After debuting her beautiful and heartbreaking album Dream On in January, Alice Boman is now back with a new single. And like her album debut, her latest track "Wake Me Up" balances light and darkness by contrasting a glowing, ethereal serenity against a deep and dark restlessness. The track builds on repetition: each time she sings “wake me up” she brings you in deeper and deeper into her dream/nightmare. Her heavenly voice is lifted by atmospheric synths that echo some of her Swedish dream-pop compatriots like Anna von Hausswolff or El Perro del Mar. “Tell me it’s a bad dream,” she sings over and over as if trying to comfort herself, “everything will be alright”—but will it? We are left somewhere in between solace and fear. "Wake Me Up" is a mesmerizing track with a beautiful simplicity. It’s hard not to contextualize all new music coming out this summer with our current global predicament but this particular song seems to resonate louder, wishing it’s all just one bad dream we can just wake up from. Photo by Märta Thisner.

Throughout the gorgeous, lush “About April,” Alex Banin fascinatingly explores the intoxicating effects of a love affair gone wrong. Love can be a drug in its own right, and Banin examines the painful emotions that can come with its withdrawal. As she states “Yeah, maybe you’re still lingering / In nothing but the rushes of adrenaline,” the beat starts to kick in, pushing the song towards a rolling groove. The track follows the journey that she takes as she comes to terms with the fact that the person she’s singing about has changed during their relationship, and they’ve irreparably grown apart. We all have to learn eventually that we cannot change or control other people, no matter how badly we may want to. By the end of “About April,” Banin reaches the acceptance stage of the grieving process—“No matter what happens I’m gone / There’s nothing else to do,” she sings yearningly—vocalizing the end of her relationship, and beginning to heal. Listen to “About April” wherever you stream.

Eric Cannata is known as the guitarist for Young the Giant, but earlier this year, he released an EP titled Lonely Beast. It's a personable, sweet, fascinating record—establishing him as a folk artist with his own distinct sound. Cannata recorded an acoustic version of the EP's title track in his home studio in California. His vocals are so clean, expressing the elemental and sincere themes in his lyrics. "Lonely Beast," he explains, is about a house cat. 

Hearing this nuanced recording of the track illuminated a beauty in our quarantine loneliness I hadn't considered yet. It's difficult to be as graceful at being alone as the lonely beast seems to be. It's difficult to venture towards contentment and relish periods of rest. Maybe the cat is a "lonely beast," but it knows when to savor the warm light coming in through the window and the slow hours of a midday nap.

Refreshing and whimsical, “Please Don’t Hold Me Hostage for Who I Am, Who I Was” opens a festival of worldly sounds, complete with folksy flutes and acoustic percussion. Thanya Iyer’s voice sounds at once youthful and wise as she cheerfully delivers a straightforward message: You control your own life, you can choose to heal. She repeats the message, this time making it personal: “I take it in my own time / I make the choice to get better / Please don’t hold me hostage for who I am, for who I was.” She goes on to say “I could be a dancer,” a suggestion that it’s never too late to pursue a dream, regardless of the past. The bridge section introduces a musical departure, in which Iyer repeatedly declares, “I know in life there are highs and lows,” the bassline closely following her vocal melody, a stark contrast to the airy counterpoint of the verses. A breakdown follows, the music growing darker as the meter slows. Edgy synth and almost robotic rhythmic vocalizations grow in intensity until the tension releases and light breaks through, ushering a return to the original groove. Iyer repeats her original message: a reminder that we all have the power to guide ourselves out of darkness.

She’s back! It’s been almost two years since Canadian dream-pop sweetheart Helena Deland has released anything, but wow did she make the wait worth it. On its own “Lylz” is a brooding pop song full of grooving guitars and dark yet playful lyrics. However, as you begin to dive into Deland’s track, you find a touching, ominous, and eternal ode to friendship. The Boulanger sisters were a pair of composer sisters who swore to spread the musical genius of the other once one of them died. Nearly a century later Deland’s friend, Lylz, whom the song is named after, arranged a concert of the Boulanger sisters' music—giving inspiration to Deland and Lylz to make the same lifelong pact. “You’ll be famous / For burning / With desire / For everything,” swears Deland, as she commits herself to friendship and the never-ending desire for recognition.

LA-based hip-hop trio, Your Grandparents know we all need to slow down the mood a bit. A calendar year has passed since they released their first EP So Cold, and so much has happened in the world since then. Now more than ever, Your Grandparents are here to lift our spirits with their lusciously smooth new single "So Damn Fly."

This song is a crisp and ethereal nod to the soulful tracks from yesterday. "So Damn Fly" evokes the old, familiar sense of warmth of a vinyl record spinning at a chill session—much like the cover photo of the group hanging out in a basement illuminated by the light from a vintage lamp that your (excuse the reference) grandparents might've owned.

"So Damn Fly" reels you in with its ability to weave between a track perfect for background play and then abruptly snaps you back into consciousness with a rap section over the song's bridge: "Be as coldhearted as you please / All the causes can't be common / Contemplate on your beliefs / Seeking confirmation and conversations about killed dreams." Suddenly you're in the middle of a discussion about the damning elements of our current cultural landscape. There's nothing better than a little reprieve these days, just as long as we're all still paying attention. Photo by xoxohadas

Will Butler’s “Surrender” begins with the stomp-clap vigor of a Lumineers song. But shortly after you hear Butler’s soaring falsetto, you might recognize something else as the jangling piano and percussion kick in: the heart-and-soul of beloved indie-darling Arcade Fire. It’s no coincidence, as Butler is a core member of the group, and his influence on Arcade Fire’s sound palpably shines through his solo work. “Surrender” is the lead single off of Butler’s upcoming album, Generations, coming September 25 via Merge Records. Disguised as a catchy summer sing-a-long, it finds Butler lyrically lamenting about lost love’s grip on his mind. Still, the anthem can easily be applied to anything we are craving release from—or rather, that from which we acknowledge we may never find release, and learn to be at peace with. It reminds me of a poem I jotted down last year:

color me

dying flowers.

here i sit with all 

my crumpled faith 

in renewal, hands wilting

with withering desire. but 

still i chase the sun and water 

hope down to the root, still

i surrender to it; this

insatiable wild

within me.

"Cheesy Love Song” is the musical equivalent of a lazy river tube ride. The track’s relaxed dulcet current is beautifully calm, yet mystically compelling, guiding the listener through an ambient soundscape and leaving them in still water.

While the members of The Lazy Eyes hail from Sydney, Australia, their sound is clearly reminiscent of 70s psychedelia, and Americana legends like Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, and The Doors. “Cheesy Love Song” also plays heavily on the ‘rock-opera’ influences that were present during the American Counterculture Movement. (With the orchestral harmonious feature on the track, I cannot help but think of Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical.) The song’s intentionally dramatic lyrics “Maybe you’d love me / if I told you how I felt," and mellifluous piano rifts make this track a true work art—with an ironic, yet fitting title.