People have asked me why my music sounds so emotional.
The truth is because most of it came from nights where I honestly didn’t know if I was okay.
I didn’t grow up feeling understood. A lot of my life was learning how to survive emotionally while pretending I was fine externally. Fake friends. Fake loyalty. Trauma. Anger. Isolation. Trying to become somebody while secretly feeling broken underneath it all. I learned that Music became the only place where I could take everything I was carrying and finally let it breathe.
That’s what WOLF HARD is.
It’s not a character to me.
It’s every scar, every sleepless night, every mistake, every memory, every late-night drive, every relationship that fell apart, every moment I questioned my worth and every time I kept going anyway.
When I sit in front of a microphone or working on a track I’m not thinking about perfection. I’m thinking about honesty and the story that accompanies it through the emotions that we all feel.
I think people are starving for honesty right now.
The world teaches people to hide their emotions. Social media makes everybody look untouchable. But behind closed doors, people are drowning mentally, emotionally and spiritually. A lot of people feel alone even when they’re surrounded by others. That’s why songs like Drownin’, This Weeping and Late Night Tears matter to me. Those songs come from very real places.
I don’t want listeners to hear my music and think, “That sounds cool.”
I want them to hear it and think:
“Somebody finally understands how this feels.”
That matters more to me than numbers ever will.
SKYTRACK Records was built around that idea. I wanted to create music that feels cinematic, emotional, nostalgic, painful, beautiful, and the human experience all at once. Music that sounds like memories. Music that sounds like heartbreak. Music that sounds like growing up too fast. Music that sounds like surviving.
A lot of my inspiration comes from emotion itself. Rainy nights. Old photographs. Silence after arguments. Driving alone. Watching people slowly become strangers. Missing versions of yourself that don’t exist anymore. That’s where the real music lives.
I think pain changes people creatively. It sharpens emotion. It makes you pay attention to details other people overlook. The small cracks in someone’s voice. The silence between words. The feeling in a room after someone leaves. Those moments carry weight for all of us.
And honestly, some of the best songs are born from the worst nights.
The upcoming album Young, Loud & Temporary is probably the most personal body of work I’ve ever created. It’s about memory, trauma, love, loneliness, regret, youth, survival, and emotional transformation. It’s about trying to carry your past while still learning how to move forward.
At the end of the day, I’m not trying to be the loudest artist in the room.
I just want to make music that people feel in their chest long after the song ends.
Because sometimes music doesn’t save people by fixing them.
Sometimes it saves people simply by reminding them they aren’t alone.
