The latest single from New Jersey-born, Los Angeles-based musician CARR is the cathartic alt-pop breakup song we all need to hear at some point in our lives. Breakups are almost never easy, but it helps when you have a song like this one reminding you that you can do so much better, that you don’t settle for less, and that you don’t need to waste any more of your time on anyone who’s dishonest or unworthy. The lyrics are brutal, deadpan in their delivery, the percussive beat heavily syncopated over the occasional high-pitched echo of a dreamy synth that lightens the song’s tone and hints at optimism. Tight, muted vocals over pop-punk guitar riffs drag the song’s subject mercilessly, as CARR repeats what feel like mantras, among them, “I’m glad you’re gone, I’m glad I left,” building towards the antithesis of the song’s title. The last line of the song is a conclusive and undeniable takeaway we can all apply to ourselves in our relationships, romantic and otherwise: “Gotta be a winner if you’re getting with me.” Photo by CJ Harvey.

The folk track "Water" finds its author caught in an undertow of their own invention. Neither belonging here nor there, the subject of "Water" is a victim to the formidable, pulsing current of indecision that plagues so many young people. This track is a gorgeous representation of that distinct, transient turbulence that meets every 20-something. Your 20s is truly the first period in one's life where they're confronted with societal expectations, but the way those expectations are handled is contingent on personality or circumstance. While some dive in full force and prosper, the nuances of self-actualization can leave some flailing for a time, struggling to keep plants alive. And others still, like our troubadour in "Water," would rather muse with wonder on future prospects and possibilities instead of hating or fearing them. But that doesn't leave our speaker free of tension: with the lyric "I have always been this way," as dreamy and endearing as it is indicative of its author, it's clear that the onus is on the speaker to balance the delicate push and pull of obligation/reality vs. freedom/dreaming. Bringing these themes to the forefront is an interesting and engaging songwriting method from Zach Wood and Hollan that has us looking forward to their collaborative EP Cowgirland, due out August 6. Photo by Anna Manotti.

The last thing he wanted to do was leave her, but the water cried for him in all of its stupid thundering pale blue. He was comfortable; his bare ass in the sand, her bare ass in the sand, their hands interlocked. Her tears were saltier than the sea’s. She wasn’t much of a swimmer, but the boy practically grew up with gills for skin. He drove her crazy, and she drove him home. But their car was as foreign a mode of transportation to them as a watery wooly mammoth or a Bowhead whale. They were young—young as they would ever be, and they were white—white as porcelain or milk. The sun shone hard on the nude beach. He cupped her miniature face in his large palms and, thirsting, slurped up her tears, his moppy black hair tickled her forehead. She wasn’t scared anymore. They weren’t going home. They were going into the open sea, she knew now, she could tell by the lighthouses in his eyes. He stood first, naked as he was on the day he was born—a day she would come to celebrate—and took off running, splashing, shouting, sensing, sending. She laughed, and she followed.

Thomas LaVine lifts listeners into the sentimental Wedding Crashers scene when Owen Wilson and Rachel McAdams have a heart-to-heart on the beach. That’s how good of a job the indie-folk artist from North Carolina carries out on “Open Sea,” a song that reads like a moment, dedicated to lovely decisions and the best of both worlds.

Summer 2021 is ripe for nostalgic indulgence as the vaccinated emerge, unblinking into the sun after more than a year of darkness. Enter interdisciplinary artist Nathan Bajar, whose Bandcamp profile description reads humbly, “i take pictures & make music :~)”—an oversimplification of his accomplishments in both fields. The emoticon at the end is just one of the many analog touches that frame Bajar’s overarching aesthetic. A quick glance at his past album artwork, all awash in wistful pastels, reveals faded family photo collages and handwritten titles scrawled across college-ruled paper. It seems the entirety of Bajar’s work is an ode to his family life and upbringing, and his latest release, “Big Body,” is no exception. While the track’s inviting lo-fi quality, soulful vocals and summery bassline will pull you in immediately, the lyrics reveal Bajar’s fondness for his old “beater.” As portrayed in the accompanying (and equally nostalgic) music video, the beater in question is none other than his beloved Yukon XL, a “beautiful wreck of gray” whose “days have been better,” especially now, with memories of “twenty in a ten-seater” more than a year behind her. Bajar chooses to indulge in nostalgia’s warm glow by taking the old girl out for “one more joy ride.” Take a cue from him and let “Big Body” and its dizzying background harmonies, swimmy guitar and retro beats be the soundtrack to your summertime indulgence of choice. Photo by Kirsten David. 

Singer and producer Nandi Rose has been releasing music under Half Waif since 2014. Her latest album Mythopoetics takes a mythological view of events from her life and her family, like a potpourri of stories passed down through generations. The fourth track “Fortress” centers around the anxiety of a loved one leaving, however inevitable it may seem. Produced alongside Zubin Hensler, the song is a luxuriantly layered gem of synth-pop. Rose’s siren-like vocals sit atop the garden oasis of synthesizers, ethereal and honeyed. The song’s bridge is a grand explosion, like fireworks of sound as the chorus repeats like a plea for life. As the last flare of the instrumental fades out, Rose’s vocals are left with the sound of an acoustic piano and swelling pads as she sings two simple phrases that manage to evoke so much: “I guess this is all for you / My bet is, it's all for you.” Photo by Ali Kate Cherkis.

Hailing from Toronto, Canada, Frank Mighty’s Hotline makes neo-psychedelic earworms. With a choppy lo-fi piano intro making way to a 2-beat pattern grove and falsetto vocals, “Rakefire” is quick to grab your attention. An Old English insult, a rakefire is defined as a person who overstays their welcome, something this song will never do. Frank Mighty’s Hotline’s soulful voice pairs beautifully with the verse’s minimal melancholic instrumentation, while acoustic instruments usher in the song’s triumphant chorus. The song’s lyrics deal with the fear of not wanting to become a rakefire, like the people you’ve distanced yourself from. “I like the stuff you do just to stay relevant” sums up the song’s look at those who are unable to let go of the spotlight in today’s media and popular culture landscape. While the chorus, “I don’t want another rakefire in the house that I built with my own two hands,” is a self-reflective look at the rakefire in ourselves. Photo by Jenn Stevens.

From the Knoxville, Tennessee quartet Crumbsnatchers, “One Call” is a sun-drenched, high-energy rock tune, infused with some modern psychedelic influences. The group’s name comes from frontman Sam “Guetts” Guetterman’s experience at a faith-based juvenile detention camp when he was 16 years old. The group’s sound is as unique as its name, shaped by a wide array of artists and genres. With its bouncing bass line, tight drums and catchy melody, the song is the epitome of a head-bopping summer track. The melody and harmonies are reminiscent of early surf-rock, making their way down the scale. Despite its catchy upbeat instrumentation, the song’s lyrics lament on a love lost: “I only wanted to make one call / Nothing I could ever say could ever bring my baby back home.” The juxtaposition of the lively instrumentals and the contemplative lyrics makes the song the perfect candidate for crying while on your drive to the beach. Photo by homermixesmusic.