How SAMSMH Builds His Sound
Samuel Smith grew up surrounded by music, rooted in church spaces where sound was communal and expressive. “I could definitely date it back to being born in a musical family,” he says. He sang in choirs and praise teams, absorbing rhythm long before he ever touched a drum pad or keyboard. The real turning point came later, on an iPad in seventh grade. GarageBand opened a door. “From that point on, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.” What started as curiosity quickly turned into discipline. Then eventually GarageBand became Logic Pro. Middle school experiments turned into high school album projects. Community college sharpened the technical side. Now, he studies audio and live entertainment at Temple.
While he did not grow up playing instruments in church, that changed with time. In 2018, he taught himself drums and piano, gravitating toward tools that gave him control over rhythm and structure. That sense of control still defines how he works today. When SAMSMH sits down to build a track, he does not rush the process. “Usually when I'm figuring out my melody or chords, that's one of the things that I spend the most time on,” he explains. He dissects samples carefully, paying close attention to placement and tone. He knows exactly how he wants something to sound before it ever reaches a final mix.
One Draft at a Time
Deuce Up Next does not describe himself as waiting. He does not fully claim building either. When people try to pin his creative process down, he collapses those labels into something more personal.“The waiting phase to one person might be the growing phase to the next person,” he says. For him, those definitions are slippery. What matters is what he is doing inside the moment. Right now, he says, he is in what he calls the knowledgeable phase. He is studying. Observing. Learning how to become “the best version of myself rather than going out and putting out content that’s not the greatest.” That patience is intentional. He’s working towards making content that people actually want to tune in to, not something that fades into the background.
Rishi and Shubhi Are Redefining Collaboration with Concep
They started with paper and tape. New to New York and hungry for creative kin, Rishi and Shubhi printed flyers, mapped a route, and hit coffee shops until their legs ached. They posted an open invitation to meet other creatives and see what could happen. One hundred people RSVP’d. About seventy-five walked through the door. Name tags. A little nervous laughter. Strangers from different corners of the creative world filled the room. And for the first time, Rishi and Shubhi saw what would eventually become Concept come alive.
Concept is the platform they built for that exact electricity. It is a place where creatives can pitch a project, hop on someone else’s idea, and connect with people they actually want to work with. Not a directory. Not a resume stack. A living project board with real portfolios attached and a pathway from message to making. “We wanted connections to turn into real projects,” Shubhi said. “Projects as the medium to bring people together.” It’s a community built around ideas.
Gary Pierrot Jr. Is Rewriting the Slasher
Gary Pierrot Jr. has a way of talking about horror that makes you want to rewatch your favorites with fresh eyes. He lights up when he mentions Scream 4, chuckles when talking about Final Destination 4’s racetrack scene, and admits he has a limit when it comes to gore. “I have a threshold,” he said. “I can’t do too much of it.” I Spit on Your Grave was the film that bought him to that realization. But his own film, Sunset Boulevard 14, isn’t about cheap scares. It’s about bringing back something that’s been missing. Fun, style, and characters who look like the audience watching.
“I’d be watching slashers today and thinking, where are the Black people? Where are the queer people? Where are the people who look and sound like me?” he said. “I wanted to create something that felt fun and nostalgic, but also allowed us as Black people to see ourselves as people who have those types of conversations about film and pop culture.” For Gary, it wasn’t enough to simply cast diversely. He wanted to build a world where Black and brown characters exist in full color. Whether that is as rich kids, film nerds, or troublemakers who drive nice cars, dress well, and take up space before the killings start.
rosewater nyc by Sejal Kargal: A Music Festival that Feels Like Home
Hearing Sejal Kargal talk about community is to know that for her, it’s a lived practice. The artist, singer, and DJ has spent the past year building something bigger than herself. Since launching UNDEFINED in January 2025, she’s turned a creative idea into a national collective that uplifts historically underrepresented voices in music and nightlife. The platform doesn’t rely on corporate sponsors or hype. It runs on people. Self-funded, community-led, and intentionally inclusive.
“I’ve never felt like I belonged in any box,” she said. “I hated to confine myself to a genre or label. I wanted to be boundless.” That spirit of freedom is the foundation of UNDEFINED. It started as a mindset, a small symbol, and a promise to create without barriers. It grew into a movement for artists who refused to dilute themselves to fit in. “So many creatives are fed up with being told how to market themselves or how to present identity to get attention,” she explained. “I wanted to make space for people who didn’t want to play that game.”
Fifth Floor Turns Up the Volume
When you meet Fifth Floor, the first thing you notice is their energy. It’s loud, fast, and alive in every direction. Four friends who move like a family, interrupting each other mid-sentence, cracking jokes, finishing thoughts. Each has their own rhythm. Eli, the frontman, speaks like he’s already thinking about the next show. J-Will, the bassist, balances quick wit with the quiet focus of someone who’s been building something for years. Trey, on drums, watches the room with producer instincts, already hearing how it all fits together. And Samuel, on guitar, floats somewhere between calm and chaos, fluent in both Spanish and strings. Together, they make up Fifth Floor, a band that’s as unpredictable as the story behind it.
“I started out playing music by myself,” Eli said. “Me and J-Will had known each other since middle school and always talked about playing together. Then I met Trey in the parking lot at college, and Samuel in class…well, skipping class, actually. Playing UFC.” The band laughed. It was unplanned, but natural. Fifth Floor wasn’t the result of strategy or searching. It was something that happened because it was supposed to.