The plea is immediate—a curious narrator, a curious band. It sounds like Bantug is coming to us live from the image on the cover; it's a bit constrained, a bit uncomfortable, embodying that Sunday feeling—dreading the potential of what’s to come. As the first verse begins to loosen up, Bantug admits that much of this familiar pain is internal. Keeping it hidden from those around her out of fear of “being misunderstood or given / A pity that [she’s] never wanted." It's such a beautiful lyric with genuine vulnerability, and in this moment, the song feels all the more generous. It’s so hard for many of us to share these intimate fears and pains, as doing so can leave so much room for judgment. It takes trust in those we share with, something we might not have earned here, but Bantug is willing to offer it to us anyways. And how lucky we are. Just opening up ever so slightly here feels like a huge weight off the track’s spirit, propelling us into this gorgeous guitar-driven chorus. The drums offer an undeniable groove and Bantug steps into the spotlight, reaching up for a stunning melody. We settle back into a second verse, frustration building as every attempt to break from these fears leads us right back to them. The chorus explodes again, just as powerful and magnetic. Adding in a xylophone and strings gives the bridge a brand new texture, layers of vocals capturing the tension. The pre-chorus comes back, now just Bantug and some gentle keys, upping the intimacy and authenticity of these emotions. Starting with the bass, we feel the momentum building again. The driving force gives it a sense of optimism and assuredness we didn’t have before. Dancing our way out even if the feelings stay, or return, we know we’re in control now. It’s a beautiful single following two other terrific and dynamic releases in 2021 for Bantug, and we're excited to see what the Nashville artist has in store next. Photo by Kirt Barnett. 

Instantly infectious and only more memorable with every listen, Wilby’s latest single proves once again how powerful of a songwriter and artist she can be, and already is. The band feels so welcoming and homey, a fuzzy riff tying a bow on it all. So when Wilby delivers a devastating lyric to open, it caught me off guard: “I can still hear your voice in the kitchen." The more I consider this lyric, the more beautiful it becomes. Some of my fondest memories live in the kitchens of my life. Family often finds itself there, a place to care for one another. The lyric and band transport me back to those places, and I can hear my grandma talking about her day, my aunt walking me through a recipe. It warms my heart. There’s more happening around us, but Wilby winks as she asks, “Honey, what’s the rush?" It’s moments like these that keep me in awe of Wilby’s music: tremendously human and vulnerable insights, from a voice like none other, sitting atop a loose and wonderful band. Shortly after the singalong-worthy chorus, we get another example of her magic. I’ve been haunted by this stunning thought: “Every memory has its limit / Good but never enough.” Even amidst Wilby painting these verses with specific and stunning imagery, it’s a reminder to be grateful for, and present in, each moment that comes our way. It’s easy to do that during this song, so lovely at every turn. The bridge offers another wonderful moment, a reminder that we can always carry our loved ones with us and hold those relationships close. The rest of the song has me singing and crying along, my heart filled to the brim with warmth and with love. Photo by Bennett Littlejohn. 

This week, Oxford-based quartet Low Island is taking over Buzzing Daily to walk us through select tracks from their debut album, If You Could Have It All Again. Follow along as they delve into the modern synth rock-tinged record, which they've deemed "a love letter to a wasted 20s." Photo by Evelin van Rei. 

This is a song about a toxic relationship; not necessarily with a person, but with yourself. A part of yourself that you become attached to and, for fear of change, you don’t want to let it go. It’s about taking that part of yourself, or that feeling, for one last dance before finally saying goodbye. In an interview the other day, the interviewer likened it to the last cigarette. I thought that was a neat way of summing it up. — Low Island

The other night, I was sitting on a patio in East Austin chatting with friends. With vaccines rolling out and folks excited to start stretching their limbs, maybe it was talk of travel that sparked this query to the group:

Friend: “You know when you’re first dating someone, or the relationship’s young...and you kind of ask yourself, are we cool? We’re cool right? Like when one of you is out of town, or you haven’t seen them in a bit? But then when the relationship’s more mature, you don’t think twice about it even when you’re apart.” She added with a smile: “It’s just—yeah, we’re cool. You know.”

As it should be. 

Ruth B.’s latest single, "Situation," brings to mind that overthinking, feel-your-cell-phone-vibrating-even-though-it's-off sense of uncertainty that can get muddled in with early relationships, or those lacking transparency and honest communication, especially around commitment.  

Despite her description of this uncertainty, Ruth B.’s lyrics spotlight self-awareness, and her silkily straightforward melody lets the song’s meaning ring clear—like the kind of communication everyone deserves to have (and give) in their relationships: "If you love me let me know or let me go / Let me know or let me go." Photo by Gabriel LN.

This week, Oxford-based quartet Low Island is taking over Buzzing Daily to walk us through select tracks from their debut album, If You Could Have It All Again. Follow along as they delve into the modern synth rock-tinged record, which they've deemed "a love letter to a wasted 20s." Photo by Evelin van Rei. 

