One of the most delightful parts of music is how easily it facilitates connections between people. Striking up a conversation with someone else at a show, swapping CDs with friends, even tuning into a livestream with a thousand strangers — music has a talent for bringing people together. That’s before even getting into the songs that make you feel seen. Understood. Even loved. "Permanent Maniac" is a dreamy exploration of that infatuation with the first artist that made you really feel. The lyrics flow like a diary entry, full of affection that is simultaneously naïve, intense and genuine: “I have him close to me, since I met him on the radio.” The thing is, it’s not quite a fantasy. Sharing music, even between artist and fan, is an emotionally intimate experience. As someone who’s been on both sides, it’s kind of beautiful the way that another person can let a piece of art so close to your heart burrow so deep and close to their own. The fact that people you don’t know will let your songs slip into their ears, take up space and coil itself around memories that you barely had a hand in creating? It’s beautiful. It’s a sense of sharing so intimate and organic, it almost makes boundaries feel blurry. GRAE’s track pirouettes on that boundary, floating above bouncing bass, buoyed by innocent harmonies. “And he’ll never, never know." It’s not a bitter declaration. It's respecting the relationship for what it is — a message in a bottle tossed out to sea. If it suffers abuse in its journey, it’s a bitter feeling when it shatters. But when that mutual connection is respected as the delicate, transient offering it is? It sparkles. Photo by Lizzie O'Donnell.

I’m sitting here listening to a ghost rise from my speakers while my body responds physically to the familiar sound of distortion pedals; with every whine of guitar, an old tremor of hormonal angst climbs up the ribcage to my heart while my arms slowly and rigidly begin crossing themselves. Before I know it, 15-year-old me is huffing and puffing at the door, and she’s back with a vengeance. I spent my teens like a lot of isolated kids do, scribbling in my journal, rolling my eyes at anything that moved and crushing on boys and girls who looked straight through me. The only method of keeping the unpalatable world at bay was the pair of headphones secured tightly around my ears blasting the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, BRMC and The Killers on heavy rotation. That is to say, in a time before kids my age had any sense of self beyond malaise and wretchedness, we had early 2000s indie. 

“Impossible Weight,” the title track off of Deep Sea Diver’s forthcoming October album, embodies that era. It’s The White Stripes meets Sleater-Kinney, meets a cool glass of water with a cruel and jagged lip, meets a hole I want to crawl into headfirst, partly because of nostalgia, and partly because I'm so glad you can still find it somewhere. Frontwoman Jessica Dobson’s vocals prick like needles alongside the jaunty four-on-the-floor drumline. They dance through the verses, pushing the sound up and out towards the epic. A meek wail of guitar is layered in and around the chorus right before Our Lady Sharon Van Etten enters, her steady rich voice ringing out and grounding us against the bouncing instrumentals. The two singers move together in harmony before the music strips down once more, this time to only Van Etten’s low murmur—then the layers build back up again into a thunderous bridge. There’s something about the way that she draws out the last vowel in the line, “So I’ll just let you down now,” that creeps me out and electrifies me at the same time. Kind of like looking back at how formative music from a certain timeframe can be to a generation, how it accompanied us during that period and therefore shaped us as well. Yes, it’s true time (and therapy) heals all, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t run to preorder the LP from my local record shop immediately after listening. Photo by Matt Wignall.

Fresh off of her Ivor Novello rising star award, Mysie has released her second song of 2020, “Bones.” It’s an intricate piece with Mysie’s crisp yet smooth vocals at the forefront. Starting with her low and rich vocals, she sings, “I never would have said that I get phased / but now I’m enraged.” It feels contained at the beginning before opening up at the chorus. The track is held down by steady but intricate instrumentals—leaning heavily into the bass, which highlights the deep smoothness and intrinsic rhythm of Mysie’s voice. “Bones” shows off her wide variety of influences from R&B and jazz to pop and indie and gives us a small taste of the greatness that is yet to come from Mysie. Based in South London, she is currently working on her first album. Photo by Chio Fernández.

I love this track. The lyricism is brilliant and the production is cool to the point of inebriation. The lens moves from black masculinity to slave plantation ultraviolence to wistful reflection, to anywhere it need go and back. I've been walking around Brooklyn playing it again and again. Fantastic. — Alex Cameron

A crucial part of Alex Cameron’s sound comes from Cameron’s long-time collaborator Roy Molloy who, fun fact, is not just a hero on the alto sax. Molloy once jumped off the rocks to save a drowning boy in Rockaway Beach in 2018. “Sax practice and keepin the beach safe are not mutually exclusive,” Molloy tweeted about the incident.

