once intimate and cinematic. Elyra Dawn isn’t here to be loud. She’s here to be heard.

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Wade Hollis doesn’t chase the spotlight — he moves through the world like a shadow at dusk, quietly carving songs out of silence and sand. Born somewhere between the border towns of New Mexico and West Texas, he grew up surrounded by static-filled radio, motel ceilings, and the hum of distant freight trains.

His voice is weathered, like desert wood — raw, honest, and unpolished. Every lyric he writes feels like a road he’s driven a hundred times and still doesn’t fully understand. There’s no big team behind him, no hometown hero narrative. Just a guitar, a gravel road, and the ache of never quite belonging.

Hollis doesn’t stream anywhere else. His music lives exclusively on Filodyo and NOT FM, like postcards from a place most people drive past but never stop to feel. If you’ve ever stared out of a car window at 2 a.m. and felt both free and completely lost — you’ve already heard Wade Hollis, whether you knew it or not.

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Sara Durian is Germany’s undisputed disco queen, electrifying dance floors since the early 2000s with her glitter-drenched beats and futuristic soul. Born in Düsseldorf and raised on a steady diet of Kraftwerk, Donna Summer, and underground Berlin house parties, Sara blends retro grooves with neon-drenched modernity. Her signature sound? A cosmic fusion of French touch, Eurodisco, and synth-heavy pop—unmistakably hers, instantly addictive.

From smoky Berlin clubs to Tokyo fashion runways, Sara has turned every stage into a mirrorball-lit sanctuary. Her voice—sultry, robotic, divine—has been sampled by countless DJs but never duplicated. Whether she’s spinning vinyl or headlining queer festivals across Europe, Sara owns the night like a shimmering phantom of funk.

Still active and more radiant than ever, her legacy is not nostalgia—it’s now. With platinum blond curls and chrome stilettos, she struts through time with a wink and a bass drop.

Her mantra? “All drama, all disco.”

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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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Eli Varnish spent most of his life drawing straight lines for crooked cities. As an architect, he designed libraries, train stations, and far too many gray, forgettable office buildings. He was always more interested in light than concrete — the way it moved through windows, shifted on floors, or disappeared behind closed doors. But deadlines piled up, and inspiration gave way to invoices. When he retired at 62, he didn’t throw a party. He just handed in his keys, took the long way home, and listened to the silence.

That’s when the music came back.
In his youth, Eli had played piano quietly — always in private, never in public. Now, with no blueprints to chase, he returned to the keys. Slowly. Gently. A few friends joined him — a bassist who used to drive a bus, a trombonist who sold insurance, and a drummer who once taught math. They started meeting weekly above an old bookstore. No gigs, no names. Just music.

Eventually, they found their way into a small jazz bar — dim, warm, and half-forgotten. That’s where Eli plays now. No spotlight, no talk. Just a glass of red wine, a crooked hat, and a piano that creaks in all the right places. The audience doesn’t clap much. They just nod, like they recognize something they forgot they knew.

Eli doesn’t miss architecture. “Buildings are meant to last,” he says, “but songs... songs are meant to leave.” And so he plays — not to impress, but to remember. To trace old lines in the air. To build something no one can own, but everyone can feel.

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Mark Martian is one of the most elusive figures in the music world, and his mysterious persona has left many fans wondering—could he really be from Mars?

Known for using the alias Martian Mark during his collaborations, this enigmatic producer has somehow managed to evade the spotlight completely. No interviews, no photos, no videos—Mark is practically a ghost. Some say it’s part of his brand, while others speculate wildly. Who knows?

Maybe while Elon Musk dreams of building colonies on Mars, Mark’s already here, quietly making beats after hitching a ride from the Red Planet’s first neighborhood.

Despite the secrecy surrounding him, one thing’s clear: Mark’s music speaks volumes. His deep house tracks pulse with interstellar vibes, his pop productions are out-of-this-world catchy, and his funk grooves are, well, otherworldly.

Whether he’s blending cosmic synths with soulful beats or dropping funk-infused rhythms, his style keeps listeners hooked and guessing. You can hear his work across platforms, but his music truly shines on Filodyo, where you might catch the next great Martian anthem—if he doesn’t beam it up first.