Online there is this huge pressure to be showing yourself at your best, being successful, having fun, doing well; and because this false presentation has become so ingrained in our everyday experiences, we can start to perceive it as "normal." I think it’s far more normal, or at least equally as likely, to be looking terrible, failing, not having a great time and feeling fairly indifferent about life. This song toys with the idea of leaving life’s false presentations behind for good. Easier said than done! — Low Island

This week, Oxford-based quartet Low Island is taking over Buzzing Daily to walk us through select tracks from their debut album, If You Could Have It All Again. Follow along as they delve into the modern synth rock-tinged record, which they've deemed "a love letter to a wasted 20s." Photo by Matthew Cooper. 

Hey, this is Carlos from Low Island and I’m going to be talking a little about some of the songs from our debut album, If You Could Have It all Again, which came out on 16th April on our own label Emotional interference. The first track I’ve chosen is "What Do You Stand For."  

"Who are you, and what do you stand for?" is something an A&R person said to us in a meeting once. It was one of those frustrating meetings which every artist will have had where the person clearly had no interest in the band, perhaps not even in music; it feels like they’re just in the industry to socialise, name-drop and be on the guest-list. This song was written as a fuck you to all of them. — Low Island

Veronica Isley’s project Snowhore has just released their debut EP, Everything Tastes Bad. Each song is as experimental as it is personal, bearing different influences from punk to indie folk. “Sad Song” is beautiful, authentic and memorable, a great example of how intimate each song written by Isley truly is. With an unhurried tempo and fading chords, the song immediately evokes a somber sensation. 

The lyrics touch on the relationships—both with others and herself—that Isley lost through the years she struggled with addiction. The song opens with the lines “I’m sorry for the things I’ve done / I didn’t mean to hurt no one.” While warmly specific, it artfully sings to the universal. The lyrics relate to anyone impossibly trying to cope with life without losing balance, attempting to keep that internal struggle from seeping out. As the song reflects on how “nothing’s changed” and “nothing feels right,” Isley leaves us connected through that feeling of self-doubt and confusion. Photo provided by Snowhore. 

This week, Choctaw singer/songwriter, musician and producer Samantha Crain takes us on an intimate walkthrough of her newest EP, I Guess We Live Here Now. Follow along as she discusses the meaning of each track and her journey crafting them. Photo by Dylan Johnson.

—

There is a sense that, as we age, we get more and more limited and trapped by our situation, by our responsibilities, by our station. In this song, I attempt to parallel the feelings in our youth of freedom and opportunity even in times of struggle alongside the feelings in our adulthood of weakness even in times of relative ease. In the exploration of these two positions, I seek to find ways of unlocking that feeling of captivity to find the power of continued agency in our hearts and minds. — Samantha Crain

From Hong Kong to the UK, then to Berklee College of Music in Boston, followed by a stint in  LA and now, full-circle back to Hong Kong, singer/songwriter cehryl is well-versed in leaving things behind. Having lived across three continents at just 25 years old, time and transience permeate throughout her music. In time machine, her new beautifully vivid and deeply nostalgic EP, cehryl weaves together memories from her past in a poetic and intimate six-track record. time machine takes us through past relationships, faraway places, and fleeting memories. “paprika” is one of these memories and can stand in for many things. “You were my neighborhood / You’vе crossed the line, gonе for good / You were my lullaby, too” she sings with a soft and soulful voice that falls somewhere in between folk and R&B. Whoever or whatever "paprika" was, it’s clear that it is now gone—tucked away in a nostalgic past. time machine is already an intimate record, but “paprika” requires an even closer listen. You can hear the sound of the metal strings from her acoustic guitar as if you’re in the room with her. 

It’s interesting to note that she lists the cinema of Wong Kar-Wai as a source of inspiration, as well as the music of Avril Lavigne, which makes perfect sense since, like her own music, both artists are best enjoyed on a rainy day. Photo by Jonny Ho.

Indie singer/songwriter Gatlin has a knack for producing engaging and palatable pop tunes with lyrics that shoot to kill. Don't let the sparkle and shine of these glimmering melodies fool you: Gatlin's poetry packs a punch. Her most recent single "What If I Love You" is a glistening summer pop song. Singable, fun and painfully relatable, "What If I Love You" expresses so much unruffled sincerity that you almost forget you're listening to a song that isn't asking you to take it too seriously. But this is something I've always admired about Gatlin's songwriting; it's sneaky in a good way, with her talent for lacing delicate, emotional vulnerability into these colorful, dancy tracks. Perhaps the tone of this track is so bouncy to contrast the speaker's resolve over their unrequited feelings. The music is what's keeping her buoyant amidst the turbulence of her feelings. Regardless of whether or not the juxtaposition was intentional, it resonates. Give Gatlin's new single "What If I Love You" a listen and I promise it'll be spinning 'round your head all day long. Photo by Hannah Gray Hall.