Ela Minus is, in the best way possible, a guerrilla tech geek using machines as a poetic extension of her anti-capitalist ideology in the EDM world. Heavily influenced by the likes of Kraftwerk, Minus talks enthusiastically about the special relationship she has with her synthesizers, the unique quality they each have and how she cares for them like friends. When you understand that she has built and programmed most of them herself, the idea of a personal connection with a machine begins to make a lot more sense. We’ve grown used to seeing artists and DJs on stage, lurking behind the faint glow of an Apple logo, but Ela Minus is uninterested in using a laptop to arrange her music. She writes, produces and performs on an analog rig covered in neon pink tape. Her pedals, synths and voice are the only tools she uses to create her hypnotic techno-pop beats. Gabriela Jimeno, the one-woman whirlwind behind Ela Minus, is no stranger to the DIY scene. Jimeno drummed for a hardcore band in Colombia from the age of 11 to 18, eventually making it to SXSW in 2009. She then left the band and her hometown of Bogotá to double major in jazz drumming and synthesizer design at Berklee College of Music. It was there that Ela Minus was born, first as a moniker for her graphic design, and then later as the solo music project now releasing subversive singles such as “el cielo no es de nadie.” 

In a low whisper reminiscent of Billie Eilish, Ela Minus peels back the layers that separate the peaceful intimacy of your bedroom and the anonymity of a packed dance club in Berlin, making them somehow indistinguishable. “el cielo no es de nadie,” like most of her songs, is about empowerment, and rejects the notion that lovers must go to the moon and back for each other. In a breathy voice that barely rises above the strobing backbeat, she tells us the only person who can give you what you need is yourself. Fitting for someone who would spend her college weekends going out to clubs—not to hook up, drink or do drugs—but just to close her eyes and dance.

Ela Minus's forthcoming album acts of rebellion is out October 23 via Domino. It is of course performed, produced and recorded entirely by herself. Photo by Teddy Fitzhugh.

“Lonely Listener” is the hypnotically relaxing title track off of Rae Fitzgerald's newly released EP. A lengthy intro consists of gentle, repetitive guitar accompanied by a muted drumbeat and serves to lull the listener into Fitzgerald's dreamworld. This rhythm remains steady, with additional layers added throughout, including Rae’s layered vocals, which are just as rhythmic as the instrumentals. The lyrics are dense with poetry, philosophy and celestial metaphor. Fitzgerald sings of being a “true believer if [the] heart is pure the body never dies” and a “voyager searching for the perfect sunset moonrise.” (“Sunset Moonrise,” incidentally, is the first track on the EP.) Half declaration, half question, the existential lyrics proceed to pose over and over again, “Am I the one? Are you the one?” and leave the listener to contemplate the answer. The Lonely Listener EP is available on cassette via the artist’s Bandcamp, though as of this writing, only a few remain, so get ‘em while you can!

Beau Turrentine’s latest single “Pillow House” is subtly glamorous and remarkably smooth, just like your favorite mojito on lazy afternoon. Turrentine’s simmering and husky vocals layer beautifully onto harmonic guitar licks and easygoing drumbeats, as he delivers the lyrics we’ve undoubtedly been waiting for: you can come and hang at the Pillow House, baby. With a sound comparable to Buxton and early work of Diane Coffee, Turrentine’s style features equal flares of western and soul, and is just as cozy as it is expertly composed. While Beau is relatively new to the indie music scene he has already made some major connections, including a friendship with the awe inspiring Orville Peck. Needless to say, we are looking forward to hearing more from him in the future.

When I think of Angel I think of generosity. Here is a singer that is so divinely talented that her songs end up being an entire experience, so much more so than most other recordings out there. I feel lucky that she shares them publicly. When I'm feeling out of touch or wrapped up in my own shit, I listen to Angel's music and know that there is some kinda spirit that's much more powerful than me out there. — Alex Cameron

In 2017 Angel Olsen and Alex Cameron collaborated in a memorable duet titled “Stranger’s Kiss (Duet with Angel Olsen)". In this big, bold, post-break-up anthem, Cameron and Olsen exchange perhaps some of the best romantic/resentful verses in Cameron’s songbook. Photo by Kylie Coutts.