Losses of any sort can make happy homes seemingly crumble into empty sanctuaries. The homes, although boisterous with life and new beginnings, become a catalyst for the occupants’ aching nostalgia over the person or thing they’re now devoid of. With every sorrow-driven piano key and powerfully executed vibrato, Jovan Perez explores the boundless aches of lamentation in his latest release “feel again.” Guided by a melancholic piano that sends shivers down the spine, the track takes listeners through the painful ups and downs of reminiscing on a past connection. There’s a story-like structure to the song that aids in the evocation of fervent emotion portrayed by Perez both lyrically and vocally that is unique to the young artist’s sound. The 20-year-old carries with him a revivifying soulfulness that is youthful in delivery, yet timeless in essence. Despite the track portraying the heart-wrenching perspective of an individual trapped within their own nostalgia, Perez has share that he wants listeners to “let this song serve as a reminder that these feelings are normal, and to try to find happiness and purpose in the present you’ve been gifted with.”

“Feel again” is Perez's third officially released track, and his second this year. The New York-based singer, songwriter and producer has already garnished the attention of fans via his covers on YouTube and is continuing to build his own empire within the music industry.

Bill Callahan continues to set the standard for storytelling with these new songs. My goodness. Just listen to the opening passage. If that doesn't set fire to your soul then I'd wager you and I ain't wading in the same bayou. Tune in. — Alex Cameron

In his latest EP of demos, Alex Cameron rehashes some of his songs from his 2019 album Miami Memory, but this time, we hear them under a slightly different light. Instead of the brass, bright, strobe light of a strip club, his new EP Miami Memories takes us back to the VIP private room. Photo by Hanly Banks.

Mellow, gleaming electronic pop duo Sylvan Esso is committed to their signature elegance and free-forming sound with their new track, “Frequency.” Aligning with its lyrical themes, the song has a magnetic force, melting down within the listener and creating space for a pulling movement inside the body — which can be seen in the video for the song, brought to life by Moses Sumney’s creative direction. The absence of percussion in the track is a clean, soft representation of the girl Amelia Meath is singing about, a woman with alluring energy that cannot be fabricated. This girl is enchantment in human form:  “She's the one, I swear to God / A frequency, she's got a frequency / and I caught it all over me.”

On September 25, Sylvan Esso, a.k.a. Amelia Meath and Nick Sanborn, will release their third album, Free Love, featuring the tenderness of folky sound as well as the rhythmic tug of war that they have become known for.

rincs are the L.A.-based duo of Rebecca Ramirez and Bjorn Winberg. Their music is incisive and eccentric, with the occasional punkiness of Ramirez’s vocals casting a moody shadow over their poetic lyrics. rincs value brevity and melody. As with “Or Is It Just You,” their songs tend to burn fast and bright before fizzling out at just the right moment. They’ve said all they need to and delivered their message with singable indie-pop sentiment. “Or Is It Just You,” their most recent single, conveys the jarring realization that everyone lives within their own distinct reality — what looks upside down to one person may look completely normal to another. Sometimes it’s a realization full of possibility, and sometimes it’s a terrifying one. This song mostly deals with that second feeling, creating a slow buildup of disorientation enhanced by cyclical guitar riffs. There’s also some quirky instrumentation — the thumb-piano solo that drives this track towards the final chorus is one of several reasons it's well worth a listen.

Oddly prescient lyrics and red hot vibe as well. An apocalyptic déjà vu in the club. Punk-funk from Manchester grafters See Thru Hands. It's catchy as hell, so danceable and alludes to the end times we're living in with an accuracy you'd call "on the nose" if it hadn't come out [last year]. — Alex Cameron

Alex Cameron is a gifted storyteller; he crafts colorful cinematic narratives that explore themes like masculinity, sex, guilt and failure, while mixing Springsteen-like nostalgia with self-aware kitsch.

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.

Summer is over but fear not, Brijean’s latest single, the appropriately titled “Moody,” will have you swimming in a warm, electronic groove so smooth and cool, you’re gonna want to jump right in again. Even if you are not familiar with Brijean Murphy, you’ve heard her beats before. The Oakland-based musician is the highly-coveted percussionist behind artists like Toro y Moi, Poolside and U.S. Girls among others. In her latest musical project Brijean however, Murphy collaborates with producer, bassist and composer Doug Stuart. Together they mix a chill blend of conga and vintage electronic rhythms tinged with shades of house and synth-pop. Topped with a soft, bossa nova-like vocals, “Moody” makes for a very easy listen but its layered production of percussions, bass and synth is so addictive that, if you're not careful, the track will have you reach out for your second or even your third caipirinha. Listen responsibly. Photo by Jack Bool.

"Prayer Beat" by LOMELI is a slow-burning slice of a vibration born out of some heartfelt, emotive pangs only an artist entangled in a messy love affair with melody and soul could make. The sheer longing in the vocal is enough to make the same face Jay-Z made when Timbaland pressed play on the final "Dirt Off Your Shoulder" beat. Yet, it's the unwavering, tasteful production built on several of the prettiest harmonies this era of neo-soul has offered the world. Now, where's the IDM edit?

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It only took three minutes for a few of the golden leaves to gently annex themselves from the towering oak tree outside of the girl with the view of the park's window. She counted the leaves nevertheless. She even had a laugh over the viral video of a man counting numbers, then regained her composure as this was serious business, counting the number of leaves and all. Autumn was her favorite season, after all. It had been the hottest summer in the planet's history, and the fall felt as calm and crisp on her skin and mood as a freshly cracked open frozen can of soda pop. She could only count a few leaves before they stopped falling, some humorously reluctant to detach from the wood and the bark. When she stopped counting the leaves, her senses alerted her to the sound melting into her studio apartment's walls and floor. It reminded her of days at the lake with him, walks through the park with him, nights watching movies with him, runs up the mountains with him, dawns in the kitchen with him, drives from airports with him and dusks in the dark with him. She caught herself swaying to the song before the vocals came in. Once they did, she started to saunter her way towards the speakers. She caressed them with her palms. She put them together to mutter a silent prayer for more lazy evenings like these to give her more than enough solace to last her a billion lifetimes. That was when he knocked on her door and startled her so much she jumped into the air, face flushed red. She had to grab the corner of her desk to restore her balance before she walked towards the door to open it, to find him there on one knee. They married that fall and were a family of three by the next summer.