The majority of new music that has been released during quarantine has felt urgent and introspective—often forcing us to face uncomfortable sides of ourselves. However, California artist Lillian Frances has us looking outwards. Her debut album, Moonrise Queendom, is a joy to listen to and puts her among a group of exciting new artists to follow.

On "Pídelo," Frances invites us to look at the moon. She describes a bright summer night, which she’s in awe of—enticing us to join her skywatching. As her lyrics discretely shift to Spanish, she asks us to listen to gossiping stars, "Las estrellas son cotillas, escucha!" Her reverence for the moon and stars is contagious and vibrant with childlike wonder. And yet for a song that wanders through the night sky, "Pídelo" seems to have plenty of sunshine. A self-described "sonic collage," Frances weaves together electronic textures and rhythms with a warped playfulness that brings to mind recent Dirty Projectors.

Lillian Frances brings the same kind of fun, colorful energy to electro-pop that Sylvan Esso did in 2014. It is no surprise that six years ago, while attending a Sylvan Esso concert in L.A, she described what she was thinking on her Facebook page, “that is what I am going to do.” And so she did, and even more impressively, she managed to make her own sound along the way.

“Innocent," the latest single from LA-based artist Teenage Priest, transports me to the early days of young love. The incessant guitar riff I find myself humming along to sounds like the nervous, excited energy that comes along with first getting to know someone. Taylor Van Ginkel is the name behind Teenage Priest and the female voice that accompanies him is that of his girlfriend, Erin Kim. The playful nature of their two voices evoke a feeling of infatuation, which makes it almost impossible to stop from smiling as they confess, “You make me feel so innocent / Even if I wasn't right / You make me feel so innocent / Being with you all the time.” This track helps to affirm my belief that the honeymoon phase really can be more than just a passing phase with the right person.

Those familiar with the multifaceted work of visual and musical artist Yves Tumor (aka Sean Bowie) know that their music appears to always be in constant metamorphosis. Despite often being described as ‘experimental’ for their boundary-pushing body of work, the enigmatic Miami-born artist bends genre beyond its edges. Their latest record, Heaven To A Tortured Mind is a platter of sonic delights lush with electronic textures, funky basslines, and shoegaze guitar riffs all against a glam-rock backdrop. "Strawberry Privilege" stands out as perhaps a bit quieter but still incredibly layered. Consistent with the rest of the album, the song works in themes of fame, love and relationships. In the track, Bowie’s soft, high-pitch voice beautifully merges with the heavenly backing vocals of Sunflower Bean’s Julia Cumming, both accompanied by a cool and steady bassline and simple drums, all adding up to a sound of haunting beauty. As the song becomes increasingly layered, elements that were easily identifiable begin to blend subconsciously and before you know it, you’re onto the next track. As someone so casually unconcerned with genre, Yves Tumor transcends musical identities at a time when identities can be both restraining as well as liberating.

On his striking debut single “GLORY,” BERWYN folds into the shadowy depths of his mind and emerges with challenging memories, paradoxical truths, and magnificent hope. His calm spoken-word delivery and plaintive, woozy piano riffs are put together with such poise that you might not notice what’s happening at first. That almost silent crackle is the building of potential. What we know about the human heart is that it has openings, and that they are generally kept small to block the difficult things from entering. Perhaps, like me, today, you could feel that familiar shape in your chest before you heard “GLORY.” But now, since you pressed play, the openings have likely been unlatched: as much by the static energy of minimalist piano as by the earnest sharing of truth. And once the sung chorus comes in—"tastes like”—"tastes like”—"gloooryy”—I hope it swoops into your heart, like mine, inconspicuously, and resets something you didn’t know was buzzing for attention.

For us mere mortals, it’s often satisfying to watch celebrities become starstruck over other celebrities. Remember Jennifer Lawrence’s not-so-subtle flirtations with Jack Nicholson on the red carpet before the 2013 Oscars? YouTube gold. Since exploding onto the national scene after winning NPR’s Tiny Desk Contest in 2017, Tank and the Bangas have rightfully earned their own superstar status. The New Orleans-based, GRAMMY-nominated group’s imaginative arrangements span multiple genres and have garnered widespread attention and respect. That’s why the band’s homage to André 3000, “For André,” is so delightful. 

Long-time fan and powerhouse front vocalist, Tarriona "Tank" Ball and her bandmates wrote this song as a birthday gift to the iconic, influential artist. Ball, a gifted lyricist who has all the makings of becoming an international sensation all her own, uses her voice both as a powerful storytelling vehicle and musical instrument. In the song, she skillfully juxtaposes the two distinct mindsets of the protagonist. The rhythmic vocal melody in the verses depicts a starry-eyed fan’s excitable thoughts as she navigates through the crowd at an Outkast concert, hoping to meet her idol backstage. While pushing her way through “All these phony people / girls wanna get at you,” she drifts in and out of a dream-like state, as captured by the legato, melodic nature of the choruses. Her daydreams become a concert goer’s ultimate goal: to marry her celebrity crush. The only thing that would make this feel-good saga more satisfying would be to see André’s response to this lighthearted tribute. Someday, most certainly, some rising star will write their own homage, “For Tank.”

UK singer and songwriter L.A. Salami is a witty, insightful lyricist and an artist with considerable genre-blending range. His musical roots are in the folk singer-songwriter tradition; Bob Dylan was an early influence and role model. He has since delved into blues-rock and hip-hop, always driven by storytelling and perceptive social commentary. With “The Cage,” L.A. Salami delivers a timely meditation on race and politics, surveying the injustices and confines of our systems and societies. Over a hypnotic groove, he raps, “capitalism’s on its knees telling math jokes” and mentions “seeing race wars rage live on Facetime.” This is not acoustic troubadour folk music (which L.A. Salami also does quite well), but with its finger firmly on the pulse and its lyrics a mirror to our world, it is every bit a folk song. It’s also an example of some of L.A. Salami’s most inventive production choices yet and suggests an exciting direction for his upcoming album, The Cause of Doubt & a Reason to Have Faith, set for release on July 17. In challenging moments like this one, some artists just know what to say—L.A. Salami is one such artist, and we are lucky to listen.

“I’m sorry if this bumps / Can’t be mad I dropped another one” is what Halima says to an ex—and we are not mad about it at all. “Wake Up!” is genre-bending pop/r&b artist Halima’s newest single, full of intense, commanding lyrics with a seemingly effortless delivery. Her voice cuts through her lyrics like butter, but her words are in no way commonplace or lukewarm. “I was too woman, you ain’t enough man” comes right before “Imma choose myself in love,” which is Halima choosing her own personhood and her art above anyone who has not yet awoken to her talent and heart. Our society is inundated with deep injustice towards black people, and waking up those who have not already realized that is not just what should happen, but what is necessary. Sales from “Wake Up!” for the first month are being donated to Campaign Zero, Reclaim The Block and the NAACP.

I come home to the walls of my room painted in rich lavender. Like a loved lilac, I could bloom here after being watered all day. Why do I move, why do I dance when I am feeling low? I don’t know, but the colors wake me up. I’m alone in my room, let alone my house. My parents must be at work late. With life to myself, I stand on my bed and sing at the top of my lungs into a hairbrush. I watch myself go in my mirror. My hair's in my eyes, and my heart's in my throat. I wonder how much my throat would burn if it was possible to throw it up. I wonder if it was possible to grow another heart like a strand of hair, would I choose to? I wonder if I could sing along to Serena Isioma’s “Hard” and be heartless. I’m still wondering.