Contemplate the nuances of shame with “Embarrassing," the second release off the self-proclaimed emo dream-pop artist Ellis’ new album, Born Again. In this deeply confessional slow burn, the Ontario-based artist turns her gaze inward to address the feeling of embarrassment, deviating from the beaten path towards a much harder truth; sometimes we feel shame because we should. This synth-forward, dreamy track is no pity party, it’s a promise to be better in a remarkable coming to terms with accountability. Making concessions like “maybe you were right when you said I love to play the victim” Ellis displays a maturity and self-awareness beyond her years. Despite its vulnerability “Embarrassing” is full of defiance and strength, using a feeling we so easily look away from or blame others for as a tool for growth and self-forgiveness. The purposeful drumbeat and unhurried guitar move steadily towards a power ballad climax and in the closing refrain Ellis repeats in her honey-sweet voice, “some things should be embarrassing” over and over as a reminder not just to herself, but to her listener as well. Born Again is out on April 3 via Fat Possum Records, and be sure to catch Ellis on her North American tour while you can.

Cayucas blends melody with a meticulously crafted assortment of noise in “Alligator.” It is soft and sweet with precise imagery like “jesus christ glued onto the dashboard/photograph cutout taped to cardboard” weaved among keyboard clacks and wind chimes. Zach and Ben Yudin stick to their light indie-pop sound that somehow always feels pleasantly nostalgic. The track builds gently as they assemble the pieces: vocals, keyboard noises, a gentle wind chime, and a simple strum of a guitar. The simplicity of the beginning allows for the world they are building to fill in the gaps before they add percussion and keys. "Alligator" resembles the memory of a day you are trying to dredge up by recalling specific moments—the way the air smelled, the color of the mattress—or maybe it’s all a dream, “caught between dreams awake and sleeping/eyelids half shut and getting heavy." It is sweet and soft, but a little off-kilter.

Villagers construct the sort of washed-out atmosphere that sounds like falling asleep, drifting into a dream with details that only briefly flicker in the morning. Following 2018’s phenomenal full-length The Art Of Pretending To Swim, the Dublin band returns with a brand new EP only slightly more than a year later. “The tracks that fell through the cracks; it turns out they had their own story to tell,” says singer Conor O’Brien. “The Sunday Walker EP is a collection of lost songs as much as it is an emotional arc. Songs of loss and songs of realization. Songs of empathy and isolation.” On “Note To Self (For Michael),” the EP’s closing track, the production makes O’Brien sound distant, but he sings as if whispering only inches away. The song’s components seem to move at separate speeds, with relentlessly steady drums and swirling melodic elements, as O’Brien posits that the ability to “love your tears” is tantamount to the ability to love anything at all.

Lull yourself into a deep state of relaxation with indie-folk artist Aisha Badru’s new single, “Soil’s Daughter.” Reflective and peaceful, the track’s hypnotic ambiance is the perfect way to unwind for sleep or to ease yourself into a new day. It’s also one of Badru’s most mature and unique tracks to date. The minimal arrangement emphasizes the song’s raw emotional pull; with nothing more than airy backing synths to support Badru’s light, lovely vocals, “Soil’s Daughter” relies heavily on the strength and clarity of her words, and she does not disappoint. Equally wispy and gripping, Badru sings with a quiet sort of power that mimics the wisdom of the ages. Through her lyrics, she lays herself bare in search of truth: “Now down by the water / She told me I am the soil’s daughter / And although I look just like my father / My roots, they extend much farther.” Spiritual and soft, “Soil’s Daughter” is a transcendent piece of songwriting that also acts as a meditation on life.

