Nemuri Radio

After the storm, it's not your hair- it's YOU!

The Season 2 finale of Nemuri Radio brings emotion, laughter, and legacy to the mic as Vyza and HAIQEEM reflect on the song that inspired a quiet revolution in both their hearts: Pamela Pantea’s “It’s Not Your Hair, It’s You.” With its slow-burning truth and sly country-jazz undertones that are pure rockabilly, the track becomes the anchor for one of the season’s most intimate conversations.
 
Vyza calls Pamela’s song “my inspiration” — a rare, unguarded admission from someone usually allergic to sentimentality. She doesn’t go into how her response song “After the Storm” came to be, and she doesn’t have to. Her tone says it all: reverent, empowered, and still carrying the echo of something hard-earned.
 
HAIQEEM tries to steer the conversation, but the episode is dotted with bloopers — background sips, unscripted laughs, and him muttering “I’ll fix it in the mix” every time he stumbles, though by the end, nothing’s been fixed. Vyza teases him about it. He lets it ride. It’s messy and real — just like the songs.
 
They describe “After the Storm” as a jazz-tinged rockabilly torch ballad — one part lipstick, one part lightning. If Pamela’s version was the sermon, Vyza’s is the cigarette outside the church. Together, the tracks paint a picture of two women in conversation across generations, genres, and genres of grief.
 
🎧 The episode closes with both full tracks:
– “It’s Not Your Hair, It’s You” by Pamela Pantea – smoky, sharp, unforgettable.
– “After the Storm” by Vyza – hip-swinging defiance wrapped in haunted glamour.

Get Even

The conversation opens with laughter and playful tension — HAIQEEM teasing Vyza about “changing the grammar just to make it sound sexier.” Vyza defends her version, explaining that the lyric rewrite reflects agency rather than revenge: “Pamela sang it like she was plotting. I sing it like I already did it.”
 
As the discussion unfolds, the two trace the lineage of the song — from Pamela’s smoky jazz-pop arrangement to Vyza’s glossy city-pop-meets-alt-rock update. HAIQEEM admits he initially didn’t want her to cover it, fearing comparisons, but later calls her interpretation “a mirror that talks back.”
 
Mid-episode, they play a short clip of Vyza’s recording: metallic guitars, lush synth pads, and a spoken-word bridge where she murmurs, “You taught me how to sin politely.” The moment segues into a debate about ownership, musehood, and whether artistry ever really “forgives.”

Love is Coming...

In this episode of Nemuri Radio, Haiqeem and Vyza have a reflective, back-and-forth dialogue about Vyza’s song Love Is Coming from her album Wiser. Vyza explains that the song was written in the future tense — not mourning old love or celebrating present love, but anticipating love that hasn’t yet arrived. She frames it as a prophecy: love will come, but in ways people never expect.
 
Haiqeem questions whether that hope can be dangerous, since it leaves people vulnerable to disappointment. Vyza pushes back, saying the risk is part of the beauty — love doesn’t always come in the shape you imagine, but it still comes, stubbornly, through unexpected doors. Their conversation sets the stage for the track, which plays as the centerpiece of the episode.
 
After the song, Haiqeem admits the chorus forced him to soften, to let go of his guardedness, while Vyza shares that performing it feels like opening a doorway inside herself. Together they close on the idea that Love Is Coming is not a memory or a scar, but a promise — one that invites listeners to stay ready for love’s arrival, even if it doesn’t appear in the form they thought it would.

Fuck You... I Love You!

Vyza and HAIQEEM take on the messy beauty of incompatibility colliding with attraction. The conversation turns candid, tracing the sparks that flare when two people can’t seem to walk away from each other, even when they should.
 
The centerpiece is “Fuck You I Love You” — first introduced on Wiser as a fiery duet. For this special broadcast, listeners hear Vyza’s one-off solo promo version, stripped bare and charged with vulnerability. HAIQEEM’s own solo take remains unreleased, hinted at but held back, a shadow waiting in the wings.

Happier Times Are Coming

In this episode, Vyza and HAIQEEM share a rare, glowing optimism. The hook “Happier Times Are Coming” threads through their conversation, a reminder that resilience and belief in tomorrow can’t be extinguished. Against the unspoken backdrop of turbulence in the world, they refuse to dwell in fear; instead, they choose light, unity, and forward motion.
 
The featured track, Hope, embodies that spirit — a song that rises like a quiet anthem, balancing vulnerability with determination. Vyza and HAIQEEM trade reflections about persistence, about carrying each other through shadows, and about the beauty of holding faith when it feels most fragile.
 
This episode doesn’t deny the heaviness outside, but it insists on something brighter: an affirmation that no matter how fractured the present may feel, happier times are coming.

The "C" Word

In this episode, Vyza and Haiqeem lean all the way into provocation and artistry, breaking taboos in a way only they can. The show opens with Vyza’s new track “You Can’t Afford Me, Baby” playing in the background — a dance-rock anthem laced with heavy blues riffs. The hook circles around the word “c#$%,” which becomes a repeated mantra at the end of each chorus (“bow for a c#$% when you misbehave… bow for a c#$% when I appear…”).

The “C” Word (You can’t afford me, baby)

In this episode, Haiqeem and Vyza take on the C word — not just the slur, but the entire constellation of meanings it carries: control, chaos, commitment, confidence, collapse. The conversation cuts between playful sparring and razor-sharp reflection, pulling back the curtain on the words and wounds that shape both art and identity.
 
At the heart of the episode is their latest song, “You Can’t Afford Me Baby,” a track born from defiance and desire. Vyza unpacks its unapologetic message, while Haiqeem challenges the myths around power, fame, and what it means to set your own price in a world that wants to discount you.
 
What starts as laughter and banter crescendos into something raw and revealing — a collision of music, memory, and meaning that leaves listeners questioning which lines are performance and which are confession.

So What?

Vyza and Haiqeem dive into the unapologetic fire of “So What?,” a song aimed at people who orbit too close without the gravity to last. With biting humor and raw honesty, they peel back the lies, the egos, and the noise, asking the only question that matters: so what?

I'm wiser, now...

Season Two of Nemuri Radio opens with the title track of Vyza Nemuri’s sophomore album Wiser—a song born out of confession, courage, and a refusal to shrink. In this intimate episode, Vyza reflects on how Wiser became both her shield and her release, while Haiqeem steps in to reveal his own version of the song, which closes his Japanese album Yoru to Yume.
 
Together, they revisit the first song they ever wrote at Point Mugu Beach, dissect the architecture of Wiser, share fragments in Japanese and English, and open up about the lessons that nearly broke them before shaping them. From burning the cape of false saviorhood to keeping the crown of dignity, this conversation is raw, poetic, and unflinching.
 
Some songs are doors. Some are locks. This one is a key.
 
 

Sleep, The Language I Forgot

The episode opens with Nemuri — the song Haiqeem wrote as an ode to Vyza’s name, a lullaby for the girl who, he swears, was singing it in her sleep. But when Vyza hears it, she insists she wrote it. She says he’s in the mix — and he doesn’t understand. But a careful listener will.
 
What follows is a soft unraveling of memory and authorship, of shared dreams and blurred realities. In The Language I Forgot, they search for the words they used to speak — in music, in love, in silence. Not everything between them is remembered the same way, but none of it is forgotten.
 
A trance-like episode about sound, sleep, and the invisible threads between two people who still echo inside each other.