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.

There are moments in Sling, Clairo's newly released sophomore LP, that feel so eloquent and personal, I have to remind myself that I haven't accidentally accessed someone's private voice memos. "Reaper" is one of these transcendent, mature and especially affecting moments on the record. A love letter to her mother (and the prospect of motherhood in and of itself), "Reaper" was the first track Claire Cottrill penned for the album. I'll refrain from over-explaining that this album is musically distinct from its predecessor Immunity—I'll let you have the pleasure of delving into it yourself. But it's worth mentioning, for this song in particular, that Clairo is emerging as an excellent folk writer. She's clearly drawing inspiration from some of the best Americana acts of the last century, emulating everyone from Joni Mitchell or Crosby, Stills and Nash to Fleet Foxes. But don't misunderstand: Cottrill is hardly a copycat. She's carving out a sound and a voice that is entirely her own.

I, like a lot of young people during the pandemic, had the opportunity to be home with my parents for a while. Reacquainting myself with them as an adult was inspiring and hard, and most frequently filled me with a sense of hope. It is this broken hope, a hope that comes from deep, empathetic understanding, that Cottrill communicates so effectively in "Reaper." This is why it resonates so deeply with listeners. This shattered but aspirational reaching toward life reverberates through the entire record and is punctuated in the frail, little pockets of her expertly sewn lyricism. "I'm born to be somebody, then somebody comes from me / I'll tell you about the Rabbit Moon and when to keep walking" are some of my favorite lines from this track, and are all the more permeating through Cottrill's signature soft vocals.

Clairo's ability to empathize so specifically with the speakers of her songs makes her one of the wisest and most interesting young performers right now. Sling was well worth the wait. It's a clear reflection of the hard work and thoughtfulness of an expert writer honing her craft. Photo by Adrian Nieto.

The project of LA-based multi-instrumentalist and singer/songwriter Noah Weinman, Runnner has been steadily growing a fanbase since the release of their first single in 2019. Now, two years and a global pandemic later, they are releasing their anticipated debut album Always Repeating with Run for Cover Records. The opening track “Monochrome” has all the hallmarks of the magical sound of Runnner: raw and clever songwriting, heart-tightening vocals and dynamic acoustic instrumentation. The soft picked banjo and acoustic guitar create a perfect synthesis for Weinman’s emotive vocals and lyrics to flow through, while the tight drums accentuate the changing movements of the song. A meditation on a past relationship, the lyrics follow through a tapestry of memories, in black and white like an old film. As Weinman reaches the end of his memories, he reminds us that they are often warped by our emotions and nostalgia as he sings, “I’ve been trying to draw you with my eyes closed, you’re not gonna like how it turned out.” Photo by Silken Weinberg. 

As any relationship begins to fade, there comes an impending shift from thinking you might need to leave to actually going through with it. “Marathon,” off of London-based producer and songwriter Aziya’s newest record We Speak of Tides, manages to embody the intensity of that decision and the electrifying energy that pours out of it. In the beginning, an echoing guitar backs Aziya’s soulful vocals before the drums come crashing on in, placing emphasis on her passionate and self-assured lyrics. By the second verse, she's created a cinematic soundscape, and whether that's an angsty-teen-rebellion breakup scene or the climax of an action movie, I can’t bring myself to care—Aziya’s bellowing call of empowerment has me drawn in. “Marathon” is the kind of song that is best appreciated through noting its details: the chamber harmonies sprinkled throughout, the sonically dramatic halts and crashes, and Aziya’s dominating vocal delivery blend eloquently together to create a track that is as earnest as it is kickass. Whether it's “Marathon” or any of the other emotionally abundant tracks on We Speak of Tides, Aziya’s dynamism and charm offer something that everyone can latch onto. Photo by Zachary Chick.

The beauty of the international and intersectional language that is music is hearing another person, someone you've never met, express feelings that feel so intimate to you; a reminder that as separate as our experiences may be, we often share the same hopes and anxieties. When an artist loves a song so much they choose to create their own version of it, it is like experiencing the same emotions from a different perspective. Miloe’s cover of “Solo” (originally by Congolese/Belgian artist Lous and The Yakuza), is a prime example of how music allows us to feel more connected to not only the world but ourselves. In the music video for the song, shot alongside his parents, Miloe has a conversation on diaspora and the cultural shift in immigrating to a new country. With references to The Democratic Republic of Congo’s 1960 independence from Belgium and the continuing trauma and racism, the song’s lyrics discuss the lasting impact of imperialism and colonization on Black individuals. The vocals are precise but still highly emotive as the song asks “Why is black not a color of the rainbow?” Photo by McKayla Chandler.

LUMP, the collaborative effort of UK musicians Laura Marling and Mike Lindsay, are back with their upcoming sophomore album Animal. While both artists are known for having a folk-inspired sound, LUMP is distinct from their individual work; the single “We Cannot Resist,” with its pulsing synths and drum machines, showcases LUMP’s unique sound. Marling’s voice has a special quality that comforts as it draws you into every word she sings. Hushed whispers usher in the cogent and compelling vocals, while the tension of the verses builds with gradual intensity to a chorus of staccato distorted guitar riffs. The driving track covers how intense every emotion feels when you’re young; when life feels both promising and ominous. The duo’s songwriting showcases their ability to create sharp, witty and dexterous lyrics, floating in an apocalyptic world of young love, freedom and discovery. “We Cannot Resist” will have you reminiscing of the time when you were “kids on the run.” Photo by Steph Wilson.