Ryan Egan's latest single, "I Feel Like Crying," is a deeply evocative and cinematic departure from his typical synth-pop. This track is slow and strong, paired with lyrical musings on the fragility of relationships. Egan ponders love and loss alongside the tinkling of plucked violins and heavy orchestral strings. "I Feel Like Crying" flows along like a dance. At first, it's powerful and deep, but then it gradually becomes more hopeful and timid as it progresses. This song is a surprising move for Egan, as he mostly produces indie-pop music. It's a welcome change of pace: "I Feel Like Crying" is a beautiful track that new listeners and long-time appreciators of Egan's work will enjoy.

With an undeniably groovy and hypnotic flow, NY-based artist Spencer. comes in hot with his latest single “Automatic.” The artist embodies both an addicting indie sound found within his sharp guitar notes and a warmly welcomed depth of soul. A funky bassline and reverb-heavy strings—reminiscent of The Internet’s sound—scoot the track along and lay the perfect ground for Spencer.’s moody vocals. Great frustration with a romantic partner is displayed in the lyrics; there’s an awareness inside the singer, reminding him that he'll just keep coming back again and again, even when this person ignores him for weeks on end. He sings, “Someday / You’ll make me wanna walk away / I promise it won’t be today.” Everybody has that somebody, the person who makes their pride completely evaporate with a single text or phone call. “Automatic” is a smooth groove with lyrics cognizant of one’s own Achilles’ heel, igniting excitement for the future of Spencer.'s work with 4AD. The artist just wrapped up touring with Gus Dapperton this fall, and we can look forward to more tunes coming out on in the new year.

Conchúr White has been playing music in bands for years, but now he has finally burst forth with his debut solo single, “Daisies.” The track begins with White’s high, clear tenor voice skating over a bare arrangement of classical instruments, evoking the nostalgia of an early Lana Del Rey. Next, it shifts into a rhythmic and moody late 2000s alternative rock style reminiscent of Parachutes-era Coldplay, and finally dynamically builds into an Of Monsters and Men-style drum-laden, guitar-pounding catharsis. In combination with this veritable salad of sounds, the addition of shoegaze-y guitar riffs and White’s metaphor-heavy lyrics position the song solidly within its own stylistic realm. With “Daisies,” White introduces himself to the world as a theatrical raconteur with crystalline vocals. And with an understated, pithy chorus line like, “Do I even need to say it? / Love is kinda complicated,” the charms of this track are hard to resist.

“Angel” is Alexander Beggins’ solo debut into the musical realm with his refreshing new project CoCo Zandi. Opening with a muted melody, the tropically-inspired tune evokes the age-old experience of allowing oneself to fully engage in fluttery love. Reeling with a sound reminiscent of the dreamy ’60s, Beggins carries simple, evocative truths and vulnerabilities over resounding percussion. With airy touches of ukulele, Angel creates a heartfelt slow dance down an empty beach, interrupted only by the footwork of hand-in-hand lovers.

Soccer Mommy’s second single of 2019, “yellow is the color of her eyes,” masterfully captures the deeply private and lonely experience of realizing you are losing someone. In many ways, Sophie Allison’s performance will be familiar and comforting to fans: in the guitar work you’ll recognize the twangy echoey charm of her special brand of shoegaze-infused Americana, and her lyrics are still sprinkled with memorable, offbeat metaphors (“eyes like clementines,” the “sun feels like yellow”). At the same time, in some ways, this track taps into uncharted emotional territory for Soccer Mommy. Allison says the song came out of “a time when I was on the road constantly and I felt like I was losing time—specifically with my mother.” So, lyrically, there is no time for ephemeral feelings here, like jealousy or the thrill of a crush. Instead, all seven spacious minutes are spent diving deep into the types of feelings we too rarely talk about: the acute discomfort of regret, and the powerlessness of confronting time’s cruel disregard for our human schedules. She even tells us why she needs to open up: “I could lie,” she sings, “but it’s never made me feel good inside.” As listeners, we can benefit from her cathartic outpour too: in it, she not only showcases the impressive emotional maturity of her songwriting in new ways, but also implicitly urges all of us to stop telling “tiny lies” to ourselves about impermanence.