B-Side Guys

Marc Ramos did everything himself. Not as necessity or budget constraint—as artistic declaration. Every instrument, every vocal, every production decision, mixing choice, and mastering tweak on Prospect Gallery comes from one person executing complete vision. That level of control could produce sterile perfectionism or self-indulgent excess. Instead, Ramos delivers eight tracks of arena-ready indie rock that feels both carefully constructed and genuinely alive, documenting twenty-something volatility with the detail of someone who lived it recently enough to remember specifics.

Morning Wars emerged through New York City’s grassroots infrastructure—shows at Arlene’s Grocery and Berlin, word-of-mouth online momentum, the slow accumulation of attention that precedes breakthrough. Spotify’s Fresh Finds playlist featured “Breathing Underwater,” TikTok’s official livestream showcased the project, independent outlets took notice. That trajectory from basement shows to algorithmic recognition reflects how artists build careers now, navigating both physical venues and digital platforms simultaneously. Ramos understands this dual citizenship, creating music designed for both contexts without compromising either.

“Alone in my Head” establishes the album’s operating framework immediately—hyperconnected isolation, the paradox of constant communication breeding deeper loneliness. The production choices here set Prospect Gallery‘s sonic template: widescreen guitars, pounding rhythm section, vocals that occupy cavernous space without drowning in reverb. Ramos cites influences ranging from indie stalwarts (The Killers, Cage the Elephant, Catfish and the Bottlemen) to classic icons (Bruce Springsteen, Paul McCartney, James Brown), and that broad reference pool shows in arrangements that fuse pop instinct with rock tradition. The result manages feeling timeless and contemporary simultaneously, avoiding both retro pastiche and trend-chasing.

“New Prospect” channels early 2000s platinum indie anthems—that specific era when indie rock briefly dominated mainstream radio before fracturing back underground. The massive drums, layered guitars, and soaring synths evoke windows-down highway drives, the thrill of motion as escape from stasis. The track demonstrates Ramos’ understanding of dynamics, knowing when to build and when to explode. His production background serves him here; he constructs space that allows individual elements clarity while maintaining cohesive impact.

“Pipe Dream” introduces the album’s only outside contribution—Tristan Cappel on flute. That deliberate choice to feature one external voice on one instrument across eight self-performed tracks adds dimension without diluting creative control. The flute doesn’t dominate or distract; it colors specific moments, proving Ramos knows when collaboration enhances rather than compromises vision. The track title itself suggests the album’s thematic territory—examining aspirations that may never materialize, the gap between ambition and achievement.

“Better Today” and “Man with a Gun” navigate emotional territory from opposite angles. The former documents incremental progress, those small victories that accumulate into actual growth. The latter introduces threat, acknowledging violence lurking beneath surface civility. Together they capture the instability of early adulthood—feeling slightly better while remaining aware everything could collapse instantly. Ramos writes like a documentarian rather than confessor, observing twenty-something life with enough distance to see patterns while maintaining proximity to feel urgency.

“Birth of a Nation” takes provocative title and reframes it, examining American mythology through lens sharpened by his Puerto Rican household upbringing. The track explores the American dream’s promise and cost, investigating what happens when you grow up steeped in narratives about opportunity while witnessing how those narratives fail specific communities. Ramos doesn’t preach or simplify—he just documents the cognitive dissonance of believing and doubting simultaneously. The production here gets heavier, guitars pushing harder, rhythm section insisting rather than suggesting.

“315” operates as geographic and temporal marker, specific enough to mean something concrete to Ramos while remaining open for listener interpretation. That balance between personal specificity and universal relatability defines Prospect Gallery‘s lyrical approach throughout. Ramos describes writing about his own stories while addressing themes everyone experiences—taking leaps of faith, diving into unknown territory. The track’s arrangement builds toward release that feels earned rather than manufactured, tension accumulating naturally through verse progression.

“Morning Wars” closes the album delivering what Ramos calls “lightning-bolt statement of ambition and arrival.” The eponymous track functions as manifesto and calling card, showcasing charming yet brash confidence. The chorus achieves instant singability—that quality where melody embeds in memory after single listen. Ramos built this for stadium scale without currently having stadium access, creating music that imagines larger context while functioning perfectly in smaller rooms. That forward-thinking approach distinguishes artists with genuine ambition from those content with current circumstance.

The album’s thirty-minute runtime demonstrates editorial discipline. Eight tracks provide enough variation to showcase range without requiring filler or exhausting listener patience. Ramos spent years writing and producing this material, learning to manage emotions, expectations, and ambition through process. That time investment shows not in overworked complexity but in confident simplicity—knowing which ideas serve songs and which serve ego, cutting the latter ruthlessly.

What distinguishes Prospect Gallery from countless other debut albums is Ramos’ total creative ownership combined with his outward-facing perspective. Complete artistic control often breeds insularity—artists disappearing into their own reference points until music makes sense only to them. Ramos avoids that trap by consistently thinking about how these songs function for listeners navigating their own uncertainties. His Puerto Rican household upbringing adds specific cultural lens without limiting universal applicability. The volatility of entering adulthood in hyperconnected world, the crushing weight of comparison, the sobering realization that life extends beyond personal ambition—these experiences transcend individual background while being shaped by it.

Prospect Gallery announces Morning Wars as artist standing on breakthrough’s edge, ready to claim larger stage. Ramos built foundation through grassroots momentum and online connection, earned attention through consistent quality, and now delivers debut statement that justifies the accumulating buzz. The album documents where he’s been while pointing toward where he’s going, capturing specific moment while reaching for timelessness. For artist who did everything himself, Ramos demonstrates remarkable understanding of what music needs to connect beyond himself. That outward focus, combined with complete creative command, positions Morning Wars as one of indie rock’s most promising new voices—not through hype or industry machinery, but through songs that simply work.