In the words of Merce Lemon, this bluesy piano-infused tune is the product of “dreaming up a love.” In listening, there is a sort of transportation that occurs—into a room where there is an invitation to a swaying, dignified ballroom dance with “Those Eyes” ricocheting in and out of the ears of two lovers. There is a gorgeousness within the sentiment of a pair of eyes that have the ability to “pull[ed] me right up in the nick of time." When asked how the song materialized Merce shared, “I wrote this song in my parent’s living room, nestled between stacks of records and miscellaneous piles. I was whispering and singing softly so no one could hear me. Dad heard me anyways. I was dreaming up a love."

Merce Lemon is a Pittsburgh local, who not only brings brilliant melodies to life but fights for justice in her city, as well as the world in her every day. Her album Moonth (set to release on August 14) will include even more of the shimmering feeling that this track brings, as well as her charming and idiosyncratic honesty.

LA-based hip-hop trio, Your Grandparents know we all need to slow down the mood a bit. A calendar year has passed since they released their first EP So Cold, and so much has happened in the world since then. Now more than ever, Your Grandparents are here to lift our spirits with their lusciously smooth new single "So Damn Fly."

This song is a crisp and ethereal nod to the soulful tracks from yesterday. "So Damn Fly" evokes the old, familiar sense of warmth of a vinyl record spinning at a chill session—much like the cover photo of the group hanging out in a basement illuminated by the light from a vintage lamp that your (excuse the reference) grandparents might've owned.

"So Damn Fly" reels you in with its ability to weave between a track perfect for background play and then abruptly snaps you back into consciousness with a rap section over the song's bridge: "Be as coldhearted as you please / All the causes can't be common / Contemplate on your beliefs / Seeking confirmation and conversations about killed dreams." Suddenly you're in the middle of a discussion about the damning elements of our current cultural landscape. There's nothing better than a little reprieve these days, just as long as we're all still paying attention. Photo by xoxohadas

Will Butler’s “Surrender” begins with the stomp-clap vigor of a Lumineers song. But shortly after you hear Butler’s soaring falsetto, you might recognize something else as the jangling piano and percussion kick in: the heart-and-soul of beloved indie-darling Arcade Fire. It’s no coincidence, as Butler is a core member of the group, and his influence on Arcade Fire’s sound palpably shines through his solo work. “Surrender” is the lead single off of Butler’s upcoming album, Generations, coming September 25 via Merge Records. Disguised as a catchy summer sing-a-long, it finds Butler lyrically lamenting about lost love’s grip on his mind. Still, the anthem can easily be applied to anything we are craving release from—or rather, that from which we acknowledge we may never find release, and learn to be at peace with. It reminds me of a poem I jotted down last year:

color me

dying flowers.

here i sit with all 

my crumpled faith 

in renewal, hands wilting

with withering desire. but 

still i chase the sun and water 

hope down to the root, still

i surrender to it; this

insatiable wild

within me.

"Cheesy Love Song” is the musical equivalent of a lazy river tube ride. The track’s relaxed dulcet current is beautifully calm, yet mystically compelling, guiding the listener through an ambient soundscape and leaving them in still water.

While the members of The Lazy Eyes hail from Sydney, Australia, their sound is clearly reminiscent of 70s psychedelia, and Americana legends like Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, and The Doors. “Cheesy Love Song” also plays heavily on the ‘rock-opera’ influences that were present during the American Counterculture Movement. (With the orchestral harmonious feature on the track, I cannot help but think of Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical.) The song’s intentionally dramatic lyrics “Maybe you’d love me / if I told you how I felt," and mellifluous piano rifts make this track a true work art—with an ironic, yet fitting title.

On her new single “The Temporary," Kate Teague deals with impactful changes, self-doubt, and uncertainty. The first offering since her 2019 debut EP has the singer-songwriter somewhat diverting from her folksy foundation to an experimental, dreamy lane with the new addition of synths and drum loops. A task that she began after exploring some new influences, “I wrote this song when I first started to listen to a lot of experimental artists like Colleen and Jenny Hval.” Lyrically though, Teague doesn’t abandon her heartfelt and honest sensibility. She takes aim at the questions: where is truly the best place for me and what is next? Her clear-cut, rich vocals coast along as she proclaims, “Sink into my couch and think about a place I'd rather be / But would it mother me / And will I ever feel exactly where I ought to be.” The instrumentation circles around her and acts as a reliable companion as she ponders what’s to follow.

Her concerns for what else might be out there and if she is sitting at the end of the line speak to this exact, poignant moment—where she isn’t alone in the slightest. Maybe now is the time to take stock of what might actually be the correct direction for each of us. Maybe then we'll feel more alive and able when life actively resumes. The single is out now via Muscle Beach Records.

When times are tough, it’s usually comforting to find the good mixed with the bad. Depending on your beliefs, you might hold faith in the idea that there is seldom a path to joy that does not wind through suffering first. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger," right? Happiness and suffering seem, at times, so irreparably intertwined that sometimes it’s hard to notice when “paying your dues” is the wrong call. Ivy Sole’s “Bittersweet” reminds us that joy comes out of being honest and relentless about what you want. Jazzy chords, smooth bass, and Sole’s even smoother voice paint an image of liberation that is invigorating and intoxicating. “I don’t want it if it’s bittersweet; I don’t want it if it ain’t for me." It’s a not-so-subtle rebellion against settling for prepackaged joy with a fit you constantly have to rationalize. More than anything, Sole leaves us with the message that meaningful change shouldn’t be conditional on giving yourself up as a martyr. Everyone deserves the freedom to say “this is not good enough for me” without being forced into a lopsided compromise that’s really just the bare minimum of concessions to stop you from walking away. Whether it’s a significant other or society as a whole—you deserve better. You deserve “sweet without the bitter (and) sun with no rain."

There is more than one way that “The Willows” feels like a dream. Zoe Polanski’s vocals are feathered and distant, like an invisible angel delivering strange and important news. Her beautiful lyrics are cryptic and lack a followable storyline; instead, curious metaphorical images like horses running “across an endless ocean” weave in and out of magical realist memories (“I was a sparrow; I flew there like an arrow”) and create a feeling, breathing tapestry. Polanski and her team manage to create this immersive world, convincingly real while you’re in it but hard to explain in waking life, without much more than bass, synths, and a simple beat. Overall, the track is a testament to the powerful combination of patience and clear creative vision. Her debut full-length, Violent Flowers, was released on July 17. It's full of dreamy worlds like the one in “The Willows,” and you can listen to it now on Bandcamp and other streaming platforms.

Leaning into a time of disarray, Dubai-based neo-soul artist ekay has crafted a transcendental realm in her latest release, “Vacant." Before quarantine went into full effect, ekay traveled to LA and stayed for several months—during which the track was crafted. Describing “Vacant” as “what I wish I heard someone say during quarantine,” she ruminates in the unfamiliarity, seeking a muse, someone to “show me something true.” Conserving our collective sanity are "temporary highs," which "keep contradicting conditioned minds"—as circumstances have forced us to face the fallacy of present societal structure. The expectation to constantly be creating in this "free time" despite our anxiety is not lost on us, but ekay challenges that notion; "Production on maybe / Delays on save me," she worries, before resolving, "I mean, I should sleep." On the song, she says, "During this time where change is inevitable, I wanted to help find lightness in the new normal." "Vacant" finds peace in the tension between restlessness and inspiration drawn from accepting that you're lost in the here and now.