Some artists settle into one version of themselves and ride it out until the wheels fall off. Others can’t stop wrestling with their own contradictions, turning their work into a perpetual argument between who they were and who they might become. Filip Tasevski Fitz has never been interested in standing still. For years, he threw himself into the chaotic, beer-soaked pit of DIY hardcore punk with his North Macedonian band The Beginnings. That scene gave him something to push against, but it was never going to be the whole story.
Blackstate exists because some ideas don’t translate into power chords and scream-along hooks. Some frustrations need a different language. FollowMe, which dropped on November 12, 2025 alongside a music video that feels like watching yourself through someone else’s phone, is one of those ideas that wouldn’t let go.
It’s a song about watching people watch themselves. About the way reality warps when getting noticed becomes more important than what you’re actually doing. We all know we’re staring at our phones too much—that’s not news. What FollowMe captures is the feeling underneath that compulsion. The low-level dread of being ignored. The hunger for proof that you matter. The weird performance mode we slip into the second we think someone’s recording.
From the opening seconds, the track feels like it’s in motion but going nowhere. Synth lines dart around like incoming notifications. The beat keeps pushing you forward without ever letting you settle. It’s engaging, sure, but also kind of suffocating, which is probably the point. That’s what doomscrolling feels like when you’re three hours deep and can’t remember why you picked up your phone in the first place.
Blackstate doesn’t just describe that feeling—he builds the song around it. The lyrics don’t lecture or point fingers. They slide into the headspace of someone willing to do anything to stay relevant. It’s exaggerated, but not by much. That’s what makes it uncomfortable. This isn’t some over-the-top villain. It’s someone you recognize. Maybe someone you’ve been.
The music video takes that discomfort and turns it into a visual spiral. Everything looks staged and polished in a way that’s become disturbingly normal. Podcast setups lit like interrogation rooms. Livestream angles that make everyone look slightly plastic. Background people who exist only to nod along, never allowed to speak.
At first it’s almost funny, then it starts to land differently. You realize you’ve seen this exact aesthetic a hundred times online and never questioned it. There’s a moment where the whole thing tips into parody—flashy outfits, overblown confidence, the works—and suddenly the target becomes clear. It’s not the platforms themselves. It’s the hollowness that creeps in when your identity becomes content. The curtain gets pulled back, and what’s left looks flimsy. The character seems stuck inside his own performance, unable to stop even when no one’s really paying attention anymore.
What makes FollowMe effective is that Blackstate doesn’t pretend he’s above any of this. There’s no soapbox moment. Tasevski Fitz plays the role too convincingly for that. It’s a deliberate choice, and it matters. He’s acknowledging that this culture isn’t something imposed from the outside. We’re all complicit. We all participate, even when we know better. The song also fits naturally into what Blackstate has been building. This project has always thrived on contradictions. Catchy melodies wrapped around uncomfortable truths. Humor that curdles into unease. A punk ethos repackaged in electronic form. FollowMe doesn’t feel like an experiment or a gimmick. It feels like the next logical step for someone who refuses to play it safe.
There’s also a sense of timing here that can’t be ignored. With The Beginnings gearing up for a new chapter, Blackstate feels sharper, more certain of what it wants to be. FollowMe sounds like it was made by someone who’s done second-guessing himself. If anything, it suggests future releases will lean even harder into these messy, uncomfortable spaces. At its core, FollowMe isn’t really about influencers. It’s about attention as a survival mechanism. About how easy it is to mistake being seen for being known. The song doesn’t offer any answers. It doesn’t tell you to log off or touch grass. It just shows you the loop and lets you sit with it. Blackstate trusts you to get it. He lets the beat hook you, lets the visuals pull you in, and then leaves you alone with whatever you’re feeling after. That lingering unease is the whole point.
FollowMe isn’t meant to blend into the background of your playlist. It’s designed to stick around and ask a quiet, persistent question long after the track ends: Who are you performing for, and what happens when the screen goes dark?
