Adeline Hotel has a way of putting you at ease. Living on the axis of psych-rock and indie folk, the music is loose and calming, but also entirely intentional. On “Trace,” a track from the upcoming album, Solid Love, Dan Knishkowy leads the project with the strength of his songwriting, telling a tale of transition that is equally driven by moments of love and connection as it is by total unknowing. The band, headed by Knishkowy and joined by guitarist, Ben Seretan, bassist Andrew Stocker, pianist Winston Cook-Wilson (Office Culture), drummer Sean Mullins (Wilder Maker), vocalists Brigid Mae Power & Matt Kivel, and a host of others, come together to blend their unique songwriting practices. As Knishkowy puts it, “Five people with loud playing personalities, playing as quietly as possible,” each musician creating their own moments of tenderness, trusting themselves and the process. Because of this, “Trace” is a slow-building wave and at it’s crest lies a beautifully jagged ending jam. The recipe of musical ambiguity, intimacy and clear warmth earns Adeline Hotel a sound that serves reflection as well as much needed sighs of relief.

Perhaps to mitigate the anxieties of the current moment, I find myself once again captivated by musicians who create poetry in motion. That’s artists like the Argentine folk trio Fémina and Candance Camacho, a 23-year-old singer from Queens who releases music under the name duendita. Camacho, who is Puerto Rican-American and Afro-Latinx, created her stage name from the Spanish poet Federico García Lorca’s concept of duende: the wondrous feelings art evokes within us that linger just beyond our ability to describe them. “Rolling up over I'm open to learning again / Lovely, so lucky thank God, ’cause they made me your friend,” Camacho sings above a sparse guitar track, cueing up the warm, soulful track that is “Let Me Live.” The words don’t do it justice; play the track and let it crawl inside your mind.

This past month has been the strangest that many of us have ever experienced in our lives. Confined inside the walls of our homes, we strive to find comfort and pleasure in any available form. For me, I found it by digging out the record player and stack of inherited vinyl records and dancing in my living room. I took a journey through several decades and genres, reveling in the richness of sound that can’t usually be achieved with digital streaming. Christian Lee Hutson’s “Talk” is an exception. This Phoebe Bridgers-produced track evokes the same feeling as listening to an old song on vinyl. Hutson’s vocal delivery and smooth timbre recall the classic singer-songwriters of the 1970s. While the acoustic production is simple: guitar, bass, restrained drum parts and a string section, the composite sound is every bit as rich as your favorite vintage record. Hutson’s subject matter reaches way down deep, too. He’s convinced himself—to the point of saying it out loud—that he will be a better parent than the one who raised him. He quickly realizes that’s easier said than done, especially when still reconciling with old scars. “It's no use denyin' / You belong to the dyin' / And I couldn't care less / Life's just a real slow death / Yep, that's what I was taught / Okay, so I care a lot.” Huston effectively delivers the pang of a painful childhood while never once raising his vocal intensity. This suggests a mastery on par with the great musical storytellers of generations past.

Acapella vocals float under Amber Mark’s strong voice in her rendition of Nirvana’s “Heart-Shaped Box." Mark is no stranger to taking songs to the next level, and she’s done it before on her incredible cover of “Love is Stronger Than Pride,” By Sade. Her vocal versatility and arrangement prowess is on full display in this self-produced, self-recorded version, complete with a music video of herself during her quarantine. Clearly a creative product of the COVID-19 Self-Isolation period, Mark said that recording this track was freeing in a way. “All the pressure I normally feel when working on music is lifted. Keeping it minimal has been the key mentality for me and just having fun with it,” she says. Her soulful and groovy take on a unique classic that could be described as the opposite seems to reflect the ways quarantine is forcing some of us to think outside the box while we're physically forced to remain inside of it.

It’s easy to find a sexy love song these days, and it’s even easier to find a song that captures the specific brand of loneliness that one feels following a breakup. But I’ve never heard a track that so skillfully combines these two subjects as Empress Of’s “Not the One,” in which Lorely Rodriguez documents all the awkwardness and heat of a rebound hookup. If you put this song on in the background, one of the first things you’ll notice is Rodriguez giving her partner detailed instructions on exactly how to please her, all atop bass-heavy, repetitive, dancy production. But as fans of Empress Of already know, she is not in the business of making shiny, surface-level love songs; and sure enough, as you listen to the lyrics more, the less shiny feelings begin to reveal themselves as well: uncertainty, vulnerability, impatience. She notices her rebound is the “same height” as her ex, but “not a carbon copy,” and urges him to “touch me like you already know me.” But by documenting the full reality of the experience, Rodriguez frees up more space for true empowerment: room to decide for herself that “he’s not the one,” but still with the awareness that “it helps” nonetheless.

