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	Current EURO200
	New entries in the EURO200                                       Review for week 38 - 2025
	There’s something eerie yet magnetic about the way Lady Gaga reenters the pop sphere with “The Dead Dance.” Debuting this week at position #10 on the Euro200 chart, the track is unmistakably new, but it feels like it’s been lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. Gaga, born and raised in New York City, has always had a flair for theatricality, and this song is no exception. It opens with a haunting synth progression that immediately sets a cinematic tone—think neon-lit alleyways, flickering strobes, and a sense of impending transformation. Vocally, Gaga is in full command. She doesn’t just sing; she conjures. Her voice shifts from whispered incantations to soaring declarations, as if she’s leading a procession of lost souls through a postmodern ritual. The production is layered and textured, with distorted beats and orchestral flourishes that feel both futuristic and ancient. It’s a sonic paradox—club-ready yet introspective, catchy yet cryptic. Lyrically, “The Dead Dance” is rich with metaphor. Gaga explores themes of rebirth, identity, and the seductive pull of oblivion. Lines like “we dance where the silence used to live” evoke a kind of spiritual reckoning, as if movement itself is a form of resistance. The chorus doesn’t rely on a traditional hook but rather builds intensity through repetition and rhythm, drawing the listener deeper into its spell. That this is a brand-new entry on the chart and already lands in the top ten speaks volumes. Gaga’s ability to reinvent herself while staying true to her artistic core is what makes her such a compelling figure in pop music. “The Dead Dance” isn’t just a song—it’s an experience, a challenge, and a reminder that pop can still be profound.
	There’s a certain charm in stumbling upon a song that feels like a diary entry set to music. “Verliebt in Mich” by Fayan & Dalton, a brand-new entry at position #82 on the Euro200 chart, is exactly that kind of track. Hailing from Germany, the duo crafts a sound that’s both intimate and infectious, blending soft synth-pop textures with a subtle Eurodance pulse that gives the song its momentum without overwhelming its emotional core. From the first few seconds, “Verliebt in Mich” sets a mood—wistful, slightly melancholic, yet undeniably hopeful. The vocals are delivered with a vulnerability that feels genuine, as if the singers are confessing something they’ve barely admitted to themselves. The lyrics revolve around self-love, not in a preachy or overly polished way, but in a raw, almost hesitant tone. It’s about learning to fall in love with oneself after heartbreak, after disappointment, after the noise of other people’s expectations fades away. Musically, the track is understated but effective. A gentle beat anchors the song, while shimmering synths and ambient pads create a dreamy backdrop. There’s a clever use of vocal layering in the chorus that adds emotional depth, making the refrain feel like an echo of inner thoughts. It’s not a song that demands attention—it earns it through sincerity. That “Verliebt in Mich” is a newcomer to the chart this week, debuting at #82, suggests that listeners are connecting with its message. In a landscape often dominated by bombastic production and flashy hooks, this track stands out by doing the opposite. It whispers where others shout, and in doing so, it resonates. Fayan & Dalton have delivered a quiet triumph—one that invites you to listen closely and maybe, just maybe, reflect a little more kindly on yourself.
	Some collaborations feel inevitable, like two forces destined to collide and create something memorable. “Ocean” by Calvin Harris & Jessie Reyez is one of those moments. This track, which enters the Euro200 chart this week as a newcomer at position #83, blends Harris’s polished production with Reyez’s raw vocal intensity in a way that feels both fresh and emotionally resonant. Calvin Harris, the Scottish DJ and producer known for his sleek, radio-ready hits, takes a more restrained approach here, allowing space for Reyez—who hails from Toronto, Canada—to shine with her signature grit and vulnerability. “Ocean” opens with a minimalist beat and ambient textures that evoke the vastness of its title. There’s a sense of openness, of floating, as Reyez’s voice enters—fragile yet defiant. Her delivery is conversational, almost confessional, as she sings about emotional distance, longing, and the struggle to stay afloat in a relationship that’s slowly drifting. The chorus swells with layered harmonies and subtle synth flourishes, but it never overwhelms. Instead, it mirrors the ebb and flow of the lyrics, rising and falling like waves. What makes this track stand out is its emotional honesty. Reyez doesn’t sugarcoat the pain, and Harris doesn’t try to mask it with flashy drops or overproduction. It’s a collaboration built on trust and restraint, and that’s what makes it so effective. The production supports the narrative rather than competing with it, and the result is a song that feels deeply personal yet universally relatable. As a brand-new entry on the chart, “Ocean” makes a quiet but powerful statement. It’s not here to dominate the dance floor—it’s here to linger in your thoughts, to soundtrack your late-night drives and introspective moments. Harris and Reyez have crafted something that’s both sonically elegant and emotionally raw, proving that sometimes, less really is more.
