Almost nine months after the January release of his charming Borderline album, the multifaceted artist Christian Kuria has returned, this time wielding a sonically pleasing new single to start those fall playlists with. “Enemy” flows together and settles into the ears of the listener with ease and cohesion, similarly to the way the song was created. As Kuria shared with vacancy. magazine, “My process is usually pretty meticulous. It often takes me several days or even weeks to complete a song, but it’s really exciting when a tune comes together without a struggle. 'Enemy' was one of those songs; I wrote and produced it in a day. Everything just worked, and I wasn’t afraid to try a new approach stylistically.” 

“Enemy” is a harmonious sensory experience of its own, carrying colorful guitar riffs, a dreamy soundscape and a celestial vocal palette that will uplift listeners into the clouds. The alternative R&B track spoils us with its excellent production, just like that of his well-loved renditions of contemporary music on YouTube. Yet Kuria is an artist whose own music and sound is ever-growing and will therefore be everlasting.

It almost goes without saying the concept of time in the year of our lord 2020 has all but completely disappeared, and while the concept of stalled time is present in Neil Frances' track "Tuesday," the feeling is more on the side of timelessness. "Tuesday" begins with a jolt, propelling the listener outside of their personal 2020-inspired brain fog, right back into the beloved club scene of the 1990s. Crashing cymbals carry the song, inviting the listener to engage in a light and fun chair-swivel dance, but inside the listener's head, they're grooving contently in an era where it was not only safe to go out on a Tuesday, it was common not to give the idea a second thought.

The Los Angeles duo seem "in" on the idea of creating a timeless throwback anthem where the listener spends the quickest three and a half minutes on a hip-shaking journey into yesteryear. They invite us to forget everything which may be ailing us, with the opening lyrics "There's no good or bad with what we have / don't you know?" It's clear the feeling on the agenda for "Tuesday" is nothing short of good one; the duo's music video for the track exclusively features dogs riding in the car with their heads blissfully hanging out the window, a sweet and calming backdrop for a song which details the collective confusion over the lost sense of time, but frequently reminds us it is built on the ever-present reminder there is still positivity in the world.

Montreal-based alternative pop artist Tedy grapples with toxic masculinity, trauma and vulnerability in his single "Boys Don't Cry." Tedy tells the tale of always having your guard up, never showing weakness, only to realize your vulnerability's strength. The Haiti native's smooth and soulful vocals are soaked in hopelessness at the start of the track, diving into feelings of fear and sadness. This is especially present in lyrics like, "I ripped my heart and buried it, there's no need for it no more," and "cause boys don't cry, so don't let them see." As the music builds into swell full of 808s, synths and infectious guitar lines in the bridge and the final chorus, Tedy urges listeners to "try and feel something" and move to a place of acceptance and empowerment. Photo by Mathew Guido.

Dirty Projectors' latest, "Holy Mackerel," welcomes David Longstreth back into the spotlight after a wonderful string of releases had bandmates Maia Friedman and Felicia Douglass blessing the mic with two EPs: the beautifully poignant Windows Open and the joyous Flight Tower, respectively. "Holy Mackerel" will be featured in their third EP release this summer, Super João (out September 4), and this time will have Longstreth on lead vocals.  

According to the band’s social media, the song’s title comes from a story about Longstreth’s partner, who supposedly at only ten months old exclaimed, ‘ho maaco!’ while observing a hippopotamus at a zoo. The story claims that those were her very first words—a cute backstory that adds on to the already personal and intimate songwriting, where the idiomatic expression takes on a new and romantic dimension. There is a soft, genuine tenderness in Longstreth’s vocals. The song floats away on a cloud of cool and breezy bossa nova rhythm patterns. Longstreth plucks on nylon strings with ease, but behind an apparent simplicity lies the band’s signature idiosyncrasies.  

The ongoing release of their five-part EP series this summer has reminded us of the band’s incredible ability to keep itself constantly new, fresh and relevant—this time, allowing us to take turns getting to know each band member a little better, all while we continue to watch David Longstreth slowly turn into David Byrne. Photo by Jason Frank Rothenberg.

