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.

Blue Canopy is the newest project of Portland-based musician Alex Schiff. "656" is Blue Canopy’s first-ever release, and it is a single that will be appearing on the band’s forthcoming album Mild Anxiety dropping April 17. "656" is high-energy, its full-bodied sound inspiring motivation in all of us. However, a closer listen reveals a somberness lurking behind the track's spirited instrumentation; its lyrics describing “crippling anxiety” and the defeat of an ending relationship. New York City, a place where finding solitude in hardship is historically difficult and Schiff's former home is the backdrop of "656". In this sense, the tone of the song is not mismatched to its message, but rather, its most clever feature. "656" highlights a frustration that every New Yorker harbors at some point; that despite what you’re going through in your personal life, the city’s pace does not slow. Think of it like crying on the subway—it won’t stop a performer from dangling on the rails with their speaker on full blast.

Promising a chimerical energy to her upcoming album, Hold Space for Me, singer Tiffany Majette known as Orion Sun introduces us to the new era with the single, "Coffee For Dinner." The track brings up the chaotic vibe of the internal war going on within the self of a 2020-living human being. Evoking her childhood dreams of being an astronaut, the Philadelphia-based artist wants you to feel like you're looking at Earth's mayhem through a collection of dark clouds and that is exactly what "Coffee For Dinner" delivers. The song also reminds you that what you see and the truth are two separate things that many times barely touch. Breaking the barrier of the suffocating world with her voice (to paraphrase the artist herself), Orion Sun builds up the universe she wants to make music in. Hold Space for Me comes out March 27 via Mom + Pop and her US tour starts in late April.

“Baby, It’s Okay to Worry Sometimes” is an anthem for the age of anxiety. The verse kicks off with a man’s bass-baritone register, “Darling I / I need to talk to somebody / So they can take a look inside." For a second, it sounds like it could be sampling early Johnny Cash. Cue bait and switch: GUERRIÈR picks up the trailing vocal (“Inside my mind,”) without skipping a beat, a seamless transition from folk to pop. GUERRIÈR is the stage name of Tyler Alfred Guerrier, a singer-songwriter, multi-instrumentalist and producer based in Orlando, Florida. His fluid approach to genre creates sounds that feel fresh and beguiling. As the beat drops around the 1:30 mark, a third, female voice is introduced, and with it, a new dimension. Her airy vocals layer atop GUERRIÈR’s ear-warming ones and a series of delicate harmonies follow, “Inside my mind / There’s something off / Cause I am not where I belong." Stay tuned for an EP this year.

Powerful and utterly mesmerizing, “Running Out of You” captures a genuine sense of heartache and yearning. In her newest release, Brooklyn-based artist Emily Jackson sings of loss in a complete state of pleading. The build-up to the chorus is melodic and beautifully mysterious, while the peak of the song reaches powerhouse fantasy. This change in sound occurs one minute into the track, shifting from euphonious to energetic, thus creating movement and overall dynamic. Jackson’s lyrics, candid and aching, beg the listener to reflect and understand her pain: “I’ve been here since you left me / And I’ve been doing alright / Made a home for myself here / So I can feel the pain all the time."

Worse even than finding a strand of an ex’s hair is having to do something about their half-empty bottle of hair product. In “Shampoo Bottles,” Peach Pit takes a cynically realistic approach to abandoned toiletries, singing, “I’ve run out of my speed stick, honey / So I have been using yours.” Singer Neil Smith finds the personality of his old love in even the most mundane objects, like soap that could have only come from a hippie health shop, or a Toyota Corolla missing a specific pattern of dents. “It shows how coping with a loss can make you weird things,” he says of the song, but only because the weirdness of heartbreak takes on new meaning when applied to the mundanity of household objects rather than grand gestures and melodramatic episodes. Smith’s voice aches with the apathy that comes along with being unable to think about anything else, but guitarist Chris Vanderkooy’s lines weave playfully in and out of the vocal melody, reminding us that it’s all a little absurd. Summery surf rock has never been such a bummer. “Baby, how fucked is that?”