Brooklyn-based Olivia Reid’s music washes over you like a warm bath. Minimalist tracks are decorated with just the right amount of noise to create a soundscape that’s inviting, even calming. Delicately structured harmonies and carefully placed instrumentals curve around whimsical lyrics—"I’m just a tourist in my own home, surrounded by what should feel familiar." The 21-year-old artist and current NYU student has an EP coming in the summer of 2020. Throw this song on a playlist with R.E.L. and close your eyes.

After soundtracking our love lives with her 2019 album forevher, British musician Shura (aka Alexandra Lilah Denton) flies us straight back to dreamland with her newest single “elevator girl,” featuring talented Philly-based rapper Ivy Sole. Flickering eye contact, long silences, shaking hands, maybe even the occasional stuttering of a sentence are all things that might happen on a first date. And while nervousness might be the first thing on someone’s mind, the lyrics also point out the high of hanging out with someone for the first time–the rush of adrenaline it can fill you with. The sweet, sly nature of "elevator girl" fuses well with its dreamy production and feels owned wholly by the charming lyrics. Shura sings playfully, “Twenty-two floors up / I’m high, it’s like a drug / She’s my elevator girl” and pairs it with seductive lines from Sole that flow, “Twenty-second floor, second room on the left / Now I’m past your door, you lay in wait of caress.” Mixing equal parts nerve and seduction, “elevator girl” is a quintessential first date track.

Slowing down from the gorgeous dance tracks on Empress Of's newest album I Am Your Empress Of, Lorely Rodriguez brings us back to center with her track “Hold Me Like Water.” Lyrically, it’s stunning. Rodriguez is a poetic force of nature, showing out and turning words into visions with “We’re two figures rearranging / Nondescript inside a painting,” perfectly setting up her question: “How can I know, know you better?” Her desire to understand this person is actively changing her, making her question things about herself. There’s something in the act of being vulnerable with this person that makes her want to be held “like water.” The production feels calm and emotionally driven, letting Rodriguez’s voice take center stage even when the synths and drums build to a moving crescendo. “Hold Me Like Water” is confessional and exposing, leaving both Rodriguez and her listeners in a state of contemplation.

"Josef," the final track on Charlotte Dos Santos’s latest project, is an exercise in the power of restraint. This mesmerizing, sparsely arranged track leans heavily on Dos Santos’s unique vocal colors and skill. "Josef" tells the story of a man departing bravely (or perhaps foolishly?) on a journey to realize his greatest dreams although this means leaving behind his family and all he knows. Dos Santos is asking what courage truly is—staying and being reliable for others (“He was the man that always fed the hands of his village”) or being true to himself (“Until then he must, for him, fulfill his calling.") Nearly the whole song exists within the careful, measured choice to leave—just lead vocals over an ostinato bass that reminds you of an ancient peasant song. Every once in a while a few background vocals join, like a chorus of sirens whispering in Josef’s ear. Eventually, a powerful beat enters for the last few seconds of the track, evoking Josef’s own heart pounding in his chest as he walks away. The sirens have won this one.

"Do you wonder about me?" asks Diet Cig on "Thriving," a break-up reflection that's as self-aware as it is optimistic. Alex Luciano's bubbly vocals float over the sunny chord progression and Noah Bowman's pattering drums drive the track, deftly toeing the line between pop-punk and indie-pop as they do so well. "I'm thriving, thanks for asking," Luciano addresses her ex in a performative manner, as if the more she repeats it, the more she'll believe it. We've all been guilty of trying to show an ex how much better we are without them, a feeling echoed as Luciano sheepishly admits, "I hope my hair looks cute / When I run into you." On the track, the duo states, "We wanted the song to bounce back and forth between a lavish personal anthem and the anguish of feeling forever beholden to others' opinions.” Though their upcoming tour has been postponed until fall, Do You Wonder About Me? is still set to release on May 1 via Frenchkiss.

In "What’s the Point" Empress Of has crafted a song that perfectly embodies the adrenaline rush of experiencing a conflicting romance. By opening with the contrast of a driving beat in its relatively high register with a languid mid-range synth and sweet vocals, you are immediately thrown into a state of confusion. The boundaries are muddied. This matches the energy of the lyrics perfectly: “I don’t know where the time has gone / I love you, I know it’s wrong.” After a quick break like a gasp, the bridge brings home the feeling of confusion. The arc of the song then swells gorgeously, breaking off suddenly and leaving you breathless.