problems

“Power Steering” is a cinematic down-south trap anthem blending paranoia, precision, and power. Over a moody beat with heavy 808s, sliding hi-hats, and eerie synth layers, Blaq reflects on life under suspicion — labeled a hustler, judged by appearance, yet driven by ambition and control.

The Life Of

Apple

Power Steering

Entre désir et retenue, ce trap mélodique raconte un jeu d’attraction intense, où chaque geste et chaque souffle font monter la tension. Flow rap percutant, refrain chanté auto-tune, vibes nocturnes et club-ready.
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lone wolf  highway

Rising Atlanta artist Macceaux returns with his new 5-track EP, Oxytocin, a project built entirely on honesty, self-reflection, and the freedom that comes from creating without expectations.

Inspired by a quote that changed his perspective — “create what wants to be created” — Macceaux enters a new era with Oxytocin, turning real-life experiences into art that’s unfiltered, personal, and intentionally detached from outside approval.

“Seeing that quote really moved me,” says Macceaux. “To me, it meant stop doing it for the consumer and do it for yourself. With everything I’ve been through, I’m finally learning how to flip the switch — from people pleasing to using my therapy as art.”

Across five immersive tracks, the EP blends underground rap energy with melodic vulnerability, showcasing Macceaux’s evolving artistic identity. Each song captures a different emotional pulse — from tension and release to confidence and clarity — mirroring the chemical the title references: oxytocin, the “bonding” hormone tied to love, trust, and connection.

Oxytocin features production from a stacked lineup of forward-thinking producers, including Luna, Niko, Icytrunks, Malb, Reza, Zonic, and Joshbae, whose combined sounds create a tight, atmospheric world around Macceaux’s storytelling.

Rooted in Atlanta’s creative ecosystem but shaped by personal transformation, Oxytocin marks a powerful shift for Macceaux — a moment where the art finally reflects the artist, not the audience.

Back2Atl [Luna + Niko]

pyjama-party.mp3

[Chorus]

I’m writin’ you this letter just to prove that I’m still here,
Every thought I never said is spillin’ out from fear.
If the world won’t hear me, maybe future me will stand,
’Cause I’m tryin’ not to vanish while I’m reachin’ out my hand.

⸻

【verse】

Dear future me—
I hope you don’t mind the length, but this time I gotta write it all,
Every rise, every fall, every “almost” I recall.

I was twelve when the cracks in the walls felt louder than voices,
Home shakin’ like the universe couldn’t make up its choices.
Dad gone for days, mom prayin’ for grace,
And I kept runnin’ a marathon inside the same place.

I used to hide my notebook under floorboards with dust,
’Cause if they found what I wrote, I knew they’d crush my trust.
But that pen moved fast—
Fast enough to make me feel like time couldn’t catch me,
Fast enough to drown out the fear that always tracked me.

Fifteen came colder than the winter I remember,
Basement air thin, like breath from a dying ember.
I rapped to the pipes, kicked beats off the wall,
Only stage I ever had was that concrete hall.

Kids laughed,
Said my voice was weird, said I’d never stand tall.
Funny—
Those same jokes became gasoline when I stalled.

Seventeen had me boxed-in, shadow-punched, nervous,
Heart racin’ like it owed someone money, always feelin’ worthless.
But the mic was a doorway, a shortcut to surface,
And every rhyme kept me from dippin’ under on purpose.

Then I turned twenty—
And adulthood ain’t the freedom they swear you get,
It was two jobs, late buses, obligations in debt.
Boss barkin’ orders like he needed to place a bet
On whether I’d break first or whether I’d reset.

I recorded at midnight, beat bleedin’ through the plaster,
Tryna turn failure into something comin’ faster.
Neighbors complained, said I needed a “real life.”
But my whole life felt real only when the beat cut like a knife.

By twenty-four, pressure sat heavy on my lungs,
Like every unpaid bill added two more tons.
I kept hearin’ the younger me whisper, “Don’t fold,”
So I rapped through the cold even when my confidence sold.

Some nights I swore my reflection grew faint,
Not gone—just… thin, like a half-finished paint.
But the notebook from twelve kept callin’ me back,
Sayin’ “Even broken lines can still stay on track.”

Now I’m twenty-seven writin’ this one long chapter,
No breaks, no cuts, just everything I’m after.
I ain’t famous, ain’t flawless, ain’t close to a master—
But every year I’ve survived has been movin’ me faster.

If you’re older reading this—
I hope you turned the noise into somethin’ worth keepin’,
Hope your purpose ain’t a ghost you’re forever chasin’ or sweepin’.
Hope the kid in the basement would look at you and say,
“You didn’t quit. You lived enough to write another day.”

And if you’re younger readin’ this somehow—
Know the pain didn’t last, but the lessons did.
Know the mic didn’t save me—
But the words I wrote as a kid
Carried me through every crack that the darkness hid.

This letter ain’t perfect. It ain’t polished or planned.
But future me—take it, hold it, understand:
I wrote all of this so I wouldn’t disappear,
So the quiet in my chest wouldn’t swallow the year,
So the boy in the basement could finally see clear
That the man he becomes didn’t vanish in fear.

⸻

[Chorus]

I’m writin’ you this letter just to prove that I’m still here,
Every thought I never said is spillin’ out from fear.
If the world won’t hear me, maybe future me will stand—
I’m just tryin’ not to vanish while I’m reachin’ out my hand.

And if tomorrow never answers, I still know one thing:
Every line that kept me breathin’ taught my heartbeat how to sing.

not to disappear

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