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Lucía doesn’t raise her voice — she lets silence lean toward her.

Born in Ciudad Juárez, where the wind carries both prayers and warnings, Lucía learned early that strength doesn’t shout — it stands still. Her music wasn’t born in studios. It was carved in alleyways, border bars, long walks home. She didn’t grow up dreaming of stages. She grew up walking away from things that didn’t serve her.

Her voice carries the weight of absence — low, textured, unhurried. With influences rooted in ranchera, flamenco, and tango, she weaves stories that don’t plead, but remember. Every note she sings is a scar that glows.

In recent years, Lucía has emerged as one of Filodyo’s most enigmatic voices — fierce, private, unforgettable. On her latest collaboration with Wade Hollis, the gravel-toned American guitarist, Lucía sings over strings like rusted fences in the sun. The song doesn’t comfort. It confronts — just like her.

The connection began far from stages. While Wade Hollis was recording new material with Filodyo, he mentioned a woman he had once heard playing in a dim-lit cantina near the border. “She sings like she’s been through three lifetimes,” he said. It was during a late-night Zoom call with Hakan E., the creative engine behind Filodyo, that Lucía’s name resurfaced.

By chance — or something heavier — Hakan had just expressed his search for a voice that wasn’t sweet, wasn’t polished — but true. “I need someone who sounds like she doesn’t need anyone,” he had said. A few weeks later, their first conversation took place across a flickering Zoom screen. Lucía, seated on a balcony in Mexico, cigarette in hand. No makeup. No pretenses. Just presence.

That was enough.

Now, her voice travels far from the cantinas — but it never left the dust behind.

You don’t listen to Lucía to feel better.
You listen to feel seen.

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Hailing from the sultry soundscape of Miami, Ricky Daz is the coastal city's keeper of infectious dance beats & lively tunes. With his most notable track "Contando los Minutos (feat Rome K)", Daz's feel-good grooves have placed him firmly on the indie dance radar.

Born and bred under the sweat-soaked dancehalls and neon nights of Miami, Ricky embodies the very essence of the city - hot, vibrant, and indulgent. His music isn't just made for glittering nights out, but also for cool mornings where last night's adrenaline still hums in your veins. The boy's got rhythm in his blood, and Miami's heart in his tracks.

With "Contando los Minutos", Ricky has combined relatable tale-telling with hard-hitting choreography, creating an irresistible dance floor pull. Using a radiant tonal palette, Daz evokes the pulsating rhythms of his city, blending soulful Latin beats with a punchy EDM undercurrent. Each beat hits like the Florida sun - vibrant and full of life.

Our man Daz isn't just an artist; he's a soundtrack to a city that never sleeps - always moving, always dancing, and forever happy. With every new release, he continues to develop a pulsating landscape of indulgent dance music, turning fleeting moments into timeless melodies. Ricky Daz, remember the name, because he's writing the rhythm of Miami, one beat at a time.

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Meet Sophie Weak, the daintier and infinitely more coordinated cousin of the beloved Weeble Wobble. Hailing from the cultural cauldron that is London, indie dance maven Weak has a knack for composing euphorically buoyant tracks that'll get your feet tapping and heart thumping.

She first made waves in the indie scene with the high-voltage hit, "Dancing It All Off". Weak's signature style effortlessly blends cheeky, tongue-in-cheek lyrics with electric rhythms and synthed-up beats that are sure to ignite even the most lead-footed listener's lust for dance. She's a bit like the Mary Poppins of the music world; if Mary Poppins swapped her umbrella for a sequined leotard and developed an insatiable appetite for disco balls, that is.

Sophie's sound is no mere illusion of joy, but genuine, unadulterated happiness put to a beat. Often, her tracks can be found playing in hipster cafes across the city, causing spontaneous, caffeinated dance-offs amongst bearded barristers and laptop warriors. So, brace yourself, your Bluetooth speakers, and possibly your pets (because they have sensitive ears); Sophie Weak is here to shake up your playlists with her infectious beats and infectious spirit!

