Dora Corr is an EDM vocalist and songwriter born and raised in Dublin, Ireland. Before her debut single, she worked at a small, weathered music shop tucked away in Rathmines — a place where synths came in half-broken and left humming again, usually thanks to her.

By day, she tuned old keyboards and restocked trance CDs. By night, she recorded vocal sketches on her cracked laptop, blending soft-spoken Irish melancholy with pulsing beats she never planned to share.

That changed in early 2025, when renowned electronic producer Mark Martian visited Dublin for a creative summit. While killing time between panels, he wandered into Dora’s shop — and found her quietly looping vocal takes in the back room.

Struck by the raw emotion and unusual cadence of her sound, Mark simply asked, “Have you ever thought about making something bigger?” She shrugged. “Not really. But I’d like to.” Energized, Mark immediately called Hakan E., the creative force behind Filodyo.

“I just found someone. We need to get into a studio, fast,” he said. Intrigued, Hakan asked to hear her demos. Mark sent over a few scratch recordings that same night.

Within days, Dora was in a temporary studio above the River Liffey, recording "Paper Moon" — a haunting, minimalist debut that floats somewhere between whispered confession and late-night dance floor, co-produced by Mark Martian for a new Filodyo project.

Dora Corr isn’t chasing pop formulas or peak-hour builds. She’s carving a lane where fragility can still make you move — and where “na na na na” says more than a chorus ever could.

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Say hello to Erica, a gem unearthed from the misty fjords of Bergen, Norway, serenading the world with her dance tunes. This synth-swirling belter could make a sardine shimmy with her infectious energy.

Growing up with classical piano lessons under Norway's perpetual drizzle, Erica found her musical identity sandwiched between her mom's Edith Piaf records and the emotional pull of her dad's synth fascination. While most 16-year-olds are busy amassing Instagram followers, Erica channeled her teenage angst into penning down her first song. It never saw the light of day, but listen closely at her concerts and you might hear her hum those nostalgic notes.

Erica shifted her base to the bustling streets of Berlin at 23, transitioning from a street musician to minimalist stages with a poise that could make Madonna go green. Her biggest hit has to be "DNC", a song that will make your feet tap and heart flutter before you even realize. Ever seen a packed room fall silent? Attend an Erica gig, as her whispers hush the room, except for that one guy always clapping off-beat.

Straddling both cheerful and profound, Erica's music echoes her journey. Dancing through life, one synth-filled melody at a time, she's proving that you can take a Norwegian out of the rain, but you can't take the rhythm out of the girl.

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

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

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

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

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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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“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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Soleil Vega is the kind of artist who can turn a rainy Tuesday into a rooftop party. Born and raised in Brighton, UK, she grew up surrounded by her mother’s old soul records and the pulse of the underground dance scene. Her music lives at the intersection of deep house grooves, pop sparkle, and feel-good R&B touches, driven by radiant vocals and unapologetically joyful lyrics.

Her breakout track “My Kitchen Stage” is a celebration of everyday magic—the kind you find dancing alone at home with a spatula mic in hand. The track blends warm house rhythms with bouncy basslines and a shimmering vocal delivery that makes you want to throw open the windows and turn the volume all the way up. It’s infectious, playful, and deeply personal.

Soleil’s sound is sun-kissed but grounded. She writes about friendship, late-night cravings, heartbreak, and finding your light—in the club, in the kitchen, or in your own reflection. And when she performs, it’s not a show, it’s a shared moment. Always real, always radiant.

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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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Ayvenn was born and raised in Clearwater Heights, a quiet hillside town in Georgia where music wasn’t just background noise — it was how people coped, celebrated, and remembered. From Sunday gospel choirs to late-night Latin radio, the sounds around him shaped a boy who rarely spoke, but always listened. In silence, he learned to interpret the world. And when he began writing lyrics, it wasn’t about performance — it was about decoding feelings he couldn’t name.

Fusing Pop and R&B with understated Latin textures, Ayvenn crafts music that feels more like film than formula. His voice is warm, restrained, and precise — a narrator of emotional undercurrents rather than explosions. Each track unfolds slowly, deliberately, like memories coming into focus. There’s clarity in his subtlety, weight in his pauses.

His breakout song, “All for One Y.” was born from an unexpected connection. Hakan E — the mind behind Filodyo, known for his instinct in spotting rare talent — reached out after hearing early demos from Ayvenn. He sent a short message and a concept: “This isn’t a love song. It’s a math problem.” That idea resonated deeply. To Ayvenn, the X’s weren’t just variables — they were past mistakes, unanswered questions, the people he couldn’t quite hold onto. And the “Y”? The reason he kept trying.

