“Tides,” a new release from Ethansroom (solo project of William Ethan Fortenberry) is a sonic letter to everything we know we shouldn’t think about yet find ourselves ruminating upon regardless (“Shouldn’t think about it / But I’ll do it anyway / I’ll just start from / Further back / So I don’t get carried away”). The cyclical track mimics its title, with layers of banjo, guitar, mellotron, soft synths and steady drums churning over Fortenberry’s gritty-yet-smooth vocals. The atmosphere of the track—similar in feel to acts like Novo Amor and Adam Melchor—recalls days much like those now in early spring, that stretch further their hours of light over the horizon, making amber shadows on our walls. As the world warms, we feel nostalgic for summer suns past, and we push these thoughts away during daily monotony until we are alone under the moon and free to dream (“I’ll come back at the crescent / Give it another try”). In all its soft-glowing edges, “Tides” reminds us that sometimes there’s a reason we can’t stop thinking about something, a lesson there to learn—we just may not grasp it until the tide turns over and we start anew. Photo by Landon Edwards.

It feels like we’ve always had Phoebe Bridgers; the truth is, we’ve only known her for a few years. In that short amount of time, she has, in the most divinely humble fashion, become the respected leader of a high order of young artists, and one of the most effective storytellers in present day music. She has delivered every marker of her career in a graceful, nonchalant manner that has an air of “I just felt like doing this” and yet, impeccably and meticulously planned. Every move she makes, whether baring her body and soul for Playboy or promising to reimagine a Goo Goo Dolls classic on the condition the sitting president is successfully voted out of office, seems an immaculate artistic statement. 

In her latest release, “If We Make It Through December,” Bridgers brilliantly constructs a new perspective on the Merle Haggard holiday heartbreak hit. It’s the same storyline, but instead of getting dressed up in deceptively cheerful western wear, this time it’s chilled by the beautifully haunting cries of the bitter wind, conjuring images of Bridgers’ signature sad ghosts. At the close of perhaps the most collectively difficult year in a generation, the lyrics hit right in the gut. With this frigid account of a single parent struggling to keep the heater burning for her daughter, let alone afford a Christmas tree or gifts, Bridgers reminds us there’s always someone worse off than we are. True to form, she’s donating all proceeds from this track to the Downtown Women’s Center in Los Angeles, in hopes of making life a little easier for women experiencing houselessness in the area this season. “If we make it through December, we’ll be fine,” she croons, with only halfhearted assurance. With Bridgers to soothe our tattered hearts, perhaps we will. Photo by Nona Limmen.

At the close of a year which seemingly dedicated itself to uncertainty, London-based NIGHT FLIGHT voices the honest, coming-to-terms holiday feeling many of us are experiencing. Leading in with an already ruminative melody of light, bell-driven synth juxtaposed with a more cavernous effect from the electric guitar, “It Doesn’t Feel Like Christmas” lives up to its bittersweet name almost immediately. The chorus is wrapped in the subtle, comforting rise of voices joining together, conveying a palatable presence of holiday sentimentality, even in the recognition that there is something different about the season. This track is a commentary on loss binding itself to Christmastime and the desire to once again experience the familiar glee surrounding the season. Photo by Jonny Ruff.

At the end of a year that’s drained us in every sense, BTS’ “Life Goes On” is a song that feels like coming home. While the alternative hip hop and folk-leaning production are more restrained than the vibrant sound for which they’re known, it brings just the kind of comfort we’ve been afraid to admit we crave. Where August’s record-breaking “Dynamite” was a cathartic and welcome distraction, “Life Goes On” circles back to the very fears we’ve eluded, an invitation to simply exist without the pressure to present as though we have it all together. We don’t, and they don’t claim to, either; that sincerity is what creates a safe space to feel as deeply as we need.

"Life Goes On” became the first foreign language song to debut at #1 on Billboard’s Hot 100, but supporting BTS isn't about the records or numbers for me; I could wax poetic for ages on what their success means to me on as someone who grew up feeling “othered,” with no frame of reference for faces in pop culture who looked like me, who openly spoke an Asian language but didn’t get dirty looks at the grocery store like my family did. Their success comes from their ability to unify, with an earnestness and grace that transcends the boundary of language. It's a kind reminder that “like an echo in the forest,” our dark moments will eventually make way for something brighter ahead. Until then, "Life Goes On" is a hand to hold on the way. 

“Hospitality,” the latest single from singer-songwriter Darci Phenix, is an endearing and honest take on the highs and lows of growing up. Galloping drums and lazy guitars line the track as Phenix’s delicate yet confident voice carries listeners through a series of youthful hijinks. The Portland-based artist sprinkles dark humor and charming stories throughout the track to paint a tragic yet hopeful picture of adolescence. “I guess it only makes sense / that fucked up people make fucked up friends,” Phenix passively remarks. If the first half of the track holds a more bleak feeling, the second half is much more optimistic as triumphant horns fade-in, as if to announce better times ahead.

“Risk” is an exploration of the desire for tenderness and connection awake in the hearth of each person, and the courageous recognition that while the fear of being hurt will always be there, the only way to get closer to the possibility of basking in the richness of love is to take the risk. J.E. Sunde’s new album 9 Songs About Love features many different facets of love; and "Risk" depicts an honest and hopeful representation of the feeling that a particular love could be really wonderful, tied to the very real fear of the requirement of vulnerability for intimacy to exist. This track feels hopeful, instrumentally—sanguine with its touches of brass and sustained cheery guitar. Throughout much of “Risk,” it seems like Sunde is considering whether or not to be headstrong, but by the end, he makes it clear, “Love’s a risk that’s worth the risk.” Photo by Adam Wheeler.