I’m sitting here listening to a ghost rise from my speakers while my body responds physically to the familiar sound of distortion pedals; with every whine of guitar, an old tremor of hormonal angst climbs up the ribcage to my heart while my arms slowly and rigidly begin crossing themselves. Before I know it, 15-year-old me is huffing and puffing at the door, and she’s back with a vengeance. I spent my teens like a lot of isolated kids do, scribbling in my journal, rolling my eyes at anything that moved and crushing on boys and girls who looked straight through me. The only method of keeping the unpalatable world at bay was the pair of headphones secured tightly around my ears blasting the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, BRMC and The Killers on heavy rotation. That is to say, in a time before kids my age had any sense of self beyond malaise and wretchedness, we had early 2000s indie. 

“Impossible Weight,” the title track off of Deep Sea Diver’s forthcoming October album, embodies that era. It’s The White Stripes meets Sleater-Kinney, meets a cool glass of water with a cruel and jagged lip, meets a hole I want to crawl into headfirst, partly because of nostalgia, and partly because I'm so glad you can still find it somewhere. Frontwoman Jessica Dobson’s vocals prick like needles alongside the jaunty four-on-the-floor drumline. They dance through the verses, pushing the sound up and out towards the epic. A meek wail of guitar is layered in and around the chorus right before Our Lady Sharon Van Etten enters, her steady rich voice ringing out and grounding us against the bouncing instrumentals. The two singers move together in harmony before the music strips down once more, this time to only Van Etten’s low murmur—then the layers build back up again into a thunderous bridge. There’s something about the way that she draws out the last vowel in the line, “So I’ll just let you down now,” that creeps me out and electrifies me at the same time. Kind of like looking back at how formative music from a certain timeframe can be to a generation, how it accompanied us during that period and therefore shaped us as well. Yes, it’s true time (and therapy) heals all, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t run to preorder the LP from my local record shop immediately after listening. Photo by Matt Wignall.

“No Risk," the recent single from Cults, is a tribute to brave beginnings, and a testament to the power of dynamic manipulations. Through their expert instrumental arrangement, the band is able to communicate three unique interpretations of the same set of lyrics and take the listener on a complete journey. The first time through the chorus, the vocal is accompanied only by a piano. When the singer opens with the line “no risk, no believing or leading,” there is a hint of doubt; like she’s not yet fully convinced of the sentiment, and needs to say it out loud in order to believe. The second time through a driving drum beat bursts in, and it feels like the journey has officially begun; risks have been taken and there’s no going back now. The final iteration mirrors the first, just vocal and piano. It feels like the protagonist is taking a moment to glance backward, both reflecting on how far they’ve come and recognizing the doubts that still persist.

To close out the song the drums return in all their inspirational fervor, and the singer delivers repetitions of the title, “no risk.” Here, the song acknowledges that stepping into the unknown will always be frightening, but reminds us that such is the cost of new experiences which often prove to be worth the risk.

“We can’t seem to find a reason to stay quiet,” urges Ela Minus on “megapunk," a new single that propels revolutionary fight from its blistering opening line. The Brooklyn-based Colombian singer’s staccato speech-singing over a trance beat manifests her passionate movement for change within us. Post-punk and new wave influences drive the hallucinogenic beat while her message on the current political climate sits in the heart of punk rebellion, drawing undoubtedly from her time as the drummer of Colombian hardcore band Ratón Pérez when she was just 12 years old. “When I wrote this song last year, I was worried it would lose context if not released immediately,” she said on the track. “I could not have been more wrong. This is the perfect time to put this out. We have to keep going. Ánimo y fuerza.” The track is accompanied by a hallucinogenic music video following her black, white, and pink punk aesthetic, and marks her second single released on Domino.

Biig Piig is the stage name of Irish-born, Spanish-raised, London-based singer-songwriter Jessica Smyth. The first I heard of Biig Piig was her single release “Switch,” which came earlier this year, but, admittedly, I was late to the party. Known for her hip-hop beats and sultry vocals, Biig Piig has garnered millions of streams on songs like “Perdida,” “Sunny,” and “Vice City.” With her unique blend of vocal techniques—transitioning from singing to rapping and back again seamlessly—on “Don’t Turn Around,” Biig Piig sticks to her guns. Maya Angelou famously said, “When people show you who they are, believe them.” In her latest release, Biig Piig not only believes them, she lets them know where they stand, as she riffs, “I see you now, exactly who you are / No place for patience, no need to press restart.”

If “Don’t Turn Around” sounds familiar, it’s because in this latest release, Biig Piig samples from Montell Jordan’s iconic 1999 R&B track, “Get It On Tonite.” Jordan’s song had, in turn, sampled Jamaican-born Claudja Barry’s 1976 soulful disco ballad, “Love for the Sake of Love,” another iconic number. For “Don’t Turn Around,” Biig Piig collaborated with cowriters Joerg Evers, Jordan Reid, and Juergen S. Korduletsch, and producer JD. Reid. The result is an instant groove with just the right mix of nostalgic R&B and neo-soul, and a splash of disco, bringing the sounds of decades past into the contemporary genre-bending realm of indie-pop. Bet you can’t listen just once.

With love from Madrid, garage-pop band Hinds releases a wildly emotive and reverberant cover of The Clash’s “Spanish Bombs." With their gorgeous Spanish accents and a more deeply rock-forward sound, the dream ladies of Hinds give the track a bit of refurbished energy. Bringing additional chaos into what is already a chaotic concept—the bombing campaign of several holiday resorts in southern Spain—the girls of Hinds holler and yelp into static-riddled darkness. This rendition of “Spanish Bombs” is the musical equivalent to the tenderness and fire of being a young, devil-may-care creature of living.

Gabe Goodman’s new single “Immortals” is a fresh take on an age-old feeling. For centuries, music, literature, poetry and film have depicted the pain of admiring someone on a pedestal. Perhaps this track is so titled because the subject matter will be relevant for eternity. When Goodman ponders, “Is your kindness a service to me?” he dredges up something classic and relatable: raw self-doubt born from deep-seated insecurity. He covets something he feels is out of his reach, thus allowing himself to envision an outrageously fantastical outcome were it to come true. It likely won’t, so he’s safe in imagining that a mere touch would render him invincible: “Would I also feel immortal if you touched me?” We’ve all been there at one time or another. Gabe, you get us.

Tastefully and imaginatively produced by Goodman and Will G. Radin, the track is enhanced by a whimsically animated lyric video that is worth at least a few replays.

Montreal-born Love Mansuy looks inward on “I’ll Be There,” an earnest commitment to endlessly support his young son Carter. Mansuy, who did not have a relationship with his own father until recently, chose to feature Carter’s voice on the track. Whether it’s when “there’s ketchup in ya hair” or “ya in a padded cell,” Mansuy promises simply, “I’ll be there.” Vulnerability poses a challenge among men and especially in BIPOC communities. Mansuy depicts it beautifully both in the song and its accompanying video, which he intended to “reflect on not only the need for Black men to show up for their sons, but the need for Black men to be there for Black women.” In the video, protest footage airs as a mother braids her daughter’s hair, and reminds us that the emotional toll of this constant exposure is often forgotten amidst charged protesting and calls for legal reform. As we’re all looking for ways to continue showing up for the Black community, I invite you to consider donating to Black Emotional and Mental Health Collective, which advocates for increased accessibility to emotional and mental healing for the Black community through methods ranging from therapy to the arts.