Ayvenn recorded the song in a single late-night session, layering vocals with surgical attention, pulling tension from silence, and shaping each detail until it echoed with something intimate and real. To Solve for Y isn’t just a debut — it’s an internal dialogue turned outward, crafted for anyone who’s ever tried to explain a feeling they didn’t fully understand.

Now, Ayvenn is building a sound that’s emotionally meticulous, sonically immersive, and unmistakably his own. Every track is a quiet revelation. Every heartbreak, every wrong turn — part of the formula. And somewhere, at the end of it, is the answer. Always her.

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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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With a name synonymous with the hauntingly beautiful waters of Ohrid, North Macedonia, Elira Vayne is your go-to dance diva with a twist. Part French, part Albanian, and 100% maverick, Vayne gives dance music a refreshing Balkan edge.

Born to the lullaby of a mandolin on Ohrid's shores, Elira was raised with the zest of Albania and the charm of France running through her veins. As if algae-ridden waters and sun-lit picnic spots out of posters whispered into her ears, everyone wondered, "Does Ohrid govern the sounds she creates?" And in a quaint voice, she would almost always blush and say, "Mais oui, and a bit of Marseille jazz too."

By the time teenage took over, the rhythm of the mandolin turned to jazz in the pulsating heart of Marseille. There, in a music sklearnamediciabacked alley bistro turned vocal studio, she trained some more in the gallant art of French jazz vocals. Little did she know that her cultural potpourri would give birth to a new music sensation: the vivacious tones of French Electronica blended with raw Balkan folklore.

Never leaving her roots far behind, each album cover of Elira's embroiders a rich tapestry of Balkan texture. In contrast, her songs hum with the vibe of French electronic dance music, mostly with her biggest hit yet, "I'm The Lighter". You can feel the happy energy as potent as the Ohrid sun, making her music a cocktail of infectious melodies under the umbrella contract of Filodyo. And quite frankly, it's this sun-soaked, high spirited party in the Byzantines' backyard that sets Elira Vayne on a league above your usual dance floor DJs.

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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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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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Born from the concrete veins of New York City’s underground, The 5th Exit is not just a band — it's a warning siren echoing through the alleys of Brooklyn. Blending the unapologetic grit of East Coast punk with the swagger of early-2000s hip-hop, their music punches through the noise like a subway train in a blackout.

The band was formed in late 2023 in a condemned warehouse turned DIY venue in Bushwick, after a street brawl-turned-jam-session between strangers. The result? Five misfits who had no plan — just noise, energy, and something to scream.

Members:
🎤 Jayno Blakk (Lead Vocals / Chaos Designer)
A former graffiti artist with a voice like broken glass in a hurricane. Born in Flatbush, Jayno spits lyrics like they’re Molotovs, laced with rage and raw truth. Known for performing barefoot and bleeding by the end of every show.

🎸 Noelle "Nox" Vega (Lead Guitar / FX Wizard)
Puerto Rican shredder with a physics degree and a pedalboard built from junkyard parts. She speaks three languages — four if you count distortion. Her solos? They don’t melt faces; they dissolve them.

🥁 Koda Rinz (Drums / Street Philosopher)
Half-poet, half-brawler. Raised by subway dancers and vinyl collectors, Koda’s beats sound like trash cans getting kicked down tenement stairwells — in perfect time. Always drumming, even in his sleep.

🎹 Echo Rowe (Synths / Scream Textures / Visuals)
The silent one. Echo doesn’t talk much, but his synth work sounds like a riot at 3AM. Also responsible for their chaotic visuals and the recurring raven motif in their shows. Rumor has it he lives in an abandoned radio tower in Queens.

🎸 Twitchy Lex (Bass / Vibe Damage Control)
Lex is the glue, or maybe the duct tape. Raised on R&B but corrupted by noise rock, he brings the groove — the dangerous kind that gets under your skin and sets off car alarms.

Their Breakout Track: "Get Out My Way"
A sonic punch to the throat, "Get Out My Way" is a war cry against complacency, gentrification, and anyone walking slow on a New York sidewalk. With a chorus that hits like a riot chant and verses that spit pure venom, it’s already being banned from small-town radio — which only makes it louder.

The 5th Exit isn’t asking for your attention. They’re taking it.
You can either move... or get run over.

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

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

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

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

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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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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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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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