	Some songs feel like postcards from a place you’ve never been, yet somehow recognize. “Piazza San Marco,” the new entry at position #93 on the Euro200 chart, is exactly that—a lush, evocative collaboration between two of Italy’s most celebrated voices: Annalisa and Marco Mengoni. Both artists hail from Italy and bring their distinct sensibilities to this track, which feels like a love letter to Venice, memory, and fleeting connection. The song opens with delicate piano chords that ripple like water across the lagoon. Annalisa’s voice enters first, clear and wistful, painting scenes of quiet mornings and whispered promises. Mengoni follows with a deeper, more grounded tone, adding emotional weight and contrast. Their voices intertwine beautifully, never competing, always complementing—like two perspectives on the same moment. “Piazza San Marco” is rich in imagery. The lyrics reference the iconic Venetian square not just as a physical location, but as a metaphor for longing and nostalgia. There’s a sense of time standing still, of lovers meeting under the shadow of history, knowing their moment is brief but unforgettable. The production is cinematic, with strings swelling beneath the vocals and subtle electronic textures adding a modern sheen. That this track is new to the chart and debuts at #93 is a testament to its quiet power. It doesn’t scream for attention—it earns it through elegance and emotional resonance. Annalisa and Mengoni have crafted a song that feels timeless, rooted in place yet universal in feeling. “Piazza San Marco” is more than a duet; it’s a shared memory, a musical embrace, and a reminder that beauty often lies in the ephemeral.
	There’s a particular kind of heartbreak that only Italian ballads seem to capture, and “Cuore Rotto” by Tiziano Ferro is a masterclass in that tradition. This track, which enters the Euro200 chart this week as a newcomer at position #105, is a slow-burning emotional journey that showcases Ferro’s signature vocal warmth and lyrical depth. Born in Latina, Italy, Ferro has long been known for his ability to blend pop sensibilities with raw sentiment, and “Cuore Rotto” (which translates to “Broken Heart”) is no exception. The song begins with sparse instrumentation—just a piano and a faint ambient hum, like the echo of a memory. Ferro’s voice enters gently, almost hesitantly, as if he’s unsure whether to speak the truth he’s about to reveal. The lyrics are poetic and introspective, touching on themes of regret, vulnerability, and the quiet devastation of love lost. There’s no melodrama here, just honesty. Lines like “non ho più parole, solo silenzi che urlano” (“I have no more words, only silences that scream”) linger long after the music fades. As the track progresses, strings swell and subtle percussion adds momentum, but the focus remains on Ferro’s voice. He doesn’t need vocal acrobatics to convey emotion—his phrasing, his pauses, his breath do all the work. The chorus is understated yet powerful, a gentle crescendo that feels like a release of pent-up sorrow. That “Cuore Rotto” is a new entry this week and lands at #105 suggests that listeners are still drawn to songs that speak to the heart without artifice. Ferro reminds us that vulnerability is strength, and that sometimes, the quietest songs carry the loudest truths.
