The latest from NY-based soul singer duendita feels like a daydream, hazy and atmospheric, and lasts just as quickly as one. Clocking in under two minutes, “yaya my favorite” is a brief showcase of everything that makes a duendita song a near-spiritual experience. As the balmy instrumental runs its course, the singer’s acrobatic voice wanders, at times seeming to almost fuse as one with the carefree ambience supporting it. Nonetheless, she still manages to evoke reveries of summer loves and loves lost by atmosphere alone. One can’t help but feel a deep sense of wonder as her soaring wails and deep moans fade lovesick lyrics in and out from coherency, creating an energy that encourages listeners to follow suit and fade into a daydream themselves.

Nike Vendela must be a mermaid. “Pull me in,” she begs in her impressive debut single, but her siren voice will pull you in—like a sailor to a lovely, watery death. The track dives headfirst into an underwater dreamscape, complete with warbly, atmospheric guitars. Vendela’s lyrics are ambiguous enough to leave open to interpretation, but consider she just might be assuming Madison’s perspective from the classic 80s sea creature fantasy Splash: “Can you hold me up / While I climb these city walls and concrete halls / Pull me in / Make me feel like I’m dreaming / Write me a lullaby / So I can learn how to fly again.” While the term “overnight sensation” is usually problematic, it does seem like the ethereal singer/songwriter came out of nowhere. Now based in New York, the Swedish native boasts no YouTube videos, barely any biographical information, and her Facebook page has only one post past 2015—and it’s her only announcement about the new song. Surely this intoxicating talent has been putting in some major work behind the scenes, but I prefer to believe she recently emerged from the deep beyond after shaking fins with a sea witch.

"Honey Jar" by Kevin Herig is a mellow funk existential crisis. Well, perhaps not a crisis as much as an inner meditation on who you are and where you’re putting your energy. Bass and guitar lines gently sway through slides and circular melodies that conjure the feeling of floating in an ocean wave. Herig’s voice floats above it all, ebbing and flowing between anxiety and serenity. The lyrics wrestle with uncertainty centered around a single focal question that gives the track its name; “We conquer and divide, and when the honey jar is dry, what’s left to taste?" Like any good line, it could mean a number of things. To me, a chronically ambitious person with many eggs in many baskets at any given time, it’s a call to think about where you’re investing your energy. It cuts to the core of an internal discussion that’s healthy, albeit painful, to initiate sometimes. Are you where you want to be? Is your destination on the same path you’re on now, or is it a different one? No one can answer that for you, but maybe listening to "Honey Jar" on repeat will help you think about it.

"These Things In My Head" by Baybs proves from the first note to adhere to a so-called "tried and true," radio-friendly formula, and this is absolutely not a bad thing! The bouncy tune immediately conjures reminders of an early 2010's radio staple, like a track from Bastille, or then-college radio darlings Dawes and their early tune "Someone Will." Baybs vocalist Craig Jacobs' voice completes the nostalgic radio trifecta, with a hint of Marcus Mumford-esce vocal stylings thrown in for good measure.

Some could consider the duo's mastering of subconsciously knowing what type of sound works for radio, a victory so early in their career. "These Things In My Head", from Text Me Records,  is only the fourth release from the twosome, and it perfectly does what its title seems to loosely promise; it will become one of the 'things' slowly revolving in your head by the third or fourth listen. Jacobs and his partner Melissa Russi's harmonic vocals blend together nicely under a danceable drum beat. What's better than a catchy tune with a groove?

Growing up with ardent Catholicism as an integral part of my identity meant repressing my bisexuality any way that I could. How does it feel to admit that you are the contradiction of what you were taught to believe? It's a question Becca Mancari asks on "First Time," her coming out story. Mancari comes from a fundamentalist Christian household, her father a pastor. It's a heavy hit from the get-go, Mancari singing, "I remember the first time my dad didn't hug me back." Unraveling the bandages from her emotional wounds to write the track wasn't easy, but she notes, "as soon as the first line of the song came out of me, I knew there was no going back." The wistful song is one that I wish I'd had at fifteen when I struggled to lend myself an ounce of kindness, unable to live my truth. "Hey, did you find your way out?" Mancari asks over a homespun country folk-style plucking that harkens back to her Nashville roots. For me, the song reads like a love letter to my younger self from someone who found happiness on the other side. On the track, Mancari says, "My hope is that when you hear this song you feel less alone, and that you do indeed find your way out." "First Time" is the second single from The Greatest Part, her sophomore record coming June 26 via Captured Tracks. We're hopeful Mancari will be able to tour with her Bermuda Triangle bandmate Brittany Howard this fall.

21-year-old Olivia Reid’s latest single “Take in the View” is composed with atmospheric brilliance, offering a lush soundscape that is sonically reminiscent of one’s breath. Acoustic melodies, lo-fi rhythms, and synth inspired accents melt together seamlessly to create a piece that is deeply moving and perfectly fit for daydream-like introspection. While Reid’s vocals are beautifully airy and understated, her lyrics soar with eloquent conviction and soft passion. Like many of the most successful ambient artists, Reid makes the intricate subtleties of her composition appear effortless and natural, as if “Take in the View” was something she discovered, rather than created. Her work, while staunchly original is mildly similar to that of Geowulf, S. Carey, and Axel Flovent, given its thoughtful authenticity and appreciation for the natural world.

It goes without saying that not everything is always as it seems. For instance, musical artist Japan, Man is neither Japanese nor a man. Instead, she is a Beirut, Lebanon-based teenager named Laeticia Acra. The laid-back title track from her new EP, I Like To Wait, introduces her as a creative songwriter and sharp lyricist. In the song’s first moments, springy synths and deep bass make you feel like you’re landing on the moon. And as it turns out, it’s very nice to land on the moon. But this instrumental intro is quickly intercepted by Acra’s forthright first line, "Are you afraid to die, like there’s no afterlife?” I would have never imagined this line could be sung in such a comforting way, and yet, here we are: her unassuming alto somehow communicates to me that it’s all going to be fine. That’s the beautiful paradox of Japan, Man’s inspired vibe: on paper, this song is about existential dread, but Acra manages to choose just the right intergalactic colors as the foil for her simple but heady lyrics. The takeaway is a balanced, engaging listen that bears repetition. When an artist’s first release is this inventive, you can’t help but wonder where she will go next. Luckily, after listening to this song over and over, waiting in general sounds surprisingly nice.