“June 14th,” the opening track on Lauren Auder’s two caves in EP, pulls you back into the unfiltered urgency of youth. Maybe because their sound is built on such clear dramatic arc, as a whole the EP feels very multimedia—like it should accompany a modern dance routine or a time-lapse video of a painting coming to life. From churning strings and thumping bass to twinkling bells and crackling static, “June 14th” is especially dense with sonic layers, each of which Auder has seemingly chosen with the methodical precision of an electrical engineer. Each instrumental line teems with its own separate energetic will: some on the verge of exploding into controlled chaos, others projecting an innocent comfort. And though it feels like each layer wants something different, within the container of the song they feel inextricably connected: like hundreds of lives moving together on a subway train, each can’t help but be pulled and jostled by its co-passengers towards something common. Meanwhile, the train’s conductor is Auder’s cinematically versatile voice, which floats coyly over romantic bridges (“Darling, every morning with you…”) but not before bellowing through dark tunnels of self-doubt (“I’ve been defensive since I left the womb” is a lyric I can’t stop coming back to this year). 

In an interview with Vogue, Auder revealed that the song is about “a first sexual relationship between two characters.” What they didn’t say is that the story is told so well that suddenly you are there, in it, young again, remembering that every feeling is an emergency, understanding that the way to freedom and togetherness, will always have to be rebellion.

Portland-based band M A N E's first single “|| Catamaran ||" is a dazzling, easy-listen. Its bedroom pop and soft sound is soothing to the ears, making you instantly feel at ease—mentally transporting you to the sea where you sail calming waters on a catamaran. The lyrics create a lovely juxtaposition, where expression of anxiety and inner battle exists. At a time when many are experiencing pain and unease, this track is there to make us feel a little less alone with our feelings. “When there’s a war in your chest, anxious and vexed, it’s all such a mess.” M A N E, who perfectly embodies HOMESHAKE and King Krule, successfully builds a sound of honesty when the world needs it most.

HAWA’s dreamy track “IPHONE” opens with a nuanced piano line and simple guitar accompaniment—it sounds soothing, smooth, and calm. But when you pay attention to the lyrics, they tell another story.  “I just wanna love someone / I don’t wanna fight no more / You say you sick of all the lies / I don’t know why I keep lying,” she sings earnestly. At its most emotional points, “IPHONE” is a song about the push and pull of relationships, and both craving and fearing intimacy. The person she longs to be intimate with, however, does not seem to fully reciprocate her feelings. 

“I just wanna know if you’ll be all mine / I can take it slow, I don’t really mind” HAWA pleads to her lover, which sends the message that she would do anything for their approval. As she receives a phone call at the end of the song, it’s not hard to imagine that it is her lover on the other line, ready to fight. “Fuck,” HAWA mutters as her phone starts to ring. Instead of the actual phone call, we hear these lines repeated like a chant: “Leave me alone / Leave me alone, babe / Leave me alone” and “Is it alright? Is it alright? / You know I want peace and safety in my home.” It seems that no matter what she says or does, the person she’s in love with will never be satisfied. Listen to “IPHONE” wherever you stream.

When your admiration for someone is strong enough, there are moments when you can’t help but step back in awe that you actually know them. Nashville’s Carmen Canedo explores that feeling with an acoustic guitar and a folksy chorus of angels on “How Can I Know You.” Like the musical setup, the lyrical scenes are powerful in their tender simplicity. With the right company, everyday activities like watching the clouds or sipping hot tea become vessels of tender significance. Your perception of temperature can even shift; suddenly, sitting on the icy ground is a small price to pay to be with this special person. In fact, as Canedo says in the chorus, you may even “welcome the chill.” What strikes me is that this is not exclusively a description of romantic love. Although you could feel this way about a partner, you could also feel it about your mother, or your friend, or your baby nephew. It’s a special strand of love found only in genuine camaraderie, and the feeling of incredulity that comes with it is totally understandable. We are taught from a young age that magic isn’t supposed to exist.

"Calling all fans of Ben Folds and Nick Cave! Finn Andrews' “Wide Winged Bird” will satisfy all of your soulful, folky, British dreams. The production on this one is just so, so lush; harmonies that somehow sound soft and sparse at the same time, strings that you can feel the bow dragging ever-so-lightly over, bass that thumps faintly, keeping the subtle swing of the song...I wish I’d been in the room when this was recorded. Each lyric feels like a watercolor; “When you kissed my lips, they were cold like mine.” Expertly balancing an aesthetic equally at home in Sons of Anarchy or in a heart-string tugging movie like About Time, “Wide Winged Bird” will make you FEEL. “At the end of the day, across a moonless sky, comes a wide-winged bird, sent to close my eyes.” Oof! Well done, Finn Andrews. While you're at it, check out the whole new EP and his previous album, One Piece at a Time—standout songs include "Love, What Can I Do?", "One by the Venom", and "Al Pacino / Rise and Fall."

On “But There’s Still the Moon,” Chicago singer-songwriter Tasha clings to that which is stable and consistent within a world where not much is anymore. As her first single since 2018, the track reveals a Tasha with her guard down, looking forward and looking up. Through warm synths and laid back guitar she confesses “The truth is all these rhymes / Barely hold me together / But I still try / To bare it through the bad weather / Winter’s harsh sting / So unforgiving.” Yet, even throughout the turmoil surrounding her, Tasha finds hope from up above. As almost an exhale full of relief, she reminds herself of that which she can always count on, “But there’s still the moon / And I still really love the color blue.” The artist's sense of hope comes to a culmination within a towering chorus—one so sweet and vulnerable that you can’t help but feel the optimistic glow radiating from each word as she commits to bettering her future self under the watchful eye of the man on the moon.

"Not Much" is a compelling, semi-abstract art piece. The track opens with a flirtatious walking bassline followed closely by jazzy chords that hook your interest right away. Next, you are introduced to Kim Tillman’s spellbinding voice. The first (and only) verse provides the closest thing to concrete imagery the song possesses—a hazy half-remembered conversation left unfinished. The lyrics start to swirl around themselves as Tillman's voice dances through your ears in dizzying vocal layers. It’s as though you are tumbling through space yet never quite hit the ground. You end up suspended in a realization; it’s a thought caught somewhere between disturbing and liberating. Willing and able are two entirely different things, aren’t they?