Adeline Hotel has a way of putting you at ease. Living on the axis of psych-rock and indie folk, the music is loose and calming, but also entirely intentional. On “Trace,” a track from the upcoming album, Solid Love, Dan Knishkowy leads the project with the strength of his songwriting, telling a tale of transition that is equally driven by moments of love and connection as it is by total unknowing. The band, headed by Knishkowy and joined by guitarist, Ben Seretan, bassist Andrew Stocker, pianist Winston Cook-Wilson (Office Culture), drummer Sean Mullins (Wilder Maker), vocalists Brigid Mae Power & Matt Kivel, and a host of others, come together to blend their unique songwriting practices. As Knishkowy puts it, “Five people with loud playing personalities, playing as quietly as possible,” each musician creating their own moments of tenderness, trusting themselves and the process. Because of this, “Trace” is a slow-building wave and at it’s crest lies a beautifully jagged ending jam. The recipe of musical ambiguity, intimacy and clear warmth earns Adeline Hotel a sound that serves reflection as well as much needed sighs of relief.

This track was released quite suddenly by indie-pop group, Wet. The song was set to be released on their first studio album in 2016, and then again on their second album, but ultimately didn’t fit either project. In my opinion, there is something truly beautiful about this song being released as a stand-alone, as it is an appreciation of the self and where you are in this moment. “This Fog” feels like a gradual understanding that there can be both sorrow and joy in being alone, and that in accepting this fact we begin to experience everything more earnestly. As I listened back more and more to this track, I was reminded of a poem I wrote a couple of years back, in which I reflect on something similar.

Wednesday’s Sermon

The wind hit my back in the way

you would want it to – 

there was no sense of urgency –

it served only as a reminder

that energy is all around.

“Paradise” is a warm introduction to CoCo Zandi, solo project of Alexander Beggins (Wild Child). Cheerful ukulele with an emphatic heartbeat-like rhythm catches your attention and forms the foundation of the whole track. An increasing number of layers wrap around Beggins’s voice, resulting in a song that has a million details to fall in love with. There’s warm bass and strings that sweep you off your feet. Whimsical backup vocals pay homage to every single Disney “awwww they’re falling in love!” song simultaneously. Bells and twinkly keys add sparkle and bright, tuneful countermelodies. Lyrically, the song tells a story of love at first sight and every sight after. It’s a sweet, musically complex track that effortlessly wraps you up in the warm fuzzies. “Paradise” is the perfect soundtrack for waltzing around your room, putting away your laundry, and fantasizing about the day you'll get whisked off on your own romantic fairytale adventure.

Our first Quadio pick of the week is “Warm Bodies” by U of Michigan songwriter Lily Talmers. The track is not only a beautiful take on electric folk—it’s also a wise and winding reflection on the magnetic physiology and mysterious transience of love. Talmers’s voice is undoubtedly the musical centerpiece here, possessing a rare warmth that could combat even the harshest Michigan winter. Meanwhile, her understated versatility on the guitar creates the perfect wistful backdrop for the big ideas she’s singing about. Throughout the song, she frames romantic attraction as the result of seeking something godly. It’s a beautiful sentiment, and it also makes it all the more understandable how earth-shatteringly disappointing it can be when the connection dissipates. It makes you think: is there anything godly in each of us after all? Or are we all just “lonely, aching bodies”? After building tension between these seemingly competing questions through each verse, Talmers finally hints at a bittersweet answer: yes.

"Do you think I’m strange? I don’t blame you,” Victoria Reed’s voice spills like liquid silk across “Same Way," the opening track off her second album Aquamadre. “I’m still learning what to do / when you learn the whole world / wasn’t made for you” she croons, expressing a feeling of disillusionment we know all too well by now. What do we do when our perception of reality changes? The only thing we can, which is to adapt and grow into the new version of ourselves we need to be. “Same Way” describes the place between stagnancy and momentum; the growth of a person as they watch themselves through the eyes of another, a mirror into the future. Four years after her tarot-inspired 2016 debut Chariot, Reed stays true to her celebration of the mystical by drawing heavily on the visionary and healing aspects of Aquarius, the water bearer. Often mistaken for a sign of that element, Aquarius is actually an air sign, one that brings forth a new age of enlightenment. If water is emotion, then air is the sign’s ability to carry it without becoming overwhelmed. Aquarius diverts the flow of emotion by way of language to reach an understanding of the truth, which is clearly what Reed has set out to do with her album. 

The song “Same Way” shows her beginning to see an admission of love as strength, not weakness. In a lustrous voice akin to Lana Del Rey, she sings “Or maybe it’s that I’m not strange enough / Cause I’ve never been brave enough / to simply be myself," a concession towards self-acceptance.  Like anyone, she wonders if her affection is reciprocated, but chooses to repeat, “I think of you every day," because the only thing that matters is being true to how she feels. “Same Way” encourages us to push aside any internalized shame and embrace our own vulnerabilities, because self-acceptance is the only way to make space for compassion and healing in our lives. Both magical and haunting, Reed’s Aquamadre weaves dreamy synths with gauzy production in order to create the much-needed restorative atmosphere for staying at home and focusing on our more-than-skin-deep self-care.

Still Woozy, the artist alias of Sven Gamsky, has dropped a groovy new track “Window." Opening with a sample from Marvin Gaye, Sven ventures into soul territory, while the sample of a squeaky mattress spring rings true to his indie garage-pop sound. His voice is recognizable in its airiness as he speaks of a relationship that is being kept on the low, “If I got one thing right it was you and me / But I go in through the window so nobody sees.” This track perfectly captures how flings are all fun and games until lust turns to love. As the song fades, it leaves you wondering if it’s more than just one-sided.

Peru-born and Colombia and DC-raised artist, Tambino, utilizes all of the emotional and fun aspects of the culture that created him with his new track "El Amanecer." Reggaeton beats drive the lyrical message of the song: that feeling when you leave the club after a long night and realize the meaninglessness of it all. The singer Kam Tambini explained that the song title "El Amanecer" (which translates to "The Dawn") was inspired by the hazy mental state you find yourself in while walking back home after a late night/early morning. The same is true of the song's haunting, repeating line, "salgo en la noche haste el amanecer (I go out at night until the dawn)." This line also contributes to the track feeling like a coming-of-age horror movie, one that represents the end of a trajectory while also working through the promise of new adventures. "El Amanecer" is the second single off of Tambino's debut project, a self titled EP set to release later this year.

Having released their debut single in November 2019, London-based duo Charlotte Spiral is practically an infant by industry standards, but you couldn’t tell by listening to them. Amy Spencer and Avi Barath drew their name from a gravity-defying figure skating term, and create music that’s just as delicate and mystifying. “Only Place I Know” is one of three tracks on the EP they released in February. Distorted, warbly piano and creepy, unidentifiable sounds draw the listener into the musical equivalent of a horror movie. After about 45 unsettling seconds, a pleasant chord splays out like a sigh of relief. What follows is a careful dance between psychological torture and pleasant nostalgia. The tension and uncertainty about where the harmonic structure is moving symbolize the discomfort of a period of healing. Spencer’s vocal delivery seems almost complacent, but the lyrics suggest otherwise: “I am just waiting here for something / To come and take these feelings away.” Only when she mentions falling back into the familiar is the uneasy tension released, like exhaling into a warm bath. The euphoria doesn’t stay; moving backwards is counterproductive, and Spencer knows she must make the uncomfortable steps forward to grow into her true self.