Right off the bat, Kaiti Jones’ “Gettin Around to it” ropes in listeners with upbeat folk-rock pep and gets movin’ and groovin’ with a reviving, yet honest sound. With lyrics like “I wear an analog watch around my wrist / It hasn’t told me the time since 2016,” Jones’ witty charm and soothing voice serve as the perfect homage to indecision and procrastination. In “Gettin Around to It,” the songwriter acknowledges that problems are meant to be resolved. Continuing to put things off only leads to more frustration. Jones grapples with the idea of being motionless with progress when it comes to facing the truth, amidst physically moving to try and avoid her struggles. “Gettin Around To It” should not be labeled simply as your newest song to jam in the car to, but it should also be appreciated for the lyrical honesty the song contains. The single is the Boston-based artist’s first release of 2021 and the second single off her upcoming album Tossed, scheduled to release March 5. All in all, there are many things we should be gettin’ around to, and listening to Kaiti Jones should be on top of that list. Photo by Paula Champagne.

Separation is not for the faint of heart on “Alone,” San Cisco’s love letter that’s scared to say “I miss you.” The Australian indie pop trio fashions their psychedelic pop quintessence into a vulnerable ballad, singing of the constant push and pull in a long-distance relationship. It seems impossible to quiet the voice asking, “Does love drift away / A little bit every day?” when you wear yourself thin attempting to exist in two places at once, both where you reside physically and with the one person who feels like home. There’s an idyllic nostalgia in love feeling “elastic,”  how it “pulls me back to pink sunsets”; it calls to mind an old love of mine tied to strawberry skies and golden sand between my toes, one that I lost to distance, yet still enraptures me years later. 

The emotionally challenging song strays greatly from first track of theirs I ever heard, the infectiously bouncy “Run,” which still sits close to my heart as the first and only time I’ve ever heard my name in a song. The group’s new sense of self-awareness permeates their latest record, Between You and Me. 

—

we close a 400-mile gap and I fall
onto your shoulder in the cab, hoping 
my head will still fit into the crook of your neck.

fingertips trace the outline of my bare legs
blue eyes move from my chest, lifting and dropping
to the numbers on the meter, rising
back to the lights, meshing
into a blur of white out the window.

“Yours,” the latest single from Will Davila, fits perfectly into his catalog of easygoing songs with skillful guitar work and heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics. The vocals are warm and, at times, slightly muffled. The song’s raw honesty shines through a cloud of mellow keys and guitar, as Davila expresses uncertainty about a relationship: “What if I tried to do the same? Would you need me in your life like you did before?” It’s a song about commitment, the patience to wait for someone else (“Just as long as I’m the one you’re waiting for,”) and especially, the desire to treat them better than they have been treated in the past (“I won’t be like him ‘cause it’s not what you deserve”). “Yours” goes down as smooth as its tender message; the understated arrangement and gentle groove make way for emotive lyricism and vulnerability. When Davila sings, “Baby, I’m all yours,” he leaves it all out in the open.

Singer-songwriter Abe Parker and rapper Paul Russell’s new single “Somebody New” is a perfectly sweet love song about how “this could never be a song for somebody new.” The two met via Reach Records' Christmas album The Gift when Parker took notice of Russell’s verse on the track “We Three Kings.” Russell’s laid back flow is perfectly accented by reverb-heavy guitar and minimalistic beats that make it feel like the perfect low-key summer track as he takes the lead on the first half. He tells the story of a relationship starting with “you know we met back then / acting like we understand art” before mentioning the passage of time and leaning into the chorus. It’s sweet and romantic while being grounded in reality and small details. Parker takes over after the first chorus and tells a story of his own, singing, “played for keeps and girl you got my life / didn’t even have to try.” The sweet and smooth collab is a perfect way to end the summer.

Izzy Heltai has a talent for demonstrating nostalgia and incentivizing reflection. "Songbird" is an early glance at Father, a nine-track exploration on matters past and present that is bound for stores and streaming platforms on October 9. Here, surf-rock meets folk to underscore a light case of introspective questioning. Though romantically afflicted, Heltai keeps a playful posture that rings out like a daydream. The speaker is refreshingly bashful and dodges direct discourse with the subject of his affection. Instead, he seeks the advice of his friends in the audience. His under-confident message meets a generous, full-bodied sound to convey the reality of passion — a conflicting force of total presence and inner retreat, all at once.

The new EP from LA-based Scarypoolparty (solo project of Alejandro Aranda), Doom Hologram, opens with “Return2Sender”—the first of an eight-track story, meant to be played in order. Lingering just under five minutes, “Return2Sender” encapsulates the feeling of watching raindrops roll down the window, as golden candlelight flickers and once-fresh flowers on the table slowly wither away. Throughout the ethereal track, the scent of broken promises is as fragrant as wilting roses, leaving the listener to once again taste the words they wish they’d said to someone (“You take my words and break me down / I wrote you letters just to say ‘I love you’ / And now I know that you would tear them all apart”). The track allows Aranda, an American Idol alum, to flex his pop sensibilities and brings to mind the exact inspirations referenced in the release’s press statement—that he “channels the prodigious dexterity of John Mayer overlaid with the ethereal pop of The 1975.” Aranda’s hurt is undeniably palpable, and this candor is the heartbeat that drives the song through its melodic turns and an aching acoustic interlude. But, as great art is so often made, Aranda turned heartache into a glowing and visceral connection with his listeners — and one they won’t soon forget. Photo by Nicole Busch.