"Ticker Tape Parade" by Absent City is one of those soft pop-rock numbers that would sound right at home soundtracking a partly cloudy beach day or the lull that strikes in the middle of road trips. The song has that oddly small Midwestern town vibe, like it found fun in itself in a place where there isn't much else to do but look inside yourself and pull out the pretty parts that make your day memorable. The vocals are shrouded in some kind of demurity reserved for indie singers and songwriters.

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I sat in a prairie throwing tennis balls into the spacious abyss for my beloved German Shepherd pup to fetch and bring back to me. I was home for the semester thanks to COVID, and this was my life now. Remote learning. The great outdoors was now my campus. The further I yanked my arm back to hurl the tennis balls yards away, the harder my dog ran to please me and bring me back the one thing I could never get tired of momentarily losing. I watched him gallop on four legs to the ball, but I never lost sight of his furry mane and sunny disposition. He stayed in shape this way, and I could always cuddle him. I was just a boy and he was just my dog and we were just stretching out the last few rays of sunlight on a beautiful fall day before it was time to go home and listen to "Ticker Tape Parade" by Absent City and do it all again tomorrow.

It’s funny how mornings are the most subject to routine. When I wake up, one of the first things I do is take my dog outside. The backyard is always shaded in the mornings, so we play a few rounds of fetch. My pup bounds after his beloved orange ball with so much single-minded joy that it blesses the rest of the day. That’s how "It’s Infinite" by Lomelda feels. The first two-thirds or so of the song weave metaphor, quantifiers, and disqualifiers together in lyrics that draw longing out of your heart. For a little while, you look at joy like a foreign object. Something compelling that you don’t quite understand or half-remember from a dream. You wish you knew what it feels like, to feel like that. Acoustic guitar and keys gently tug your hand towards sunshine and adventure, but your feet stay stuck where they are. Around 2 minutes in, drums come in, your entire soul thaws, and you remember. Life is an art of creation. Joy without reservations feels like grass on your feet and sunshine on your back. How could you ever forget? It feels like chasing after a ball, only to return, and then experience the joy of a chase all over again. You’re not happy because you feel like you should be, but just because you are. It’s as innate as your name, and you know exactly how it feels. It’s infinite, and rediscovery is inevitable no matter how long it appears to go missing.

In the middle of the 2000s—which are also, despite my best efforts, referred to by some as the “noughties”—there was a brilliant onslaught of guitar-driven indie rock records that changed the direction of indie music for the remainder of the decade. To me, the guitar in the earliest albums by bands like Bloc Party, Wolf Parade, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and Rilo Kiley feels uniquely, transcendently energizing. To me, it sounds like using an X-acto knife on a beam of sunlight, like sprinting through a suburban street at midnight. Probably partly because I spent the years 2004–2006 in an emotionally heightened state called “adolescence,” but also partly because that generation of indie rock guitarists tapped into something special, I have spent the last decade missing that sound very much.

Or I should say, I just realized how much I have missed that sound. When you see a good friend for the first time in years, you often miss them even more right after you see them than you did before. That’s what happened when I first heard “Lights Out,” Deep Sea Diver’s first single from their upcoming album, Impossible Weight. Bandleader Jessica Dobson’s guitar work on this track not only provides an immaculate tribute to a forgotten corner of indie rock—it also aptly brings that sonic era into a comfortable relationship with the genre-flexible sensibility of indie music in 2020. About two and a half minutes in, the relentless gallop of Peter Mansen’s drums falls away for a shocking 30-second dream-pop interlude, which, after filling time like a glittering balloon, explodes into the song’s final cathartic guitar solo. Meanwhile, Jessica’s vocals throughout the track act as its emotional barometer, shadowing the mood and providing whatever is appropriate, from an indignant shout to a carefree croon and everywhere in between. Overall, “Lights Out” sounds a (far from silent) alarm that Impossible Weight will be a force to reckon with in October.

Beautiful, extremely well-blended vocals fill your headphones almost immediately after hitting 'play' on the latest single from British duo Girlhood. Before you are able to comprehend just how well Tessa Cavanna's voice fits together against an enthusiastic piano-driven intro she flutters in with, "You know you give me life / My sister of mine," as the track begins to shift into a romp with a club-friendly dance groove—propelling "Sister" into a completely different atmosphere.

"Sister" is Pinchbeck and Cavanna's ode to bonds that will always remain. A classic 90s inspired beat acts as a backbone for the piano and Spanish guitar propelling it forward. Every element of the track supports the contagious tale of pure love, as evidenced by lyrics detailing maintaining an eternal bond despite the idea of separation. This was perhaps inspired by the current climate dominated by a seemingly endless sense of being apart. "Sister" is a love note to remembering the strongest elements of a forever friendship—elevated by unwavering support and fueled by a swirling use of saxophones. 

Girlhood will release their debut album this Fall via Team Talk Records.

In the words of Merce Lemon, this bluesy piano-infused tune is the product of “dreaming up a love.” In listening, there is a sort of transportation that occurs—into a room where there is an invitation to a swaying, dignified ballroom dance with “Those Eyes” ricocheting in and out of the ears of two lovers. There is a gorgeousness within the sentiment of a pair of eyes that have the ability to “pull[ed] me right up in the nick of time." When asked how the song materialized Merce shared, “I wrote this song in my parent’s living room, nestled between stacks of records and miscellaneous piles. I was whispering and singing softly so no one could hear me. Dad heard me anyways. I was dreaming up a love."

Merce Lemon is a Pittsburgh local, who not only brings brilliant melodies to life but fights for justice in her city, as well as the world in her every day. Her album Moonth (set to release on August 14) will include even more of the shimmering feeling that this track brings, as well as her charming and idiosyncratic honesty.