Change is a difficult thing to embrace, as likely to rattle existence like a disaster as something divine. At times it’s hard to look at change as anything but a Grim Reaper, sweeping away everything that is known and comfortable and loved. Other times, change and its inevitability seems like a powerful crusader of hope and liberation. Big Thief’s latest single unconditionally embraces all of change’s faces—the beautiful and the grotesque—and attempts to forge a kinder relationship with all of them. The song’s arrangement is sparse and intimate, like a living room jam session full of friends and loved ones. A shaker and acoustic guitar establish the song’s pulse as steady and slow, like a resting heart rate just as you’re falling asleep. Natural imagery weaves with metaphor among the lyrics, delivered with a sense of gentleness and hope that burns bright like a candle. It chases out any sense of fear and the darkness that comes with it. Change, and the liberation it offers, is asked for so deeply and so intensely that it comes out sounding like a prayer. In offering, the void of whatever was held before remains empty. In its place begins the construction of a new home for peace, where you hope that it will someday soon come home to roost. That its warm and feathered body will nestle in your breast and your heart will know lightness once more. For now, that space among your ribs may stand empty and bruised, but nothing can stand against change. Might as well embrace it, and learn to love it too. Photo by Alexa Viscius.

Separation is not for the faint of heart on “Alone,” San Cisco’s love letter that’s scared to say “I miss you.” The Australian indie pop trio fashions their psychedelic pop quintessence into a vulnerable ballad, singing of the constant push and pull in a long-distance relationship. It seems impossible to quiet the voice asking, “Does love drift away / A little bit every day?” when you wear yourself thin attempting to exist in two places at once, both where you reside physically and with the one person who feels like home. There’s an idyllic nostalgia in love feeling “elastic,”  how it “pulls me back to pink sunsets”; it calls to mind an old love of mine tied to strawberry skies and golden sand between my toes, one that I lost to distance, yet still enraptures me years later. 

The emotionally challenging song strays greatly from first track of theirs I ever heard, the infectiously bouncy “Run,” which still sits close to my heart as the first and only time I’ve ever heard my name in a song. The group’s new sense of self-awareness permeates their latest record, Between You and Me. 

—

we close a 400-mile gap and I fall
onto your shoulder in the cab, hoping 
my head will still fit into the crook of your neck.

fingertips trace the outline of my bare legs
blue eyes move from my chest, lifting and dropping
to the numbers on the meter, rising
back to the lights, meshing
into a blur of white out the window.

“Yours,” the latest single from Will Davila, fits perfectly into his catalog of easygoing songs with skillful guitar work and heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics. The vocals are warm and, at times, slightly muffled. The song’s raw honesty shines through a cloud of mellow keys and guitar, as Davila expresses uncertainty about a relationship: “What if I tried to do the same? Would you need me in your life like you did before?” It’s a song about commitment, the patience to wait for someone else (“Just as long as I’m the one you’re waiting for,”) and especially, the desire to treat them better than they have been treated in the past (“I won’t be like him ‘cause it’s not what you deserve”). “Yours” goes down as smooth as its tender message; the understated arrangement and gentle groove make way for emotive lyricism and vulnerability. When Davila sings, “Baby, I’m all yours,” he leaves it all out in the open.

Singer-songwriter Abe Parker and rapper Paul Russell’s new single “Somebody New” is a perfectly sweet love song about how “this could never be a song for somebody new.” The two met via Reach Records' Christmas album The Gift when Parker took notice of Russell’s verse on the track “We Three Kings.” Russell’s laid back flow is perfectly accented by reverb-heavy guitar and minimalistic beats that make it feel like the perfect low-key summer track as he takes the lead on the first half. He tells the story of a relationship starting with “you know we met back then / acting like we understand art” before mentioning the passage of time and leaning into the chorus. It’s sweet and romantic while being grounded in reality and small details. Parker takes over after the first chorus and tells a story of his own, singing, “played for keeps and girl you got my life / didn’t even have to try.” The sweet and smooth collab is a perfect way to end the summer.

Izzy Heltai has a talent for demonstrating nostalgia and incentivizing reflection. "Songbird" is an early glance at Father, a nine-track exploration on matters past and present that is bound for stores and streaming platforms on October 9. Here, surf-rock meets folk to underscore a light case of introspective questioning. Though romantically afflicted, Heltai keeps a playful posture that rings out like a daydream. The speaker is refreshingly bashful and dodges direct discourse with the subject of his affection. Instead, he seeks the advice of his friends in the audience. His under-confident message meets a generous, full-bodied sound to convey the reality of passion — a conflicting force of total presence and inner retreat, all at once.

The new EP from LA-based Scarypoolparty (solo project of Alejandro Aranda), Doom Hologram, opens with “Return2Sender”—the first of an eight-track story, meant to be played in order. Lingering just under five minutes, “Return2Sender” encapsulates the feeling of watching raindrops roll down the window, as golden candlelight flickers and once-fresh flowers on the table slowly wither away. Throughout the ethereal track, the scent of broken promises is as fragrant as wilting roses, leaving the listener to once again taste the words they wish they’d said to someone (“You take my words and break me down / I wrote you letters just to say ‘I love you’ / And now I know that you would tear them all apart”). The track allows Aranda, an American Idol alum, to flex his pop sensibilities and brings to mind the exact inspirations referenced in the release’s press statement—that he “channels the prodigious dexterity of John Mayer overlaid with the ethereal pop of The 1975.” Aranda’s hurt is undeniably palpable, and this candor is the heartbeat that drives the song through its melodic turns and an aching acoustic interlude. But, as great art is so often made, Aranda turned heartache into a glowing and visceral connection with his listeners — and one they won’t soon forget. Photo by Nicole Busch.