	Some tracks explode onto the scene with high energy and bold production, but “Pow Pow” by Fagata & Dajczman takes a different route—it creeps in, sly and self-assured, like a smirk you can hear. This brand-new entry at position #134 on the Euro200 chart is a Polish collaboration that blends trap aesthetics with a playful, almost mischievous tone. Both artists hail from Poland and bring a streetwise charisma to the track that’s hard to ignore. From the first beat, “Pow Pow” sets a mood that’s gritty yet polished. The production is minimal but punchy—tight hi-hats, a deep bassline, and a synth motif that loops like a hypnotic chant. Fagata’s delivery is sharp and rhythmic, her flow bouncing off the beat with precision. Dajczman complements her with a laid-back swagger, adding contrast and texture to the vocal interplay. There’s a chemistry between them that feels organic, like two friends trading verses in a late-night studio session. Lyrically, the track plays with bravado and irony. It’s not trying to be profound—it’s having fun with its own attitude. Lines are delivered with a wink, referencing pop culture, nightlife, and self-image in a way that feels both local and globally resonant. The chorus is catchy without being overproduced, relying on repetition and cadence rather than melodic hooks. That “Pow Pow” is a newcomer this week and lands at #134 suggests it’s gaining traction through word of mouth and digital buzz. It’s the kind of track that thrives on TikTok snippets and club playlists, where its cheeky energy can shine. Fagata & Dajczman have crafted something that’s unapologetically cool, and while it may not aim for emotional depth, it hits its target with style and confidence.
	It doesn’t start with a bang. It starts with a breath. “Pitanʹ Nema,” the haunting new entry at #149 on the Euro200 chart, feels less like a song and more like a memory you’re not sure is yours. Ukrainian artist Victoria Niro doesn’t sing to impress—she sings to confess. Her voice is fragile, almost translucent, like frost on glass. And yet, it cuts. The track opens with a sparse, icy piano motif, echoing through a soundscape that feels abandoned. There’s no beat to anchor you, no hook to hold onto. Instead, Niro builds tension through silence, through pauses that feel like held tears. When the beat finally arrives—muted, distant, like footsteps in snow—it doesn’t break the spell. It deepens it. Lyrically, “Pitanʹ Nema” is elusive. The title translates roughly to “No Question,” but the song is full of them—unspoken, unresolved. Niro sings in Ukrainian, and even if you don’t understand the words, you understand the ache. It’s the ache of waiting, of wondering, of watching someone drift away and not knowing whether to follow or let go. This is not a track for the club. It’s for the quiet hours, the sleepless nights, the moments when you stare at the ceiling and feel everything all at once. That it’s a newcomer this week and lands at #149 is no surprise—it’s not designed to dominate, but to linger. Victoria Niro doesn’t demand your attention. She earns it, slowly, like a whisper that refuses to fade.
	Some songs don’t ask for your attention—they steal it. “Bez Nikogo Obok” by Mata & OKI, a brand-new entry at #150 on the Euro200 chart, is one of those tracks that grabs you by the collar and pulls you into its world before you’ve had a chance to blink. Both artists are prominent figures in the Polish hip-hop scene, and together they’ve created something that feels urgent, raw, and unmistakably theirs. The track opens with a distorted vocal sample that sounds like it’s been ripped from a forgotten voicemail—intimate, glitchy, and slightly unsettling. Then the beat drops: heavy, industrial, almost claustrophobic. It’s not polished, and that’s the point. This is music that thrives in the cracks, in the imperfections. Mata comes in first, his flow tight and aggressive, spitting lines that feel like confessions shouted through a storm. OKI follows with a more melodic cadence, weaving vulnerability into the chaos. “Bez Nikogo Obok” translates to “Without Anyone Beside,” and that loneliness permeates every corner of the track. The lyrics speak of isolation, mistrust, and the weight of fame. There’s no romanticism here—just stark honesty. The chorus hits like a punch to the gut, not because it’s loud, but because it’s true. It’s the sound of two artists confronting their demons in real time. That this track is new to the chart and lands at #150 is almost ironic—it feels too big, too bold to be buried that deep. But maybe that’s part of its appeal. It’s not trying to be a hit. It’s trying to be heard. And once you’ve heard it, you won’t forget it. This is Polish rap at its most visceral, and Mata & OKI are leading the charge.
