On her new single “The Temporary," Kate Teague deals with impactful changes, self-doubt, and uncertainty. The first offering since her 2019 debut EP has the singer-songwriter somewhat diverting from her folksy foundation to an experimental, dreamy lane with the new addition of synths and drum loops. A task that she began after exploring some new influences, “I wrote this song when I first started to listen to a lot of experimental artists like Colleen and Jenny Hval.” Lyrically though, Teague doesn’t abandon her heartfelt and honest sensibility. She takes aim at the questions: where is truly the best place for me and what is next? Her clear-cut, rich vocals coast along as she proclaims, “Sink into my couch and think about a place I'd rather be / But would it mother me / And will I ever feel exactly where I ought to be.” The instrumentation circles around her and acts as a reliable companion as she ponders what’s to follow.

Her concerns for what else might be out there and if she is sitting at the end of the line speak to this exact, poignant moment—where she isn’t alone in the slightest. Maybe now is the time to take stock of what might actually be the correct direction for each of us. Maybe then we'll feel more alive and able when life actively resumes. The single is out now via Muscle Beach Records.

The Black Lives Matter movement didn’t start in 2020, but this year is ushering in an era ripe for new protest music. “I Can’t Breathe” by H.E.R. could very well be the definitive anthem against racial profiling and police brutality. The title, which has since become a slogan often used in protest messaging, references the last words of multiple victims of murder at the hands of police, starting with Eric Garner and most recently and famously by George Floyd. This song is meant to be listened to actively, with no distractions, so as to fully absorb the message, of which every word is important. Gabriella Wilson, the artist known professionally as H.E.R., sings clearly and with a careful pacing, likely intentional for the sake of communicating the lyrics most effectively. With an emotional, pleading tone in her voice, she delivers a straightforward gut punch: “I can’t breathe / You’re taking my life from me / I can’t breathe / Will anyone fight for me?” A slam poetry-style rap section tackles multiple aspects of the complicated issue of racial injustice in America, from systemic oppression to white privilege. “Be thankful we are God-fearing because we do not seek revenge; we seek justice,” the poet cries, with equal parts heart-wrenching fervor and activist authority. “I Can’t Breathe” is the message we all need to hear right now.

The newest single from bi-coastal-based Secret American, “Here Comes a Man,” seems to float along an island breeze. A mournful trumpet opening preludes heartbeat-style drums that whisk you inside an indie romance film—one where you happen to be sipping a piña colada on the beach while locking eyes with your summertime love-at-first-sight. Lead vocalist Derek Krzywicki offers us rose-colored vision into this meet-cute in the opening line, softly singing in the vein of an Americana Alex Turner, “Hello, I’ve seen your face before, I don’t recall your name / You’re looking at me too long through a glass of champagne.” But before we know it, he has craned his neck to notice his love-interest’s sub-par boyfriend and the song transforms from an ode to instant attraction into a declaration of daring confidence: “Is he making you happy, doesn’t look like he can." As the protagonist walks up to them, he grunts both musically and memorably, and announces his own presence with “Here comes a man.” It brings to mind the otherworldly recognition that comes with meeting the eyes of our future love, and smirking as we approach them—knowing we’re about to shatter their world in the best way possible:

how curious, as

you glide on cumulus

clouds, instantly

i realize—i’ve climbed

all of the mountains

contained in the galaxies

swirling inside 

your eye’s azure iris;

nine, ten lifetimes

before. now, if only

this time, you could 

tell me

your name?

It's an elegant and brutal exclamation point to a poetic, all-encompassing album. The highly anticipated follow-up record to Stranger in the Alps possesses every quality that endeared the world to Phoebe Bridgers' original musicianship. Bridgers has an ability to effortlessly marry brooding emo rock and soft, heartfelt folk in her songwriting—making her a leading voice in modern-day alt music. "I Know the End" is particularly startling because of its chameleon nature. It's dreary and sweet, hard rock anthemic, and gritty emo at its finest. It's not that the song can't make up its mind. In fact, the track eloquently punctuates every theme and tone previously introduced earlier in the album. "I Know the End" is a thesis statement of Bridgers' discography, mood, and inner conflict. Its lyrics emphasize the primary wrestlings from Punisher's stand-out tracks including "Chinese Satellite" and "Garden Song," which include a longing to believe (or disbelieve) in a higher power, a weariness over our apocalyptic society, and the aching loneliness of nostalgia. The track lyrically and musically escalates to a chorus of voices scream-singing "The End is Here," which feels like the most freeing expression of feeling utterly helpless in a climate of chaos. "I Know the End" concludes with Bridgers literally screaming while the song erupts under her voice. It's off-putting, then moving, then heartbreaking. The song ends with Bridgers ASMR-style breathing into the mic, laughing, and gasping for a breath, which brings you back down to earth after having transcended to an intensely ethereal and depressive space. This track is a defining, honest glance at our unforgiving circumstances. It brings you to the conclusion that maybe hope is found in unflinchingly observing the messes we make, addressing them, and moving forward—not taking ourselves too seriously along the way.

Reflective and hyper-relevant, Anderson .Paak’s “Lockdown” feels like a conversation you’d have with a close friend, reflexively calling them up in a moment of downtime to download on what’s been a brutal few months.

He unpacks recent happenings with colloquial candor,

"You should've been downtown (word)"

overlapping current events and personal response 

"Sicker than the COVID how they did him on the ground... / Plus unemployment rate, what, forty million now?"

"Someone cut the channel off the news 'fore I lose it" 

with call-it-as-he-sees it bullshit (read: societal irony, hypocrisy).

"Said, 'It's civil unrest,' but you sleep so sound / Like you don't hear the screams when we catchin' beatdowns? /Stayin' quiet when they killin' n-----, but you speak loud / When we riot, got opinions comin' from a place of privilege."

With characteristically deft verse, .Paak delivers an astute, enduring Black Lives Matter protest song that simultaneously holds space for us to process, in real time along with him, the impact of this surreal moment in our history while we’re currently living it. In simple summation, “the people are rising.” The song leaves us with 40 seconds of instrumental, demanding we take a few more beats to think about it.  

Next, be sure to check out .Paak’s accompanying video as well, featuring additional lyrics by Jay Rock and directed by Dave Meyers. All cast and crew salaries were donated to Dream Defenders.

In their mellow, entrancing fashion, Brooklyn local duo Fake Dad sweetly sing their own rendition of The Postal Service’s “Such Great Heights." Andrea de Varona’s voice aerates the track, inviting a floating feeling into the mix which beautifully fastens the sound to the lyrical notion of being up above the earth. Like a welcomed hallucination, the euphonious plucking of strings likens itself to a warm and rising wind.