Mal Blum uses punk tropes like distorted power chords and driving drum beats not to express anger, but as “the next chapter of my therapy session,” they said in a press release for the album Pity Boy, due out July 12. “I Don’t Want To," the second single from the album, is a joyful, energetic song about feelings typically at direct odds with joy and energy, as Blum sings, “When I go out / When I come home I only feel relief.” Blum takes the trepidation expressed in the lyrics and cleverly plants those ideas in the music itself, too. They rush to get words out, finagling them into the correct number of beats, never quite finishing a complete thought. “Some people have / Commitment issues / Heard through the grapevine / That you moved into / A whole new life,” they sing, and even the verse’s guitars, played by Blum and Audrey Zee Whitesides of Speedy Ortiz, feel jumpy and excited. There’s an undeniable joy in “I Don’t Want To,” the sigh of relief of a weight finally being lifted off one’s chest. This sigh battles with the song’s themes until the explosion of the chorus, a triumphantly confident sing-along ultimatum — “I don’t want to / I don’t want to / I don’t want to / So I won’t.”

With the lilt of a cosmic lullaby, Lucy Dacus pieces through the nuance of mother-daughter relationships on her springtime release "My Mother and I." Over a hypnotizing acoustic guitar riff with just the right amount of twang and waves of atmospheric sparkling, Dacus’ lyricism is a tender survey of the parts of mother that she sees in herself, and what it means to raise a daughter in a society that is highly critical of women’s bodies. As always, Dacus sings with compelling warmth and a keen sense of honesty. The minimalist instrumentation serves to further highlight her intimate lyricism. The tune takes a timely Taurean turn in the chorus as Dacus sings of the astrological sign that she shares with her mother—"the stars have a lot to say / about babies born in the month of May / we are down to Earth / we see eye to eye / we dig our feet in / my mother and I."

“Come Home” is the smooth, crescendoing opening track on Anderson .Paak’s newest album, Ventura. The release finds .Paak making a successful return to soul after veering left, toward rap, on last year’s Oxnard, a decision that disgruntled fans hoping for a follow-up to his groundbreaking 2016 record, Malibu. Ventura, released just five months after Oxnard, is that follow-up; it’s a larger, livelier, and wiser ode to romance and classic soul, and “Come Home” is a powerhouse of an opener. The funk rock heart of the arrangement, which builds to gratifying release, compliments the impressive percussion and .Paak’s light, jovial vocal. He sings to his love with an effortlessly likable croon: “I’m begging you please / Come home / No one even begs anymore.” Later, André 3000’s rap solo acts as its own distinct section of the song and showcases his virtuosic talent with words. It’s the perfect bridge, balancing out .Paak’s tender, sincere soul with sharp words and a pulsing flow. With a groovy beat and compelling lyrics, “Come Home” is a fun ode to old school soul music.

“Mrs. Carver,” from Burlington, Vermont’s Fever Dolls, with its Americana imagery, feels like a piano ballad straight out of Springsteen On Broadway—right down to the wistful harmonica break . A disclaimer at the start of the music video warns, “Listeners can expect to feel sentimental / reflective / empathetic / verklempt,” the last of which of course is a derivative of the Yiddish word meaning “overcome with emotion.” The songs of Fever Dolls walk a fine line between melodrama and whimsy, in large part due to Evan Allis’ prodigious songwriting talents. “Mrs. Carver” showcases both his penchant for mining the emotional depths of expository songwriting and his playful dedication to word choice, snapping pictures of precise moments with the internal slant rhymes of lines like, “Mrs. Carver of West Virginia / Second daughter of a prominent fixture / Pride of Harvard, blight of the bay.” Singer Renn Malloy, able to belt the roof off of any covered bridge in Vermont, shows tactful restraint in “Mrs. Carver,” delivering the band’s most moving performance to date.

Eliza Bagg, also known as one half of Pavo Pavo, has taken a side step to recenter and introduce herself as a solo artist. Taking the name Lisel, Bagg uses the space the solo project provides to digs deeper into her talent as a vocal artist and creates intricate sounds and rhythms using her voice as the lead instrument. Accompanied by timely pitched synths and tones, one thing is certain: experimental pop and Lisel are clearly a good fit for one another.

“Ciphers,” Lisel’s first single off her upcoming debut album, possesses traits that let her time with Pavo Pavo shine through. Like her work with the band, the sound is heavily comprised of airy whisps and slow builds with clever lyrics—but now, the focus on her voice is what sets her music apart. She pushes her vocal cords to the most alluring and haunting limits as those lyrics climb and the chorus swells. Bagg’s vocals are eloquently layered to develop this dreamlike state of heavy chords and soft weightless words. Like a heartfelt lullaby, the song draws you in from the very start, and by the end, you’re left craving more.

Vampire Weekend’s fourth full-length record was forged amidst a sea of changes—in the band and in the world. Lead singer Ezra Koenig moved to LA and had a son with his partner. Producer and multi-instrumentalist Rostam Batmanglij, who had a heavy hand in the band’s signature sound, left to start a solo career. Climate change and persistent political apathy were (and continue to be) a huge threat to the planet, and are therefore at the forefront of many minds, including Koenig’s. “This life / And all its suffering,” he sings on the track “This Life,” indirectly asking the question: what’s the point of it all?

On Father of the Bride, Koenig addresses existential ennui by coupling it with issues of faith, the passage of time, and physical belonging amidst a backdrop of sunny, quirky alt-pop melodies, offsetting the themes with a healthy dose of optimism. Each track is uniquely atmospheric, incorporating elements of 60s surf rock, 70s psycheledia, 80s disco pop, and more. Perhaps the most delightfully out-of-the-box is one of Steve Lacy's featured tracks, “Flower Moon,” which pulls from a South American jazz-style influence. It opens with a gorgeously hypnotic, vocoded vocals over layers of acapella harmonies: “Flower moon / Curse the night / If the sun don't make things right / Then it's gonna take a year.” Steve Lacy’s presence is made apparent in the guitar tone and, later, in a low, crooning vocal. With Brazilian-style percussion and a variety of strange, intentionally random sounds in the bridge, the song culminates in a mood that feels busy and carefree. “Flower Moon” is an upbeat and surprising stand-out track on an album full of happily self-aware songs.