	Some songs feel like they were written in the margins of a diary—private, aching, and unfiltered. “Ein Lied Für Dich” by Apache 207, a brand-new entry at #152 on the Euro200 chart, is exactly that kind of track. The German rapper and singer, known for blending streetwise lyricism with melodic vulnerability, delivers here a piece that feels more like a letter than a single. It’s not flashy. It’s not trying to be a hit. It’s trying to be heard. The song opens with a sparse guitar riff, raw and unpolished, as if recorded in a bedroom at 3 a.m. Apache’s voice enters almost immediately, low and steady, like he’s speaking directly to someone who’s no longer listening. There’s no bravado, no posturing—just emotion. The lyrics, in German, speak of regret, missed chances, and the kind of love that leaves you hollow but still hopeful. It’s a song for the ones who left and the ones who stayed behind. What makes “Ein Lied Für Dich” so compelling is its restraint. The beat is minimal, the instrumentation stripped down to its bones. Apache doesn’t need a wall of sound to make his point. He uses silence as punctuation, letting lines hang in the air like unanswered questions. The chorus is subtle, almost whispered, and yet it carries the weight of everything unsaid. That this track is new to the chart and lands at #152 is fitting—it’s not built for mass appeal, but for quiet resonance. It’s the kind of song you stumble upon, play once, and then find yourself returning to when the world gets too loud. Apache 207 has crafted something intimate and brave, a reminder that sometimes the most powerful songs are the ones that don’t shout—they simply speak.
	Imagine a neon-lit corner store at midnight in Medellín, where the fridge hums and the bass from a nearby car rattles the glass bottles. That’s the energy “Yogurcito Remix” brings—chaotic, sticky, and unapologetically loud. This brand-new entry at #156 on the Euro200 chart is a Latin trap fever dream, remixed into something even more unhinged than its original form. Blessd, the Colombian hitmaker, leads the charge with a syrupy flow that drips confidence. Anuel AA, Puerto Rico’s prince of reggaetón grit, adds his signature growl, while Kris R and Luar La L throw in verses that feel like late-night voice notes you weren’t supposed to hear. Then come Roa and Yan Block—less known, but not less fierce. Their contributions are like rogue verses scribbled in the margins of a party flyer. The beat? It’s a Frankenstein of dembow, trap, and distorted synths that sound like they were recorded inside a blender. There’s no elegance here, and that’s the point. “Yogurcito Remix” is sticky-fingered, sweat-soaked, and made for bodies that don’t care about choreography. Lyrically, it’s a mess—in the best way. References fly by: snacks, seduction, street slang, and self-mythology. It’s not trying to be deep. It’s trying to be remembered. And it will be, if only for the sheer audacity of its sonic chaos. That it’s new to the chart this week and lands at #156 feels almost unfair. This track doesn’t belong in the middle—it belongs in the middle of a crowd, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a moment you’ll regret and replay. “Yogurcito Remix” is not a song. It’s a dare.
	Some tracks don’t walk into the room—they crash through the ceiling. “Yo-Yo” by Nastya Borsch & Shuhar, a brand-new entry at #166 on the Euro200 chart, is one of those chaotic delights that refuses to sit still. Both artists hail from Ukraine, and their collaboration is a sonic rollercoaster that feels like it was built in a candy-colored lab run by mad scientists with a taste for bass. The song kicks off with a warped synth loop that sounds like a toy malfunctioning in slow motion. Then the beat drops—hard, fast, and unrelenting. It’s not clean. It’s not polite. It’s a mess, and it’s glorious. Nastya Borsch comes in swinging, her vocals bouncing between bratty and hypnotic, like she’s daring you to keep up. Shuhar follows with a verse that feels like a glitch in the matrix—his flow stutters, accelerates, and then dissolves into digital noise. “Yo-Yo” doesn’t care about genre. It’s part hyperpop, part trap, part electroclash fever dream. The lyrics are playful and absurd, full of surreal imagery and punchlines that sound like inside jokes from a rave you weren’t invited to. There’s a line—half-sung, half-screamed—that repeats like a mantra: “Up and down, like a yo-yo,” and it’s not just catchy, it’s manic. The whole track feels like it’s vibrating at a frequency just above reality. That this is a new entry this week and lands at #166 is almost misleading. It’s not background music—it’s foreground chaos. “Yo-Yo” is the kind of song that makes you want to dye your hair neon and dance like no one’s watching, even if everyone is. Nastya Borsch & Shuhar didn’t just make a track. They made a statement: weird is wonderful.