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Born and raised in Ventura, California, Jett Ralston grew up in a garage that smelled like motor oil, vinyl records, and his father’s hair pomade. While other kids watched cartoons, Jett memorized the Grease soundtrack and tried to mirror Elvis's hip sway in the hallway mirror. His voice—low, smoky, and just a little rough around the edges—carries the DNA of that golden age, but never feels stuck in it.

Jett’s debut single “Through Me” (feat. Dolores Queen) is a cinematic slow-burn: part lost love, part lounge confession. Produced exclusively for Filodyo, the track fuses analog charm with subtle modern edges, pairing his velvet baritone with Dolores Queen’s haunting harmonies. He doesn’t try to be Elvis — but he sings like someone who misses that kind of honesty on stage.

With a sound caught somewhere between a flickering jukebox and a midnight highway, Jett Ralston is not here for nostalgia — he's here to make old souls feel seen again.

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Get your dancing shoes on and your party hats ready–here comes Party Starters, Canada's dynamite DJ duo primed to kick-start your weekend. Sending electronic pulses through the Maple Leaf country's veins, these two lads have nailed the happy-go-round ride of the dance genre.

The duo, known for their contagious beats, hail from the frosty yet fiery streets of Toronto. Putting the 'art' in 'party', they're no strangers to the late-night club scene, often seen spinning grooves till the break of dawn like caffeine-fuelled squirrels on a workout wheel. And while these gents are the core of the group, they also collaborate with several vocalists, adding that sprinkle of pizzazz on top. One such partnership gifted the world with their touted masterstroke, "Last Chance"—a euphoric anthem that would make even the gloomiest Gus tap his foot.

With "Last Chance," and its soul-stirring female vocals, Party Starters remind us that every party, every moment is a 'last chance' to let loose and celebrate life. And they aren't about to let us forget it. Their music is a shot of happiness delivered straight to your eager eardrums, wrapped in a rhythm too intoxicating to resist. So, next time you're looking for a good time, remember, Party Starters is always ready to hit 'play' on your fun.

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Feeding off the neon pulse of Las Vegas, Adam Lamo has boogie-wired our hearts to irresistible dance beats like no one else. His music is more infectious than a hangover from an all-night disco party, and just as unforgettable.

Picture this: a youthful Adam, prowling the technicolor streets of Vegas, the city's rhythm flowing through his veins like liquid gold. With "Keep Me In That", Lamo masterfully bottled that dazzling, Frank Sinatra meets Calvin Harris vibe. The beats are sunnier than a Vegas summer heatwave and guaranteed to lift any moody blackjack player off their stool and onto the dancefloor.

Mr. Lamo whips up melodies that make choosing to sit out not an option, but a crime against fun itself. His music's joy factor hits harder than a final-round knockout; it's not just dance, it's happiness in audio form. Consider yourselves officially warned: surrender to the irresistible allure of Adam Lamo's beat, or risk a lifetime of being a total party pooper. Our lad from Vegas didn't just show up; he's here to make us dance 'til sunrise and beyond.

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Meet Chris Nate, the alternative tunesmith you've probably never heard of, but will soon be unable to live without. Emerging from the vibrant music scene of Nashville, this little-known troubadour is steadily carving a niche for himself in the wide world of alternative music.

Chris is notoriously bashful about his origins but will tell you this: the fundamental building blocks of his music lie not in Nashville's sing-and-clap heartland, but on the rhythmic streets of his namesake city, Natchitoches, Louisiana. Every song seems to skate effortlessly across bayou blues and backwater folk rock, all while maintaining the ebullient tone that is so very Chris Nate.

It's no surprise that this seemingly scattershot blend of influences works so well given the success of his track, "This Isn't Love." A merry jaunt that dares to ask, 'What if love was more like playing jazz on a banjo in space?’ Delivered with a wink, a nod, and most crucially, a tie-dye shirt, the song is a festival of joy that will have listeners tapping their feet while crying laughter tears.

So, grab your headphones and give Chris Nate a spin. Here’s an artist whose music won’t just tickle your ears, but might just tickle your funny bone as well. He's serving up slices of life with a side of melody, and it's a recipe that's simply too tasty to resist. And if that isn’t love, well, this isn’t a biography. Or is it? Chris Nate might make you question everything. Everything except for his expertise in creating cheerfully menagerie tunes, that is.

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