In their first release since the sultry pre-pandemic single “Song Number 1.5” (Sleep Well Records, 2020) PRONOUN (formerly stylized “pronoun”) has returned in all caps, with a single to match. Tight, upbeat guitar riffs and kick drum bring a pop-punk sound to the latest from the self-proclaimed “indie-bedroom-pop-rock-whatever” musical project by Brooklyn-based artist Alyse Vellturo, whose layered reverberating vocals are the undertow of “I WANNA DIE BUT I CAN’T (CUZ I GOTTA KEEP LIVING).”

The song’s lyrics hit home right from the start: “Everybody’s moving on / Growing in their own way / No matter where I put myself / I’m always in the same place.” Even after more than a year spent primarily in quarantine and face masks, where surviving alone can be seen as an accomplishment, the pressures from society (and often from ourselves)—to do more, grow more, be more—have hardly let up. For this anxiety-prone writer, the future has been an ever-looming and ever-daunting question mark, with very few anchors around from “the before times” to keep the spiraling at bay, and not nearly enough of anything to distract from spiraling into the past. “I WANNA DIE BUT I CAN’T (CUZ I GOTTA KEEP LIVING)” is both a comforting notion that these feelings are not as unique as they can often seem and a welcome reminder that “Everything gets better, just later.” The arc of the lyrics in the song mirrors the title itself, waxing from self-deprecation to pep talk, with these especially encouraging words near the song’s end.

The release of “I WANNA DIE BUT I CAN’T (CUZ I GOTTA KEEP LIVING)” was accompanied by the announcement of PRONOUN’s forthcoming five-track EP, triumphantly titled OMG I MADE IT, out June 11th on Wax Bodega. Photo by Mitchell Wojcik.

Occasionally, farewells can be some of the most difficult bridges to cross. Other times, well, it seems those bridges just couldn’t burn any quicker. Indie-pop gem Richie Quake tells the tale of the latter in his latest drop “Never See You." 

This smooth track offers experimental synths that activate the senses, maintaining an intoxicating spontaneity in every pulse. Quake cultivates a lo-fi, retrowave audiovisual within this track that is most notably his. A stylized bassline effortlessly carries the lo-fi nature of the track before bleeding into an electronic funhouse of synths. The chorus is inexplicably tranquil, gliding listeners through the three-minute song on the back of the happily purported reassurance that he will “never see you again."

“Never See You” is the successor of “Rules," an upbeat funky track with a personality of its own that was released back in March. With more music on the way in the near distant future, anticipation cannot even begin to describe our elated disposition for all things Richie Quake. Photo by Freddy Torres. 

“2short," the lead single from James Lockhart Jr.’s upcoming debut EP, poignantly and cleverly tackles the cruel beauty of memory and the uniquely sublime nature of time spent with those you love. The song follows a back and forth in the narrator’s mind, between moments of warmth, brought on by images of the past, and cold realizations that those images cannot compare to the true moments of connection that they shadow. This contrast is expertly accentuated by the arrangement and production choices. In the sections of memory, the sound is full, the drums are center stage, and it feels like James is singing right next to you. When the feelings of isolation and longing take over, the drums cut and his voice takes on the distant quality of a radio or telephone. The lyrics are straightforward yet lush with emotional potency. The second verse description of a Polaroid photo being taken, and subsequently looked to, “when I need to see somebody glowing,” struck me with a sharp bolt of nostalgia because of its accuracy and truth. In this particular moment, as we move into the summer and the world hopefully begins to open up safely, “2short” is able to delicately both lament the love and connection which was lost over the past year and implore the listener to cherish the moments that will come. Photo by Sara Laufer. 

Sunny chords strum in to transport you to a beach somewhere with great friends and cool drinks on Sea Glass’ newest single “Lemon Lime Watermelon.” 

Sea Glass is the brand new project from Brooklyn-based multi-instrumentalist and producer Jake Muskat. Through Sea Glass, he aims to create an exciting, collaborative project as each song features a different co-writer vocalist. For “Lemon Lime Watermelon,” Muskat enlists the help of Chicago native Sky Adler. 

Whimsical lyrics let us know that “Lemon Lime Watermelon” is “fresher than toothpaste.” The song builds as arpeggiated keys and a buoyant beat surface, inviting us to get out of our heads and be more present as Adler sings, “They’re stuck in last year / I’m flying through this week.”  

With the vaccine rolling out, the weather getting nicer every day, and the possibility of experiencing live music again, it certainly feels like we’re in the home stretch of a forgettable year. Although we must keep taking care of ourselves and others, these uplifting times tell us that despite what’s happened, there’s still joy to be found.

As the song closes and filtered keys play the last chords, you can’t help but feel compelled by their proposition: “I’m starting over baby / You should come along with me / Let’s go on a spaceship / Let’s go on a journey.” How could you say no to that? Photo provided by Sea Glass. 

This week, Oxford-based quartet Low Island is taking over Buzzing Daily to walk us through select tracks from their debut album, If You Could Have It All Again. Follow along as they delve into the modern synth rock-tinged record, which they've deemed "a love letter to a wasted 20s." Photo by Evelin van Rei. 

Momentary is a song about unrequited love. It’s about wishing that the strength of feeling that someone instilled in you is something that you could give to them, and how so often love’s trajectory can travel along steep inclines only to be met with abrupt cliff edges. But what the song is trying to say is that in spite of all that, it’s always worth being honest about how you feel, no matter the outcome, because only then can you find the strength to move on. It’s a cliche but it’s true. — Low Island

Instantly infectious and only more memorable with every listen, Wilby’s latest single proves once again how powerful of a songwriter and artist she can be, and already is. The band feels so welcoming and homey, a fuzzy riff tying a bow on it all. So when Wilby delivers a devastating lyric to open, it caught me off guard: “I can still hear your voice in the kitchen." The more I consider this lyric, the more beautiful it becomes. Some of my fondest memories live in the kitchens of my life. Family often finds itself there, a place to care for one another. The lyric and band transport me back to those places, and I can hear my grandma talking about her day, my aunt walking me through a recipe. It warms my heart. There’s more happening around us, but Wilby winks as she asks, “Honey, what’s the rush?" It’s moments like these that keep me in awe of Wilby’s music: tremendously human and vulnerable insights, from a voice like none other, sitting atop a loose and wonderful band. Shortly after the singalong-worthy chorus, we get another example of her magic. I’ve been haunted by this stunning thought: “Every memory has its limit / Good but never enough.” Even amidst Wilby painting these verses with specific and stunning imagery, it’s a reminder to be grateful for, and present in, each moment that comes our way. It’s easy to do that during this song, so lovely at every turn. The bridge offers another wonderful moment, a reminder that we can always carry our loved ones with us and hold those relationships close. The rest of the song has me singing and crying along, my heart filled to the brim with warmth and with love. Photo by Bennett Littlejohn. 

This week, Oxford-based quartet Low Island is taking over Buzzing Daily to walk us through select tracks from their debut album, If You Could Have It All Again. Follow along as they delve into the modern synth rock-tinged record, which they've deemed "a love letter to a wasted 20s." Photo by Evelin van Rei. 

This is a song about a toxic relationship; not necessarily with a person, but with yourself. A part of yourself that you become attached to and, for fear of change, you don’t want to let it go. It’s about taking that part of yourself, or that feeling, for one last dance before finally saying goodbye. In an interview the other day, the interviewer likened it to the last cigarette. I thought that was a neat way of summing it up. — Low Island