	Some songs don’t knock—they slither in. “Puk Puk” by Brokies, a brand-new entry at #168 on the Euro200 chart, is one of those tracks that doesn’t ask for permission. It just shows up, kicks off its shoes, and starts rearranging your mental furniture. Brokies, a Polish act known for their off-kilter style and underground appeal, deliver a track that’s equal parts menace and mischief. The beat is skeletal—just enough to keep your head nodding, but sparse enough to make you feel like something’s lurking in the silence. A warped synth line loops like a broken carousel, and the vocals? They’re delivered with a kind of deadpan swagger that feels more like a dare than a performance. “Puk Puk” (which translates to “Knock Knock”) isn’t about knocking politely. It’s about kicking the door in and laughing while you do it. Lyrically, the song is cryptic and fragmented, like overheard snippets from a late-night phone call. There’s talk of paranoia, power plays, and the kind of street wisdom that doesn’t come from books. Brokies don’t rap—they mutter, chant, and occasionally shout, creating a rhythm that’s more ritual than rhyme. The chorus is minimalist, almost hypnotic, repeating the title like a warning or a spell. That this track is new to the chart and lands at #168 feels like the beginning of something. It’s not polished, and it’s not trying to be. It’s raw, weird, and strangely compelling. “Puk Puk” is the sound of a door creaking open in your subconscious—and Brokies are already inside.
	Some songs feel like they were written in the backseat of a stolen car, windows down, adrenaline high. “Nuda” by Gaia, a brand-new entry at #170 on the Euro200 chart, is exactly that kind of track—reckless, sensual, and soaked in late-night energy. Gaia, born in Italy and known for her genre-blending style, delivers a performance that’s equal parts whisper and roar. The track doesn’t ease you in—it throws you into the deep end. A distorted bassline grinds beneath a haze of synths, while Gaia’s voice slinks through the mix like smoke. She doesn’t sing so much as seduce, her Italian lyrics dripping with double meanings and emotional ambiguity. “Nuda” means “naked,” and the song plays with that concept—stripping away pretense, exposing desire, and reveling in vulnerability without apology. There’s a tension in the production that never quite resolves. The beat pulses like a heartbeat on edge, and the melodic elements feel deliberately frayed, as if they’re about to unravel. Gaia leans into this instability, her vocals shifting from breathy to biting, always keeping you guessing. The chorus doesn’t explode—it coils tighter, like a secret you’re not sure you want to hear. That this track is new to the chart and lands at #170 is almost poetic. It’s not built for the spotlight—it’s built for the shadows. “Nuda” is the kind of song you play when you’re driving too fast, feeling too much, and trying not to care. Gaia doesn’t offer answers. She offers atmosphere. And in a world obsessed with clarity, that kind of mystery is magnetic.
	There’s no countdown, no build-up—“Hengsta” by Drevo simply detonates. As a brand-new entry at #185 on the Euro200 chart, the track doesn’t ask for your attention, it hijacks it. Drevo, the Ukrainian artist whose name literally means “tree,” delivers a sonic storm that feels anything but rooted. This is music in motion—feral, unfiltered, and pulsing with urgency. The track opens with a distorted synth that sounds like it’s clawing its way out of a speaker. Then comes the beat: jagged, metallic, and relentless. It’s not danceable—it’s confrontational. Drevo’s voice slices through the chaos with a cadence that’s half rap, half incantation. He doesn’t perform the lyrics—he weaponizes them. There’s a tension in every syllable, a sense that something is about to snap. “Hengsta” doesn’t follow a traditional structure. It lurches, it stutters, it accelerates without warning. The chorus is more of a sonic eruption than a melodic anchor, built on repetition and raw energy. The lyrics, delivered in Ukrainian, are cryptic and visceral. They speak of power, defiance, and a kind of existential swagger that feels uniquely post-Soviet and unmistakably modern. That this track is new to the chart and lands at #185 is almost beside the point. “Hengsta” isn’t here to climb—it’s here to burn. Drevo doesn’t care about polish or perfection. He’s building something primal, something that lives in the gut. It’s the sound of a generation that’s done waiting, done explaining, and ready to roar. This isn’t just a song—it’s a signal flare.
