Playing back-to-back weekends across Asia might sound like burnout fuel for a band, but not for Canadian pop-rock band Valley. For vocalist Rob Laska, bassist Alex Dimauro, and drummer Karah James, it’s a thrill they’ve been chasing for over a decade; one that feeds off honesty, trust, and a shared obsession with making music that connects. After years of dancing between new wave and indietronica, A day before their scheduled concert at the New Frontier Theater last June 15, Valley is cutting through the noise with something simpler, louder, and more honest.
Their sound has always stitched together pop gloss with personal gut checks. Songs like “Like 1999,” “Have a Good Summer (Without Me),” and their latest “Water the Flowers, Pray for a Garden” shimmer with hook-driven polish, but they never feel manufactured. Laska’s voice tiptoes through synth-heavy melodies while Dimauro and James keep the rhythm grounded and generous, inviting the listener in, never pulling the rug under their feet.
A day before their Manila stop, the band sat down to reflect on the journey that brought them to their new record. Water the Flowers, Pray for a Garden wasn’t designed to be over-thought or overworked; it’s a free-flowing pop album that gets out of its own way, and that’s by design. For Valley, the goal wasn’t to reinvent the wheel, but to take the pressure off it entirely.
The Fear of bEING cHEESY
That clarity didn’t come easily. Their honesty is more than a press kit slogan; it’s an operating principle — a commitment to show up, flaws and all, and make music that sounds like it was made by humans, not machines. That pursuit has meant pushing past second-guessing, the trap of industry expectations, and the nagging voice that says a pop band has to wear a smile at all times.
“I think the reason why we still do it is because the nucleus of [our songwriting] has stayed the same,” Laska tells Rolling Stone Philippines. “The foundation has been the same, which is we all want the same thing. We want to write songs that connect to people, we want to write songs that are honest, we want to write songs that can reach different parts of people’s lives and soundtrack different moments.”
It’s not a linear process. Pop music, especially in 2025, is obsessed with chart metrics, brand alignment, and clean narratives. But Valley’s vision of pop is messier and more lived-in. It’s unfiltered because life is.
“If you stop yourself too soon, you’re stunting the ability to have unaltered ideas or unbiased ideas, free flow,” Dimauro says. “And I think that’s something that we’ve all dialed back, whether it’s, like, you know, fear of being too cheesy or fear of being too specific or whatnot. You know, it’s good to be unfiltered.”
Honesty is the Secret
That need for vulnerability spilled over into their latest project. What started as a plan to make a lean, efficient pop album shifted into something heavier, more layered. The group couldn’t fake it, and they didn’t want to.
“Life created circumstances where we had no other option but to [make an emotional album],” Laska says. “Before that, we were in pursuit of making a pretty concise pop album. And I think we accomplished that. Eventually, that pursuit got really tiring for us because I think we started bleeding into a territory of, like, ‘Who are we making the music for? Are we making it for ourselves? Are we making it for a receiving end that we think we know what they want to hear?’ And that’s where we had to face the music a little bit and be like, okay, why are we doing that? Because that doesn’t feel right. I don’t think that’s the way we should be making music.”
“[The new] album was a lesson for us where we would rather make exactly what we want to make and be rewarded for it in ways that are beyond the number or stats or streams.”
Laska isn’t romanticizing creative struggle here. He’s calling out the difference between music made for algorithms and music made with intention — something that Valley refuses to compromise. Their new record is about moving with care, about choosing depth over the dopamine hit of a viral chart spike.
“[The new] album was a lesson for us where we would rather make exactly what we want to make and be rewarded for it in ways that are beyond the number or stats or streams,” he says. “I think you can carry with you [an honest album] for the rest of your life versus a top 10 [that] comes and goes…. An award comes and goes. They’re just really nice ornaments that you could text your friends and your family [about] and be like, ‘Look, we did this.’ But the real rewards are like being 80 years-old, looking back on your discography, and saying ‘I was intentful, honest and authentic the whole way through.’”
For a band like Valley, honesty isn’t just a branding hook — it’s the whole damn thing. They didn’t travel across the world to coast on vibes. They came to meet their fans eye-to-eye, share songs that mean something, and maybe, in the process, remind the pop world that being down-to-earth can be a radical act. Because if there’s one thing they’ve proven from their Manila stop, it’s that being a good pop band doesn’t mean being flashy; it means showing up with something real.
