London artist beabadoobee pays homage to Pavement’s frontman with her new single “I Wish I Was Stephen Malkmus.” The inspiration doesn’t stop with the name drop, seeping into the production with buzzy guitar tones. The song takes eighteen-year-old Bea Kristi a little further from the bedroom pop label she gained through her first two EPs, launching her into the realm of therapeutic alt-rock. It’s harder, hazier, and proves that Gen Z is just as obsessed with the 90s as Millenials are. Kristi sings, “I sit at home, cry to Pavement / I wish I was Stephen Malkmus.” As much as it is a nod to the 90s, it also touches on Kristi’s affinity for change and individuality—which can be isolating, but she doesn’t seem too upset about it. She mentions her blue hair six times in four minutes, singing, “got new hair, a new phase / I’m from outer space / and I’m pretty sure I’ll get used to it.” Beabadoobee will release her new EP Space Cadet on October 18 via Dirty Hit Records.

“Mrs. Carver,” from Burlington, Vermont’s Fever Dolls, with its Americana imagery, feels like a piano ballad straight out of Springsteen On Broadway—right down to the wistful harmonica break . A disclaimer at the start of the music video warns, “Listeners can expect to feel sentimental / reflective / empathetic / verklempt,” the last of which of course is a derivative of the Yiddish word meaning “overcome with emotion.” The songs of Fever Dolls walk a fine line between melodrama and whimsy, in large part due to Evan Allis’ prodigious songwriting talents. “Mrs. Carver” showcases both his penchant for mining the emotional depths of expository songwriting and his playful dedication to word choice, snapping pictures of precise moments with the internal slant rhymes of lines like, “Mrs. Carver of West Virginia / Second daughter of a prominent fixture / Pride of Harvard, blight of the bay.” Singer Renn Malloy, able to belt the roof off of any covered bridge in Vermont, shows tactful restraint in “Mrs. Carver,” delivering the band’s most moving performance to date.

Eliza Bagg, also known as one half of Pavo Pavo, has taken a side step to recenter and introduce herself as a solo artist. Taking the name Lisel, Bagg uses the space the solo project provides to digs deeper into her talent as a vocal artist and creates intricate sounds and rhythms using her voice as the lead instrument. Accompanied by timely pitched synths and tones, one thing is certain: experimental pop and Lisel are clearly a good fit for one another.

“Ciphers,” Lisel’s first single off her upcoming debut album, possesses traits that let her time with Pavo Pavo shine through. Like her work with the band, the sound is heavily comprised of airy whisps and slow builds with clever lyrics—but now, the focus on her voice is what sets her music apart. She pushes her vocal cords to the most alluring and haunting limits as those lyrics climb and the chorus swells. Bagg’s vocals are eloquently layered to develop this dreamlike state of heavy chords and soft weightless words. Like a heartfelt lullaby, the song draws you in from the very start, and by the end, you’re left craving more.

Vampire Weekend’s fourth full-length record was forged amidst a sea of changes—in the band and in the world. Lead singer Ezra Koenig moved to LA and had a son with his partner. Producer and multi-instrumentalist Rostam Batmanglij, who had a heavy hand in the band’s signature sound, left to start a solo career. Climate change and persistent political apathy were (and continue to be) a huge threat to the planet, and are therefore at the forefront of many minds, including Koenig’s. “This life / And all its suffering,” he sings on the track “This Life,” indirectly asking the question: what’s the point of it all?

On Father of the Bride, Koenig addresses existential ennui by coupling it with issues of faith, the passage of time, and physical belonging amidst a backdrop of sunny, quirky alt-pop melodies, offsetting the themes with a healthy dose of optimism. Each track is uniquely atmospheric, incorporating elements of 60s surf rock, 70s psycheledia, 80s disco pop, and more. Perhaps the most delightfully out-of-the-box is one of Steve Lacy's featured tracks, “Flower Moon,” which pulls from a South American jazz-style influence. It opens with a gorgeously hypnotic, vocoded vocals over layers of acapella harmonies: “Flower moon / Curse the night / If the sun don't make things right / Then it's gonna take a year.” Steve Lacy’s presence is made apparent in the guitar tone and, later, in a low, crooning vocal. With Brazilian-style percussion and a variety of strange, intentionally random sounds in the bridge, the song culminates in a mood that feels busy and carefree. “Flower Moon” is an upbeat and surprising stand-out track on an album full of happily self-aware songs.

English singer-songwriter Jade Bird leans into her folk side with “Side Effects” off her self-titled debut album. At first, it’s pretty bare with just acoustic guitar and minimal percussion, but it builds gradually as a full band comes in after the second verse and Bird's voice reaches its peak in the last chorus. The upbeat song holds the desperation and optimism of young love as she sings, “Give me a sign and we’ll go / if it’s tonight baby please.” That being said, there are some indications that the relationship may not be as good as she wants it to be and that she doesn't like the person her lover has turned into. The tried and true trope of running away together is the through-line of the track. There’s this idea that maybe if they get out of here, the bad things will fade into the rearview mirror. Maybe they could leave all their troubles behind. Jade’s trying to convince both herself and the person she loves that everything will be ok.

The Canadian indie rock legend Mac DeMarco recently released "All of Our Yesterdays"—the second single from his upcoming album, Here Comes the Cowboy. Following the release of "Nobody," the album’s first single, it's clear that DeMarco will be touching on some of his classic somber themes of loss, aging, and moving on.

"All of our Yesterdays" is reminiscent of his last album, This Old Dog. In many ways, it is also very representative of what makes Mac DeMarco, Mac DeMarco. The slow build is something he’s always been known for, using a steady beat and simple chords to create a chill vibe that attracts the listener. He's the master of writing sad songs that aren't outright melancholy. With the layering of several harmonic elements floating beneath his lax vocals, he succeeds in pushing the lyrics to the forefront of his listener's mind as he draws out emotions of longing and loss.

The acoustic guitar and lyrical brevity is not only beautiful but also uplifting within the sad context of the song. Though he’s singing of his loss of yesterdays, a line that was inspired by Macbeth and an old episode of Star Trek, he urges that it does not mean it's over. Throughout the chorus, you can hear him pointing this out “And that don't mean your dream is over / And that don't make your heart beat slower/ Such a shame to complain” Even with his generally bleak tone, he so often alludes to a silver lining. DeMarco isn't afraid to acknowledge that there’s a brighter side to it all. This goofball performer is full of wisdom in sometimes surprising ways, and we can’t wait to see what’s to come on Here Comes the Cowboy.