On “Escondida," Michi lets us in on her deepest secret. With a haunting rhythmic melody and chilling use of harmony, "Escondida" is a dreamy indie pop track on finding comfort in loneliness. The Spanish word "escondida" translates to “hidden,” and in the lyrics Michi uncovers that she longs to stay hidden in her own oasis. The track's narrative is highly relatable; wanting to escape from the world in one’s bedroom is a justifiable truth. Solitude is arguably where we can be ourselves, and Michi admits this. For her, being “escondida" signifies untangling the vulnerabilities that no one knows. The transition from English to Spanish going into the chorus is a highlight of the track: “Escondida aquí / mi soledad junto a ti / mi secreto aquí / sin ti no puedo vivir.” In a world where Latinx indie artists are far too often overlooked, Michi is giving the world yet another reason to listen.

Lani Renaldo's “Trainwreck” is a dreamy garage rock anthem for every 20-something dwelling over how late is too late to reach your full potential. As one of six songwriters selected for GRAMMY Camp as a high schooler, the LA-based songwriter and multi-instrumentalist is no stranger to a gifted child syndrome of sorts. In her case, it manifested as a panic disorder that had her believing "I could never live out my dreams."

Rather than fostering my creativity, a life of gifted schooling impaired me with a thrumming pressure to prove myself to no one in particular. I'd never felt more lost than the moment I realized, as Renaldo sings, that "I was the golden child, but now she's gone." Writing was the only skill I ever felt I had, but in a society that measures success by financial gain rather than fulfillment, it seemed so useless. Much like Renaldo, I was resigned to an endless cycle of "passing go to cash another paycheck" because I lost the ability to believe in myself as a writer. 

While the pandemic has shifted the way we live, I've been working on nurturing my talent, both for stability and as an act of self-care. There's no doubt that Renaldo has honed in on her craft as well, with her self-produced NOHEARTBREAK2020 EP due out sometime this year. So how late is too late to make those dreams come true? The answer, according to Renaldo, is never.

A true romantic, Bill Callahan sings from the heart of a wayward troubadour in "Let's Move to the Country," a track off his most recent album, Gold Record. An exhibition of his love and reverence for the old west, Callahan dons a figurative cowboy hat in his discography as he talk-sings his way through loafing country western lullabies and ballads. "Let's Move to the Country" is a sweet, simple love song. It feels like Callahan is pleading, holding his hat against his chest. He paints the vision of what their lives would look like now that he's put his roving days behind him. Callahan previously included this track on his album Knock Knock, under the moniker Smog. Callahan performed as Smog until 2007, when he stylistically shifted from underground rock to more Americana style sounds. Gold Record was released on September 4. Give it a listen wherever you stream.

Bill Callahan continues to set the standard for storytelling with these new songs. My goodness. Just listen to the opening passage. If that doesn't set fire to your soul then I'd wager you and I ain't wading in the same bayou. Tune in. — Alex Cameron

In his latest EP of demos, Alex Cameron rehashes some of his songs from his 2019 album Miami Memory, but this time, we hear them under a slightly different light. Instead of the brass, bright, strobe light of a strip club, his new EP Miami Memories takes us back to the VIP private room. Photo by Hanly Banks.

Mellow, gleaming electronic pop duo Sylvan Esso is committed to their signature elegance and free-forming sound with their new track, “Frequency.” Aligning with its lyrical themes, the song has a magnetic force, melting down within the listener and creating space for a pulling movement inside the body — which can be seen in the video for the song, brought to life by Moses Sumney’s creative direction. The absence of percussion in the track is a clean, soft representation of the girl Amelia Meath is singing about, a woman with alluring energy that cannot be fabricated. This girl is enchantment in human form:  “She's the one, I swear to God / A frequency, she's got a frequency / and I caught it all over me.”

On September 25, Sylvan Esso, a.k.a. Amelia Meath and Nick Sanborn, will release their third album, Free Love, featuring the tenderness of folky sound as well as the rhythmic tug of war that they have become known for.

rincs are the L.A.-based duo of Rebecca Ramirez and Bjorn Winberg. Their music is incisive and eccentric, with the occasional punkiness of Ramirez’s vocals casting a moody shadow over their poetic lyrics. rincs value brevity and melody. As with “Or Is It Just You,” their songs tend to burn fast and bright before fizzling out at just the right moment. They’ve said all they need to and delivered their message with singable indie-pop sentiment. “Or Is It Just You,” their most recent single, conveys the jarring realization that everyone lives within their own distinct reality — what looks upside down to one person may look completely normal to another. Sometimes it’s a realization full of possibility, and sometimes it’s a terrifying one. This song mostly deals with that second feeling, creating a slow buildup of disorientation enhanced by cyclical guitar riffs. There’s also some quirky instrumentation — the thumb-piano solo that drives this track towards the final chorus is one of several reasons it's well worth a listen.

Oddly prescient lyrics and red hot vibe as well. An apocalyptic déjà vu in the club. Punk-funk from Manchester grafters See Thru Hands. It's catchy as hell, so danceable and alludes to the end times we're living in with an accuracy you'd call "on the nose" if it hadn't come out [last year]. — Alex Cameron

Alex Cameron is a gifted storyteller; he crafts colorful cinematic narratives that explore themes like masculinity, sex, guilt and failure, while mixing Springsteen-like nostalgia with self-aware kitsch.

One of the most delightful parts of music is how easily it facilitates connections between people. Striking up a conversation with someone else at a show, swapping CDs with friends, even tuning into a livestream with a thousand strangers — music has a talent for bringing people together. That’s before even getting into the songs that make you feel seen. Understood. Even loved. "Permanent Maniac" is a dreamy exploration of that infatuation with the first artist that made you really feel. The lyrics flow like a diary entry, full of affection that is simultaneously naïve, intense and genuine: “I have him close to me, since I met him on the radio.” The thing is, it’s not quite a fantasy. Sharing music, even between artist and fan, is an emotionally intimate experience. As someone who’s been on both sides, it’s kind of beautiful the way that another person can let a piece of art so close to your heart burrow so deep and close to their own. The fact that people you don’t know will let your songs slip into their ears, take up space and coil itself around memories that you barely had a hand in creating? It’s beautiful. It’s a sense of sharing so intimate and organic, it almost makes boundaries feel blurry. GRAE’s track pirouettes on that boundary, floating above bouncing bass, buoyed by innocent harmonies. “And he’ll never, never know." It’s not a bitter declaration. It's respecting the relationship for what it is — a message in a bottle tossed out to sea. If it suffers abuse in its journey, it’s a bitter feeling when it shatters. But when that mutual connection is respected as the delicate, transient offering it is? It sparkles. Photo by Lizzie O'Donnell.