There’s a special kind of innocence tied to the tumultuous journey of an immature love. From the spirited beginnings that paint our worlds crimson red all the way through to the disillusioned end, an immature love is often one that we cannot forget. The Hong Kong native cehryl simulates these mercurial highs and lows in her charming release “superbloom.” The lo-fi bedroom pop track is minimal in nature yet speaks volumes of its own in such a short amount of time. Utilizing story-like lyricism to guide the song in a poetic fashion, and a youthful soundscape to maintain a sense of innocence, cehryl unfolds a good-natured love that is not quite yet able to bloom. In the words of the young creative, “['superbloom'] is about the death of immature love.” The song sees itself as the artist’s third 2020 release following "Hide n Seek / Moon Eyes” and a “Together Lonely” remix with Tim Atlas. Although “superbloom” is much shorter than the former tracks, it’s definitely one you’ll find yourself listening to on a loop!

Direct and extroverted, Oceanator’s "Heartbeat" hits you with high octane summer rock right off the bat. The main riff rips and rolls exactly the way your heart leaps and drops into your stomach when That Person texts you back. It’s the backdrop music to the spontaneous summer carnival date I always see in rom-coms and secretly yearn to experience someday. It’s not hard to conjure the mental image of grabbing your crush’s hand and sprinting to the Ferris wheel, partly because the view is great and partly to sneak a romantic moment at the top. The bass and whip-quick rhythm guitar flirtatiously pace each other, almost daring the other to run faster. Vulnerable lyrics and a slower-paced vocal line stand in assertive contrast to all the instrumental bravado, weaving in an intoxicating sense of intimacy. It’s an homage to the excitement of moving from the anticipation of interest to noticing something about this dynamic fundamentally works. Neither of you are half of a whole, but definitely complementary colors. You work well together and enjoy each others’ company immensely. At the end of the day, what’s a more compelling love story than that? Overall, this single is a delightful build of anticipation for Oceanator’s new album, Things I Never Said, due August 28, 2020

James Ivy has one of those pop-punk voices that easily transmits angst and intensity—in other words, it’s perfectly suited to chronicling the heightened emotions and dizzying mood swings of high school. “Yearbook” invites nostalgia, with each carefully crafted melody like a punch to the gut. The opening lyric, “I make it weird. I don’t even have to try,” introduces Ivy as the awkward underdog in his own coming-of-age film. That tone carries throughout the track, with collaborators Instupendo and Harry Teardrop as co-stars. Vocal layering reminiscent of BROCKHAMPTON builds emotional charge as Ivy spirals into bottomless infatuation. Backed by the low crunch of guitars, he feels “wide-eyed, tongue-tied,” then before you know it, he’s “spent the whole summer in your living room.” He sings about trying to recapture the vibrancy of an early love and the frustration of realizing that the colors have faded. It’s the ideal soundtrack for paging through old photos and superlatives, accessing feelings long since forgotten.

Neo-soul collective Glasshouse Worldwide break hiatus to introduce “2001*," a nostalgic love note laced with the bitter back end of a summertime shandy. Jazzy piano tremolos drone beneath a spacey synth while they ponder one simple question: "I just really wanna know what love is about." Despite saying “she took my breath just like asthma,” it’s an undemanding infatuation, mirroring the out-of-body stillness of an endless drive to nowhere. It’s a mellow euphoria, more meditative than manic, as the love “feels like nirvana and you didn’t even try.” “We got the best sunsets,” they say, and you can almost see the pink haze over their native Baton Rouge skyline. "2001*" marks their first single since dropping Altitude in 2019, via BIP Records.

It’s 2020 and by now there is an undeniable Cape Francis sound, a careful simplicity around musical arrangements that allows for big cinematic feeling without ever broaching the realm of dramatic. “Home” is this year’s third single from Kevin Olken Henthorn’s solo project, and it slides easily into place. With the signature finger-picked electric guitar and soft horns lent by The Westerlies, the gentle heartbeat of percussion keeps every element grounded while we, the listeners, are transported to somewhere a little calmer, more reflective of the past and future.

The winds of change are blowing and I’m reminded of the age-old allegory about the two trees weathering a storm, the story that councils us to bend, not break when faced with adversity. "Home" follows a similar idea, acknowledging what can’t be fought and that sometimes it’s best to let yourself be led down the path the universe has chosen for you, regardless if that path is hard and full of unknowns. We’ve all heard it before, it’s about the journey, not the destination, and sometimes that’s how the notion of ‘home’ can be defined as well. Pierced by lyrics like, “Standing out like a lightning rod / still aflame by the burns I’ve got,” it’s important to be mindful that we’re all grappling with our own trauma, and each of us is carrying our own baggage until we get to a place where we can finally put it down.

After many years on the east coast, Cape Francis will become an LA-based project by the beginning of September 2020.

Teaming with hazy and melancholic harmonies, “It Was” from ØZWALD’s latest LP Head Movies is simultaneously haunting and serene. The subject of the song—if one does exist—is impossible to determine given its enigmatic lyrics, yet, the shadow it casts can’t but help to garner the attention of those who listen.

“It Was” employs limited, but purposeful, instrumentation, ensuring that the most central element of the track is the meditative atmosphere it creates through the resurgence of its lingering chorus. The vocals are delicate and airy, yet seeped with unambiguous urgency—encouraging us to question our initial sonic perceptions and insinuating that what we hear is just the tip of a conceptual iceberg.

After five years’ time, My Morning Jacket has freely given the kin-songs of their album The Waterfall with the release of The Waterfall II. Included in this release is a track called “Beautiful Love (Wasn’t Enough)” which draws on the notion that even when someone gives their all in love, it is not always liable to fulfill in the way that love is often promised to do. Starting off with a romantic and celestial piano solo, the track exemplifies what it feels like to drop into the mystery of love with another person. However, it takes on a new shape once the vocals come in. Things become heavier as the notion of not feeling the same way settles into the bones of the track.

A gem from her debut EP, Melanie Faye’s “Jump” is a minimalist tune that sits in the space between labels, aching in longing while looking for a way out. Co-written by Natalia Kills and Cautious Clay, the simplicity of her rhymes meld into a yearning guitar-driven melody. "Awkwardly timin', my nodding and smilin' / Don't say too much, don't make you run," she sings coyly, before she becomes the one who gets away: "I'll jump, jump, jump, jump, jump." The extended instrumental outro showcases her guitar prowess as her repeated falsetto “jump” bounces in the distance like a farewell kiss blown to a lover before a free fall. Having gained traction with more than a few masterful collaborations under her belt, the Melanie Faye EP follows singles like “It’s A Moot Point” and “Eternally 12” with Mac Demarco, quietly asserting her presence in today's neo-soul scene.

Swedish-Greek singer-songwriter and producer, Plási tells a story of passionate self-discovery on "Where I Belong." Channeling a yearning that is universally relatable, Plási takes the listener through his search of finding his place in the world—in old passions and new—with his signature folk riffs. The accompanying video is nostalgic (if not dream-like) in nature, making us long for home, whatever that means for each of us.

After the sun goes down,

and all that's left is the dried salt on your skin,

you choose your words more carefully. 

They linger now, 

like sea glass in the sand where a wave once stood.

Together, and all at once, you come to understand:

the castles you built will be here, still,

even if the fragments return back to the tide,

even if you stay.