B-Side Guys

Between Memphis thunderstorms and Los Angeles dreams, Babyfangs (Ava Wilson) has crafted a debut single that transforms institutional trauma into sonic liberation. “Feelings Bleed” doesn’t just tell the story of escape from a controversial Utah treatment center—it creates its own ecosystem of healing.

Wilson’s connection to the natural world shapes both her artistic identity and her path to recovery. Those childhood summers spent befriending wild foxes and sparrows next to her grandmother Mimi’s house resurface in her music’s organic approach to processing pain. When she sings “autumn leaves, bury me,” it’s both plea and protection spell.

The production mirrors this duality, her “syrupy vocals” floating above darker currents like late August humidity over the Mississippi River. Each element seems chosen for its ability to both conceal and reveal—much like the natural camouflage she studied in her grandmother’s overgrown lot.

That early musical education at Mimi’s grand piano, learning “O Mio Babbino Caro” by ear, finds its shadow echo in the treatment center’s strictly rationed instrument access. Wilson turned these limited “privs” into survival strategy, making “music my girlfriend” when human connection was heavily controlled. Her fellow residents’ response to these stolen moments of song suggested a future beyond the facility’s walls.

The lyrics map the geography of institutional gaslighting with devastating precision. “I can see you/but I won’t hear you anymore” serves as both boundary declaration and freedom proclamation. The repeated “You can’t make me” builds from whispered resistance to full-throated refusal.

At its core, “Feelings Bleed” is a document of transformation. The journey from Memphis to Los Angeles, bypassing Nashville’s more obvious path, mirrors Wilson’s artistic evolution. Her collaboration with producer Adam Castilla helps craft a sound that honors her Southern roots while refusing to be confined by them.

Wilson’s “deep rooted affinity and connection to the natural world” provides more than aesthetic direction—it offers a framework for understanding trauma’s aftermath. Like watching storm clouds race east over the Mississippi, there’s both terror and beauty in the process of emotional weather moving through.

The repeating “na na na na” sections function like incantations, their childlike simplicity masking their power as tools for banishing institutional voices. When Wilson declares “You never cared about me/So why should I feel the need?” she’s not just addressing her captors—she’s liberating herself from the obligation to heal on their terms.

This debut suggests an artist who understands that true escape requires more than physical distance—it demands the creation of new spaces to hold difficult truths. In transforming her year of captivity into art, Babyfangs hasn’t just found closure; she’s created opening.