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.

“Swill,” one of the latest singles from Icelandic born singer and multi-instrumentalist Jónsi, is a bombastic and towering piece that feels both simultaneously familiar and foreign. Opening with a stark A.G. Cook produced mix of drums and horns, “Swill” sounds more like a new track from Cook collaborator Charli XCX than new content from the Sigur Rós frontman. However, once the rest of the instrumental settles in and Jónsi's wispy falsetto begins to deliver, familiar themes from the singer’s work begin to show. Lyrically, Jónsi is coming to terms with mistakes made in the past, “You say I did something wrong yesterday / You're right, of course, I'm making a fool of myself (In every way).” Though the almost bubblegum pop instrumental teeters on the edge of feeling out of place, there is still a billowing, orchestral vein running through it that tethers it to the singer. If the track does anything, it’s a sign that Jónsi is not only back, but he is again pushing the sonic boundaries in the most familiar way.

Wingtip is the blissful project of Nick Perloff-Giles. His music is irresistibly hook-filled, but those hoping to dance themselves free of all anxiety and introspection won’t find that here—“Demons” has tender vulnerability at its core. The song explores feelings of uncertainty and insecurity, offering strength and comfort in the form of an addictive beat drop. The chorus is a plea to reveal the worst. Perloff-Giles sings, “Show me your demons, and I’ll show you mine.” It’s an earnest request over delightful pop production. “Demons” is a reminder that sharing our challenges is exactly what makes them bearable: “It’s hard to know where to begin, but it’s easier with someone." There’s hope in going through our most difficult moments with others—and definitely in dancing through them with this song.

rum.gold’s new song “Fix Me” is a gorgeous, ethereal depiction of what it feels like to process relationships in isolation. He calls the song an “acoustic sketch”—by leaving airy spaces in between chords for the music to breathe, he allows the powerful lyrics to seep into the listener’s mind. While the aching sorrow in his voice is prevalent as he repeats, “I’m sorry” throughout the song’s first section, the emotional peak of the track comes as he sings, “You can’t be my northern star / When you’re the reason home seems so far.” His vocals are a warm, sharp falsetto—crying out for somebody to not only hear him but understand him. All in all, rum.gold’s “Fix Me” is a sonic search for the missing puzzle piece that it would take to make his relationship work. Despite his soul searching, by the end of the song, he still can’t find it. He comes to the silent realization that he must find inner peace on his own, as a faint siren drives away in the distance. Listen wherever you stream.

The broken aspects of our society just keep on getting clearer at this stage of 2020. Xelli Island’s new single, aptly titled “Sometimes," does an uncanny job of capturing the existential desperation that’s running rampant in all of us in varying capacities. The artist writes that when one navigates this world through the lens of mental illness, “all of its toxicity and phoniness becomes crystal clear." With opening lyrics calmly vacillating between “sometimes I feel alright, I leave my house, people are nice," and “some days I’m swallowed up in an emptiness and numbing thoughts, and even truth feels like a lie; yeah some days I’d rather die," “Sometimes” goes on to paint a familiar mental picture. Xelli is kind enough to hold up this internal mirror with the backdrop of some truly summer-ific production. A rollicking, walking beat and thrumming, warm bassline keep the energy snapping along, and the lead vocals are clean and crisp with just enough spacey delay to remind you of the vertigo caused by spinning in your own head. The real twist is that this song was written years ago. It’s truly comforting to remember that these feelings, though quite stark at the moment, are nothing new—with musical dispatches like "Sometimes," we can weather them together.

I firmly believe that there is a special place in the world for upbeat breakup songs, and that place is a car radio. "Losing My Grip" by Junior Mesa is a high energy reclamation of control by acknowledging that you’re not fine, actually. The song riffs and rolls through two and a half minutes that validate your need to briefly disappear with just a car, sunshine, and your thoughts. “An escapist road trip is a totally reasonable reaction to heartbreak,” the track speaks, with equal parts serious lyrics and lighthearted production touches. Each verse is supported by steadfastly syncopated rhythm guitar, paralleling the feeling of hanging on by a thread—but still hanging in there. A whimsical flute line dances between stanzas, which conjures the aesthetic of Noah and The Whale and The Boy Least Likely To. Mesa’s voice playfully stretches syllables, crafting a vocal line that, somehow, feels a lot like a rainbow slinky. Overall, the track sparkles with wit, humor, and technical finesse. Dripping in optimism yet leaning into vulnerability and heartache, it’s a song that is sure to fit whatever headspace you’re in.