Mitski returned earlier this month with a new single and corresponding music video called "Working for the Knife." Engaging, catchy and lyrically fascinating, "Working for the Knife" exhibits what Mitski does best: present thoughtful, probing questions about the nuance of growing old to the beat of a unique, indie-pop sound. This is a recurring theme in her music: maturing, inadequacy, heartbreak, the natural consequences of aging. Though what "working for the knife" actually entails feels open to interpretation. We see that, to her, the knife that enslaves her is her cyclical sense of pestering deficiency—the world's perception of her, her writer's block, her heartbreak songs, all of it: "I used to think I would tell stories / But nobody cared for the stories I had / About no good guys / I always knew the world moves on / I just didn't know it would go without me / I start the day high and it ends so low / 'Cause I'm working for the knife." The music video is a gorgeous reiteration of this very conflict. At the end, we see Mitski finally release into her artistic expression. We see her fully lean into her movement as she dances and beats and flails to nothing but the sound of her own hands and feet hitting the stage floor. Photo by Ebru Yıldız.

There are few songs that can capture the eccentric high — the particular nostalgic fusion of elation and melancholy — of speeding through your hometown streets with the windows down. Everything around you is familiar down to the electricity in the air, but even though you may have a story for every insignificant landmark on the map, the pang in your stomach reminds you that, in many ways, what has changed most is you. Sometimes we outgrow places and, sometimes, it instead feels like they have outpaced us — as if our goals, dreams, and lives in general should have somehow been bigger by the time we’ve returned. Bleachers’ “45” nestles into this odd comfort; into the reckoning and glistening hope that we can feel all at once when we feel out of touch with the world around us. The track sees the soul of Bleachers, Jack Antonoff, construct this towering moment by swapping out his characteristic vintage synths for an acoustic guitar, light electronic tones and delicate vocal layering. Over this ethereal atmosphere, he sings of this disjointedness (“I'm torn exactly into two pieces / One who wants you and one who's gone dark”) and paints us a picture of two 45 records “spinning out of time.” Despite this, Antonoff reminds us that even in this looming gray uncertainty, the greatest thing we can do is give all we have to one cause: to endlessly seek and shine a light on the deepest and darkest parts of ourselves and those around us, and to love them, even when we feel like we might break. The anthemic chorus is undeniably true to form for Bleachers, who will leave you searching for the nearest yellow-lit concrete tunnel to speed through, aching to understand your love’s own legacy, singing, “But I'm still in sight / Your fast machine / Always holding your love supreme.” Photo by Carlotta Kohl.

This song is SO groovy and has definitely been one of my favorites recently. — Claire Rosinkranz

Claire Rosinkranz's debut EP, BeVerly Hills BoYfRiEnd, promises and delivers simple, satisfying pop songs with intricate yet extremely relatable lyrics about friendship, crushes, family and feelings. Her songwriting explores the depths of the human condition in concise bursts, exposing her extraordinary emotional maturity and strong grasp on her own unique sound. Photo by Liam Sheehan.

"Favorite" by JOHO (Joel Holmes) is a classic mid-2000s falling out ballad that hits a nostalgia sweet spot. A lyrical guitar riff gently raises the curtain to a duet-from-afar montage. It starts more or less where you expect it to — a guy lamenting the loss of a girl he never really expected to leave him. It starts from a place of bitter vanity, almost more upset about a post-breakup bruised ego than the loss of the relationship. But as the verse continues, the ego washes off of Holmes’ voice with each successive syllable. It slides into vulnerability just before he passes the torch to Makenna Parr’s sweet voice in verse two. Her verse plays off the melodic contour of the first, honest and vulnerable in a way that complements Holmes’ well. However, Parr also infuses it with a distinct character, gentle but resolute. A tender keyboard countermelody settles just beneath her warm inflections, a delicate counterpoint to the guitar riff. It drops out as soon as the verse ends, and octave-spaced strings take its place. The perspective returns to JOHO, but all sense of selfishness has evaporated. An admission of fault spirals into an echo chamber of thoughts as Holmes’ voice layers over itself. Parr’s voice mostly disappears among the swirl of harmonies, and suddenly it’s not a duet anymore. It’s all-consuming, tail-chasing regrets — but still, somehow, sweet. After all, it was really something that was lost, wasn’t it?

Celebrating the sun-kissed California sand and surf isn't only a treasured feeling or a beloved aesthetic for We the Commas. For the three San Diego-based brothers, their breezy brand of surf R&B is a loving tribute to their California roots. "I Will," a track from the brothers' debut EP, SARB, reflects how personal the trio feels about creating music that reflects their beloved homestead and tight bond. The track begins with an ominous-sounding organ to draw the listener into the sound, encouraging us to be present in the moment for what the brothers are about to deliver. However, just as quickly as we're drawn into the somber-but-still-sexy-sounding intro, fueled by the sounds of a swirling trumpet, the mood suddenly changes, and we're transported into a joyous celebration of young love and commitment, a love letter of encouragement to release all expectations and surrender to the infinite possibilities a relationship can bring. 

SARB is now available via Flying Boy Entertainment.