As I sit in a coffee shop studying the world through my neighboring window, “walk,” the debut single from Zoom-born lo-fi trio fruit collective, scores the monotony of everyday life with an intimate kind of patience. Cars search for parking spots and people soak up the sunshine around me, but the pensive candor of “walk” asks me to question which of these beings may be in need of a break. We all have unique ways of grounding ourselves, whether that’s listening to a meditation, taking a nap or splashing cool water on our faces. It’s human nature to need to cope, to move away from a pressure that may feel overwhelming for one reason or another. Often these moments can feel so consequential that we’ll overlook their truest purpose: to deliver relief. “walk,” however, gives a voice to this anomalous counter-perspective. The remotely crafted track has sunshine weaved into its mellow sequence, exuding a kind of trust in the universe ornately highlighted by gentle guitar rhythms and reverberating harmonies. “walk” conquers the humility and self-control of knowing when to take a step back. As far as debut singles go, fruit collective’s refreshing and forgiving melodies on “walk” have left me appreciating life’s slower moments and while staying eager for more of their delightful breakout-room-grown tunes.

During the strange era of quarantine, Wallice channeled her energy into her debut EP, titled Off the Rails, recorded between her Los Angeles childhood bedroom and her grandparents' house in Utah. Reflecting on the vulnerabilities of being a young adult living at home, Wallice enamors listeners with unguarded lyrics about the existentialism of your twenties blended with an effortless, bedroom pop sound.

A stand-out track titled “Dramamine" is enough to lure you to listen with curiosity to a song related to the motion sickness medicine. The song allows for Wallice’s self-crippling humor and doubts of a relationship to shine. “I need Dramamine when I’m with you / 'Cause you move faster than my trust issues,” she says in the song. While there’s no denying the anthem’s lyrics are relatable, the pairing of the indie synth sound makes it a nearly perfect pop hit to blast this summer. Photo by Jerry Maestas.

"One Thing" is a bright, synth-pop break-up song just in time for post-vaccine summer romances. The latest single from Latinx Dallas band Luna Luna features dream-pop artist The Undercover Dream Lovers (a.k.a. Matt Koenig) weaving together what seems to be a tailor-made collaboration. Luna Luna’s previous two records, For Lovers Only and Carousel, are short but sweet, romantic, fun, nostalgic pop delights that just hit the mark—and this new single is no exception. "One Thing" opens with a simple beat followed by the band’s distinct retro, synth-heavy groove, funky enough to have you bopping in the first seconds. By the time the chorus kicks in, you’ll be on your feet singing along to the catchiest chorus line you’ve heard in a while, “You know you got that one thing / one thing…” Koenig's soft, hazy vocals chime in halfway through, adding some contrast to frontman Kavvi’s soulful, delicate but sharp voice. There are many things that make this track memorable, but perhaps what makes "One Thing" stand out is its ultra-satisfying structural simplicity. Sometimes all you need is, in fact, that one thing—and Luna Luna delivers. Photo by Ash Rosas.

After The Haunted Youth’s debut single “Teen Rebel” won Studio Brussel’s talent contest De Nieuwe Lichting, it took Belgium and the world by storm with all kinds of media attention and airplay. Although those rave reviews set high expectations for the band’s newest release, rest assured, “Coming Home" absolutely blew those expectations out of the water. Now, it’s no question that The Haunted Youth has mesmeric dream pop down to the most minute detail. 

In “Coming Home,” a heightened production quality only adds to the already decadent haze signature of the band. The song seals the band in a unique position between retro and new age psychedelic pop, a position that makes this song so addictive. It’s the kind of jam you’ll find yourself setting on a loop during those warm summer nights, letting it steal you away into that wistful past and hopeful tomorrow.

What does it mean to be loved? To be loved wholly? To be loved for who you are, for the parts of yourself that will never change and the parts that will? 

Love can feel unexplainable or unreasonable, even. Doubt and anxiety can turn slight conflicts into unsettling internal attempts to investigate why someone loves you and how they could possibly do that. Amidst the familiar uncertainty of navigating relationships and identity, it’s not hard to believe that love is undeserved. As Miki Ratsula captures in “second,” accepting love can become complicated when it feels impossible to show love to yourself. 

Ratsula’s wispy vocals deliver the unease with a gentle demeanor, lyrics gracefully bearing the weight of such a tender message: "After the scars heal you'll change how you feel, overnight." It’s natural to wonder if our partners will be able to withstand the inconstancy of an evolving identity because of our refusal to let go of the idea that their love must be conditional. Instead of looming here, Ratsula challenges the discomfort by learning that their dynamic life is not a burden and working to be uplifted by the love of those around them. Struggling with who you are can make it hard to feel sure of anything, and “second” finds a way to show just how empowering unconditional love can be. Akin to an affirmation, "I just wanna love myself so I can love you better" is Miki Ratsula’s expositional cry to move forward towards a place of pride. Photo by Ashley Osborn.

“Say it,” he said in his Oxford blue button-up shirt, khaki pants and white sneakers from the other side of the room. He may as well have been on Mars; he felt that distant to her as she stood her ground on the corresponding side. How could I? she thought to herself, her eyes meeting his, telling him everything he needed to know. “You won’t say it,” he muttered to himself, cast his eyes downwards like he invented shoegaze. “It’s not that I won’t. I can’t,” she said, breaking her own vow of silence, the tears flowing now, the regret palpable now.

Written, produced and performed by Sakura herself (yes, even the backing vocals), Sakura’s “I Can’t Call You Baby” is a strings-heavy ode to resignation from toxicity. Shades of 15-time Grammy award winner Alicia Keys float to the surface around 2:33 when Sakura’s vocals reach new heights. “I hope that you’re on the way / I always say your name before I go to sleep,” Sakura sings, hinting at the possibility who or what the song is about was once a regular in her dreams and still may be welcomed at that. Attraction is such a fickle and flexible thing.