"Judy," the latest from Saskatchewan-born singer-songwriter Andy Shauf, is one of two B side releases from his most recent record, The Neon Skyline. In keeping with Shauf’s signature narrative form, "Judy" finds its protagonist nostalgic about his times playing the lottery with his eponymous ex-girlfriend. “What would you buy?” one of them asks in the chorus. “I’d buy a ticket for the Thursday night and try to win twice,” the other answers—a risky move, but what’s a romantic relationship without a little risk? Shauf makes a clear comparison here.

Echoing the mellow and gentle vocals of Stuart Murdoch from early Belle & Sebastian records with the playful tenderness of Jens Lekman, Shauf establishes himself as the friendliest voice in indie folk music. But all Canadian stereotypes aside, the track's brilliance lies in its straightforwardness. Shauf’s swaying guitar strumming seasoned with a pinch of a 60s-styled tambourine shake adds the perfect base to Shauf’s most notable ingredient: a genuinely simple and sincere story.

The newest single from bi-coastal-based Secret American, “Here Comes a Man,” seems to float along an island breeze. A mournful trumpet opening preludes heartbeat-style drums that whisk you inside an indie romance film—one where you happen to be sipping a piña colada on the beach while locking eyes with your summertime love-at-first-sight. Lead vocalist Derek Krzywicki offers us rose-colored vision into this meet-cute in the opening line, softly singing in the vein of an Americana Alex Turner, “Hello, I’ve seen your face before, I don’t recall your name / You’re looking at me too long through a glass of champagne.” But before we know it, he has craned his neck to notice his love-interest’s sub-par boyfriend and the song transforms from an ode to instant attraction into a declaration of daring confidence: “Is he making you happy, doesn’t look like he can." As the protagonist walks up to them, he grunts both musically and memorably, and announces his own presence with “Here comes a man.” It brings to mind the otherworldly recognition that comes with meeting the eyes of our future love, and smirking as we approach them—knowing we’re about to shatter their world in the best way possible:

how curious, as

you glide on cumulus

clouds, instantly

i realize—i’ve climbed

all of the mountains

contained in the galaxies

swirling inside 

your eye’s azure iris;

nine, ten lifetimes

before. now, if only

this time, you could 

tell me

your name?

It's an elegant and brutal exclamation point to a poetic, all-encompassing album. The highly anticipated follow-up record to Stranger in the Alps possesses every quality that endeared the world to Phoebe Bridgers' original musicianship. Bridgers has an ability to effortlessly marry brooding emo rock and soft, heartfelt folk in her songwriting—making her a leading voice in modern-day alt music. "I Know the End" is particularly startling because of its chameleon nature. It's dreary and sweet, hard rock anthemic, and gritty emo at its finest. It's not that the song can't make up its mind. In fact, the track eloquently punctuates every theme and tone previously introduced earlier in the album. "I Know the End" is a thesis statement of Bridgers' discography, mood, and inner conflict. Its lyrics emphasize the primary wrestlings from Punisher's stand-out tracks including "Chinese Satellite" and "Garden Song," which include a longing to believe (or disbelieve) in a higher power, a weariness over our apocalyptic society, and the aching loneliness of nostalgia. The track lyrically and musically escalates to a chorus of voices scream-singing "The End is Here," which feels like the most freeing expression of feeling utterly helpless in a climate of chaos. "I Know the End" concludes with Bridgers literally screaming while the song erupts under her voice. It's off-putting, then moving, then heartbreaking. The song ends with Bridgers ASMR-style breathing into the mic, laughing, and gasping for a breath, which brings you back down to earth after having transcended to an intensely ethereal and depressive space. This track is a defining, honest glance at our unforgiving circumstances. It brings you to the conclusion that maybe hope is found in unflinchingly observing the messes we make, addressing them, and moving forward—not taking ourselves too seriously along the way.

Reflective and hyper-relevant, Anderson .Paak’s “Lockdown” feels like a conversation you’d have with a close friend, reflexively calling them up in a moment of downtime to download on what’s been a brutal few months.

He unpacks recent happenings with colloquial candor,

"You should've been downtown (word)"

overlapping current events and personal response 

"Sicker than the COVID how they did him on the ground... / Plus unemployment rate, what, forty million now?"

"Someone cut the channel off the news 'fore I lose it" 

with call-it-as-he-sees it bullshit (read: societal irony, hypocrisy).

"Said, 'It's civil unrest,' but you sleep so sound / Like you don't hear the screams when we catchin' beatdowns? /Stayin' quiet when they killin' n-----, but you speak loud / When we riot, got opinions comin' from a place of privilege."

With characteristically deft verse, .Paak delivers an astute, enduring Black Lives Matter protest song that simultaneously holds space for us to process, in real time along with him, the impact of this surreal moment in our history while we’re currently living it. In simple summation, “the people are rising.” The song leaves us with 40 seconds of instrumental, demanding we take a few more beats to think about it.  

Next, be sure to check out .Paak’s accompanying video as well, featuring additional lyrics by Jay Rock and directed by Dave Meyers. All cast and crew salaries were donated to Dream Defenders.

In their mellow, entrancing fashion, Brooklyn local duo Fake Dad sweetly sing their own rendition of The Postal Service’s “Such Great Heights." Andrea de Varona’s voice aerates the track, inviting a floating feeling into the mix which beautifully fastens the sound to the lyrical notion of being up above the earth. Like a welcomed hallucination, the euphonious plucking of strings likens itself to a warm and rising wind.