	It doesn’t shimmer. It doesn’t soar. “Nobody’s Son” by Sabrina Carpenter, new this week at #189 on the Euro200 chart, is a quiet rebellion wrapped in velvet. The American singer-songwriter, known for her sharp lyrical instincts and emotional range, strips things down here to something raw and intimate. This isn’t a breakup song. It’s a reckoning. The track opens with a muted guitar riff, almost hesitant, like it’s unsure whether to speak. Carpenter’s voice enters low and steady, not fragile but firm—like someone who’s cried all the tears and is now just telling the truth. There’s no vocal acrobatics, no dramatic build. Just clarity. The lyrics are piercing: “I was never yours to fix, and you were never mine to follow.” It’s not about heartbreak. It’s about identity. “Nobody’s Son” plays with the idea of detachment—not just from a person, but from a role. Carpenter dismantles the expectations placed on her, whether romantic, familial, or societal. The chorus doesn’t explode—it unfolds, like a letter you weren’t supposed to read. The production is minimal, with ambient textures and subtle percussion that feel like footsteps in an empty hallway. That this track is a newcomer and lands at #189 says more about its quiet power than its chart position. It’s not designed to dominate—it’s designed to resonate. Carpenter isn’t trying to be anyone’s muse, savior, or possession. She’s carving out space for herself, and “Nobody’s Son” is the sound of that liberation. It’s not loud. It’s not flashy. But it’s unforgettable.
	It’s not polished. It’s not subtle. “Ponte Pa Mi” by Ursaru, new this week at #194 on the Euro200 chart, is pure kinetic energy—like a street party that’s one bass drop away from chaos. Ursaru, a rising artist from Romania, doesn’t tiptoe into the track. He stomps in, grinning, with a beat that sounds like it was built from car alarms, carnival drums, and the echo of a thousand balconies. The production is wild. Percussion ricochets off the walls, synths squeal like tires on wet pavement, and the bassline punches through like it’s trying to escape the mix. Ursaru’s vocal delivery is rapid-fire, playful, and just a little unhinged. He doesn’t rap so much as chant—his flow is rhythmic, but it feels like he’s leading a parade of misfits through the city at midnight. “Ponte Pa Mi” (Spanish for “Get with me”) is a linguistic mash-up, bouncing between Romanian, Spanish, and street slang with no regard for borders. The lyrics are brash and flirtatious, full of swagger and innuendo. It’s not trying to be poetic—it’s trying to be unforgettable. There’s a hook that repeats like a dare, daring you not to move, not to shout along, not to lose control. That this track is a newcomer and lands at #194 is almost irrelevant. It’s not built for charts—it’s built for speakers, for sweaty dance floors, for moments when you stop caring what anyone thinks. Ursaru has created a sonic riot, and “Ponte Pa Mi” is the anthem. It’s messy, loud, and absolutely alive.
	“Kawior” by Avi & BL Beatz enters the Euro200 chart this week as a new entry at position #198, and it makes its presence known not through volume, but through precision. This is not a track that tries to charm or seduce—it confronts. From the very first note, it sets a tone of cold detachment. A sparse piano loop repeats like a thought you can’t shake, and the beat is stripped down to its bare essentials, leaving space for tension to build in the silence between sounds. BL Beatz’s production is minimalist but deliberate. There’s no excess, no ornamentation. Every sonic element feels placed with intent. The percussion is dry and tight, the bassline subtle but ominous. It’s the kind of beat that doesn’t move you to dance—it makes you sit still and listen. The atmosphere is claustrophobic, but not chaotic. It’s controlled, like a room with no windows. Avi’s delivery matches the mood perfectly. His flow is steady, almost surgical, with no wasted syllables. He doesn’t raise his voice or lean into melodrama. Instead, he speaks with the quiet authority of someone who’s seen too much and says only what matters. The lyrics, in Polish, revolve around themes of status, illusion, and the emptiness behind luxury. “Kawior”—caviar—is used not as a symbol of indulgence, but as a metaphor for the hollow pursuit of prestige. There’s irony in the title, and Avi leans into it with a tone that’s both detached and cutting. There’s no traditional chorus, no hook designed to stick in your head. Instead, the track unfolds like a monologue, a slow burn that never quite explodes. It’s not built for radio—it’s built for reflection. “Kawior” is a statement, not a spectacle. And it lingers long after the final note fades.
	Look at last week's reviews here
	"The Hitmaster: mastering the rhythm of chart-topping hits."