I think this started long before I ever realized it would.

Long before the interviews, before the articles, before Runaway Reverie even existed.

It started when I was five or six years old, sitting in the backseat hearing songs like Simple Man by Shinedown for the first time. Or listening to Papa Roach, hearing songs like Forever and not fully understanding the lyrics yet, but still feeling the weight behind them anyway.

Even then, there was something different about those songs.

The intensity in the vocals. The emotion in the writing. The feeling that whoever wrote them meant every word.

And I think that’s what stayed with me most growing up. Not just the music itself, but the questions behind it.

Why did artists write about pain the way they did?
What happened to them to make them create something that honest?
Why did certain songs feel bigger than just music?

As I got older, those questions only got louder.

I started diving deeper into the alt-rock world, discovering bands like Beauty School Dropout and Måneskin, artists who made music that felt reckless, emotional, cinematic. The kind of songs that didn’t just play in the background, they consumed the room.

The melodies were hypnotic. The lyrics felt lived-in. Everything felt real.

And after a while, just listening to the music stopped being enough for me.

I wanted to know more.

I wanted to understand the stories behind the lyrics, the exhaustion behind the tours, the emotions behind the releases, the conversations happening backstage after the lights went down.

That’s what eventually led me here.

Runaway Reverie was built around that feeling, the desire to understand not just the music, but the people behind it. The moments between the releases. The silence after the show. The conversations that happen somewhere between the set and the drive home.

Because sometimes the most important parts of music happen outside the songs themselves.

Signed,
Runaway Reverie