INTERVIEW | ANONYMOUS X DISCUSSES NEW TRACK ‘STILL LIT’

In a world quick to silence the voices that burn too bright, Anonym­ous X refuses to dim. On June 5^th, 2025, the under­ground artist dropped Still Lit, an unapo­lo­get­ic declar­a­tion of self-worth and raw resi­li­ence. The track is more than just a banger. It is a battle cry from an artist at war with the industry’s safe expect­a­tions. “This was­n’t a corny ‘con­fid­ence anthem.’ This was war,” says Anonym­ous X.

Recor­ded solo in a DIY home stu­dio with no big-budget setup or cre­at­ive team, Still Lit is the product of a clear vis­ion and unfiltered emo­tion. “Every under­ground and under­es­tim­ated artist is formed dif­fer­ently,” he explains.

“We were nev­er spoon-fed. We’re hungry, and that hun­ger pro­duces the best sounds. No dead­lines. No fake input. There’s noth­ing but ideas fly­ing through your mind, and no one is breath­ing down your neck. That free­dom? That is where the gold is.”

The song’s cre­ation was rooted in instinct. “It was like the beat knew how I was feel­ing before I did,” he says. “When I heard it, some­thing in me clicked into place. I sensed the hook before I wrote it. It came from a part of me that I rarely express. The rage, the peace, all of it. Cer­tain beats evoke strong emo­tions in you in addi­tion to inspir­ing you. That’s what took place. It was genu­ine. Raw. As if it was already inside me, waiting.”

That emo­tion­al hon­esty car­ries over into Anonym­ous X’s sig­na­ture sound, a gritty fusion of dark trap, melod­ic rap, and emo­tion­al altern­at­ive vibes. Think the raw emo­tion of XXXTenta­cion with the chaot­ic energy of Baby Keem, layered over heavy bass­lines and shad­owy atmo­spheres. But don’t mis­take his sound for imit­a­tion. “I can’t really say I was try­ing to com­bine dif­fer­ent artists in the hopes of find­ing my own sound,” he says. “Could I say that it just happened? Maybe. But the truth is, I grew up on a massive cata­logue. From 2Pac to Break­ing Ben­jamin, Tory Lanez to animé soundtracks, even Michael Jack­son. I was absorb­ing everything. With that much range in my ears, I was nev­er gonna stay in one genre. It wasn’t a plan. It was inevitable.”

That same unpre­dict­ab­il­ity extends to his visu­als, which are dark, sym­bol­ic, and always wrest­ling with con­trast. “There’s nev­er just one straight road to the end of life,” he says.

“Every decision you make might con­tra­dict someone else’s, and it is what it is at the end of the day. Where there’s light, there’s always a shad­ow behind. I want people to feel that ten­sion, that push and pull, because it’s some­thing we don’t talk about enough.”

Anonym­ous X is fiercely inde­pend­ent, build­ing his brand from the ground up. But that free­dom comes with hard truths. “Build­ing this alone taught me that nobody’s com­ing to save you,” he says. “There’s no blue­print when you’re carving your own lane, just your vis­ion, your doubts, and your will to keep going. The biggest les­son? If you don’t believe in what you’re cre­at­ing, no one else will. People will try to water you down, tell you what’s ‘mar­ket­able’ or ‘safe.’ But safe art doesn’t sur­vive. I’ve learned to lean into the dis­com­fort, to pro­tect my vis­ion even when it’s messy, even when it’s mis­un­der­stood. That’s what makes it real. That’s what makes it mine.”

The title Still Lit is more than just catchy. It is deeply per­son­al. “Yeah, plenty,” he says when asked if his spark ever almost went out. “There were moments when I felt empty. Moments where I could not beat the silence in my own head. There were times when I wondered if any of this was worth­while, if I still had any­thing to say. But Still Lit is sig­ni­fic­ant for pre­cisely that reason.

It’s (Still Lit) about keep­ing your fire alive, even when it’s just barely flick­er­ing. With this song, I grabbed the final spark and used it to burn the entire room. It’s all about sur­viv­al. Refus­al. It proves that I’m still here.”

Anonym­ous X’s music car­ries a cine­mat­ic weight, some­thing that comes from see­ing his work as more than sound. “Abso­lutely,” he says about ven­tur­ing into film and visu­al storytelling.

“My music’s always been big­ger than just sound. It’s scenes, it’s col­or, it’s move­ment. I don’t just write songs. I build uni­verses. The cine­mat­ic energy is inten­tion­al, because I see the story play out in my head before the beat even drops. Scor­ing film, dir­ect­ing visu­als, even writ­ing scripts, that’s not a side quest. That’s the next chapter.”

His lyr­ics strike a bal­ance between vul­ner­ab­il­ity and bravado, and that ten­sion is what makes them hit harder. “Because that’s the bal­ance. I’m not just one thing, and I’m not here to pre­tend that I am,” he says. “Some days, I feel invin­cible, as if noth­ing can harm me. Oth­er days, I can barely keep it togeth­er. The music reflects both the god com­plex and the cracked mir­ror. Vul­ner­ab­il­ity is not the same as weak­ness, and bravado does not always imply con­fid­ence. It’s about sur­viv­al. I write it as I feel it, without fil­ter. What about the dual­ity? That’s where the truth lives.”

So what’s next for Anonym­ous X? “Expan­sion. Son­ic­ally, visu­ally, and men­tally,” he says. “I’m not fol­low­ing trends. I’m lay­ing the ground­work for a leg­acy, even if it is under­ground. The momentum is real, but I am not inter­ested in clout gas. I move silently until it is time to shake the room. I stay groun­ded by remem­ber­ing why I star­ted in the first place. To be heard rather than seen. More truth. Increased dis­rup­tion. More evol­u­tion. Anonym­ous X isn’t a phase. It’s a storm in the making.”

Listen Here to Still Lit

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