“Worry” is the first single from Norway-based artist Beharie's upcoming sophomore EP, due later this year. Although this is a break-up song, you probably wouldn’t get that from a first listen. This genre-bending tune feels cheerful and fun, as it shifts smoothly between R&B, soul and a bit of indie pop. 

An arpeggiated guitar plays gently before a groovy beat and lively vocals kick in, making it feel like a windows-down type of song. However, upon listening closely, it is evident that Beharie sings about a moment most of us have gone through, when it finally settles in that we’ve actually broken up with someone who was very special to us. In the verses, he invokes the heaviness of loneliness and the strangeness of navigating who we are as individuals once a relationship ends. 

The instrumentals slow down and build beautifully between sections, echoing the uncertainty and the “two steps forward, one step back” process of getting over someone. This culminates in the chorus where a deeper understanding arises as Beharie sings optimistically, “Don’t worry child / It soon will end / We’ll be alright.” Beharie is firm in reminding us that the key to growth is to face your heartache head-on, leaving us hopeful that everything will be ok in the end. Photo by Malin Longva.

“Mockingbird” by Valley Maker brought me back to a place where I have struggled to arrive within the last (but ever-lasting) months. Folk music, the kind that is melancholic and gently abrasive, was the first kind of music I thought of as mine. Although hints of bluegrass, folk and Americana music were not unfamiliar genres within my household, my family generally preferred songs that buzzed with vivacity whereas I preferred those that were bitter. “Mockingbird” reminded me of what in means to have music speak to the youthful qualities buried deeply inside of us. 
 
Valley Maker is the solo project of South Carolinian Austin Crane, who happens to be a PhD candidate in the field of Human Geography. “Mockingbird” strikes me as being deeply pastoral, depicting the ways in which a landscape and the people who inhabit it are intertwined and often viewed as facets of one another. Crane’s lingering vocals and gentle guitar work create a tone that is nostalgic and meditative. The lyrics ultimately focus on the constant movement of the speaker and the geography he traverses. This raw track is deeply beautiful, encouraging its listener to take solace in the fact that no matter what, they are always in motion. Photo by Bree Burchfield.

Angelo De Augustine’s latest track, “Blue,” is sonic poetry for the collective seasonal depression. In lyrics that read like a letter to a close friend, he sings, “All my life I’ve been so low / I don’t know why / So blue.” The three minutes span like a dreamcatcher, trapping the spinning sense of ennui that haunts each of us at some point; each note a wonderance on how, when we’re down, it feels like we may stay there forever, and when we manage to stand up we question if we’ve ever soared as high as everyone else around us. De Augustine eloquently expresses how, at our darkest, it can feel like there are worlds between us and any sense of normalcy (“Between my eyes / Is an ocean / You can feel it if you try / Not unlike a howling wind / Like a tempest in the open hearts of men”). The song carries the torch of De Augustine’s trademark lo-fi, intimate recordings, but marks one of his first collaborations with his label-owner, indie-folk icon Sufjan Stevens, whose presence dwells softly in twinkling guitars and hushed vocals. “Blue” soaks like a soothing balm into our deepest thoughts, timely shimmering ahead of the most wistful days of the year — and it’s one you’ll find yourself wanting to replay well into winter. Photo by Jess Collins.

"Sing Hallelujah in the morning when I rise," sings Lydia Luce, her deep voice dripping with honey and amber, "occasionally, you cross my mind." A rhythmic guitar keeps steady time and a luscious string arrangement sweeps us off our feet, into waves of getting lost in thoughts of someone we promised ourselves we’d forget. The music is an allegory for the feeling — we’re fine, or so we’ve convinced ourselves until, occasionally, we’re not. Whoever, whatever it is that catches us off guard crosses our mind and, just like Luce, we’re afloat, carried off by a current stronger than we expected, drowning in violins and crying out, "So go away, back to where you came from!" Just as sudden as the wave came, it ebbs and Luce is back on her feet, toes gripping the sand, a warm vocal accepting her fate of being bewitched, but only occasionally. Photo by Alysse Gafkjen.

From nineteen-year-old Miloe (Bobby Kabeya) comes “Change Your Mind,” a summertime anthem for your fall. “You got cold and I’m sold but you might change your mind,” he sings, describing the partial agony of wasting your time on someone who is uninterested — but needing to do it anyways to satisfy the feelings of unrequited love. The song opens with small phrases (“Rollercoaster / Took me on, I didn’t even know her / Took me high, now I just want the closure”) while quaint instrumentation builds, layering his optimistic lyrics over bedroom pop-like sounds. Aiming for attention and validation from an unreceptive source is exhausting, but Miloe’s upbeat track reminds us that a sliver of hope is all we need to find enjoyment in the unknown.

Petey’s “The Same Chords” begins with a captivating ricochet of sound and continues into gorgeously honest lyrics. This track comes off of Petey’s new EP Checkin’ Up On Buds, which features a lineup of four candid, hard-hitting and compelling songs, each with unique feels but carrying consistency in charm. Guided by the soft touch of keys and the ease of guitar, this song addresses the monotony and consternation that comes with being human and the importance of recognizing that there are people who truly care, and being a friend who does truly care. Throughout the chorus, Petey repeats, “There’s nothin' more important than your checkin' up on buds,” which is the lyric that christens the EP with its name.