"Feel Like Doing Nothing" is an anthem for those days where you recognize yourself on the verge of burnout, and you take a moment to pause just before you fall over the edge. (Otherwise known as a Sunday, probably sometime in mid-August). Kate Bollinger's track opens with mellow acoustic guitar initially uncommitted to a tempo, skipping and starting in a way that still manages to feel more organic than forced. Soon warm jazzy-tone bass slides in and rounds out the pulse. Its heartbeat-like groove is a bit faster than you would expect—like someone trying really hard to take a deep breath and relax. Keys wander in and out like intrusive thoughts, while guitar lines try to establish a melody, and the bass keeps up its groove. The track keeps moving, not quite rushing, until the verse where She comes home and sits on the couch. Over the rest of the track, the heartbeat of the song gets progressively slower as the keys finally meld into the melody. It’s a thank you note for the people you love, whose presence makes it easier to feel like you can take a breath, lie on the couch, and feel good doing absolutely nothing. Photo by Jonathan Roensch.

Sometimes music is glowing proof that the universe strings the future to our present in ways we won’t learn for years to come—or, sometimes, for more than a decade. Such is the case for me with filous and The Kooks’ sun-soaked summer collaboration, “Hey Love.” Thirteen summers ago, in 2007, you could find me sunbathing in the often underestimated, blistering Midwestern heat on the back patio of my parents’ house. I snapped a CD into my red Sony Walkman, lamenting about whatever then-world-shattering-now-trivial heartbreak I was going through—and my song of choice? One that would echo the feeling reeling in my melancholy teenage heart: “Naïve” by The Kooks, who remain one of my favorite bands to this day. Fast forward to 2015, add in a few more heartbreaks and zoom out, and you would see an aerial view of myself and my now-fiancé on a sweltering July day, sipping iced coffees on our first date; it was a learning of fate, the feeling of meeting someone you feel you already know—a coming home. I say my favorite band is The Kooks and my fiancé, brightly smiling, says “no way, mine too!” Jump once again to 2018, and I am watching filous open for Mat Kearney; entranced by his uniquely smooth and electronic sonic palette. On the train ride home, I save all of his recent collaborations to my Spotify library. Less than a year later, my fiancé and I would finally see The Kooks together in concert. At the fusion of all of these memories is the happily shimmering made-for-summer anthem “Hey Love.” I was working on wedding planning the day I saw filous and The Kooks had collaborated and released this track, and I couldn’t play it fast enough. filous seamlessly supplements The Kooks’ trademark acoustic rock-pop strumming with gentle violin swells, slight tinges of distortion, and electronic clapping percussion. It was as if The Kooks’ frontman Luke Pritchard was singing this string of memories back to me: “It took a lot to find you / All the circles we've ever spun / And all the records when we sing along / The moments frozen, one by one.” Now, as we prepare for our wedding this autumn, in the stressful atmosphere of a worldwide pandemic, the warmth of “Hey Love” made me realize the universe is surely stringing us somewhere beautiful that we’ve yet to think about. As the song rings out (“I know where I’m going / I no longer need to run”), I smile, ready to face it all.

Arlo Parks is a poet as much as she is a musician, and this comes across profoundly in her new single, “Hurt,” in which she tells the story of a boy named Charlie with a “heart so soft it hurt to beat.” From the start, which kicks off with an up-tempo drumbeat, Parks shows listeners accustomed to her more gradual, muted introductions that she is not one to be predicted. The drumbeat carries throughout, with horns swelling behind the song’s chorus, until a break in the middle of the song, where Parks delivers spoken word over a bassline.  

From “watching Twin Peaks,” to “dreaming of a house with red carnations by the windows,” Parks uses detailed imagery to paint the vivid picture of someone whose anguish and longing we can all, on some level, relate to: the feeling that it would be better to hurt than to not feel anything at all. “Hurt” is energetic, taut and brimming with empathy and optimism.