On a charity livestream, Mt. Joy frontman Matt Quinn explained that “Death” is a misnomer—it is a life-affirming song, he assured, about lending a hand to help others work through problems rather than run away from them. “I know why you like death,” he sings, “‘Cause when you get in trouble, pulled under rubble / You want something else,” but he is there to pull you out of the rubble. Quinn says of the song, “I was hoping this song would remind people and myself that there are so many family members / friends here on earth that want to help us find our peace, and there really is so much beauty here, especially when you let people help you.” The song’s meandering verse gives way to a raucous chorus best sung en masse, shoulder to shoulder, shouting with little to no regard for tonality, joining on the “Ooh la la” even if you don’t know the words. “Death” is a reminder of all of the beautiful moments in life and succeeds in creating one all by itself.

On a Saturday morning in January 2018, a message was sent out via the Emergency Alert System to all the cell phones in Hawaii: “BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” Thirty-eight minutes later, it turned out to be a mistake—a mistake made during, literally, a drill. Ben Carbone, songwriter for Brooklyn band Boot, wrote “Bomb Song” in the aftermath of this mind-bending experience, which he happened to share with a new partner he was “smack dab in the honeymoon phase” with. The song’s melodic simplicity and no-frills vocal delivery is reminiscent of early Ben Kweller, but even farther in the direction of sonically “raw.” I guess, in a way, it sounds sort of like if Kweller had had his life taken away and given back again over the course of 38 minutes. Needless to say, amid a global pandemic—this time, a real and lengthy emergency—the song hits differently. The many lessons in Carbone’s strange little story will sound familiar to many of us now. Out of shared hardship always comes connection. Never underestimate the power of the human mind to create its own truth. And, of course, there is always, always something to be grateful for. 

Some songs manage to evoke a feeling and create a space within just the first few seconds. The first chord has barely settled into silence, and already you are immersed in the energy the artist wants to share with you. This is the case with our final Quadio pick of the week “Paris” by University of Arizona student artist, Nathanie. With a dreamy, ‘verbed out Wurlitzer, a classic R&B chord progression and a muted trumpet bleeding in as if from out your window, Nathanie confidently expresses a nostalgia for a time period she can’t quite pin down but knows is gone. Her airy yet hardy, understated vocals croon in layered harmonies, “so caught up in the past, I forgot you had forgotten me.” Through the warped fishbowl lens of her memory, Nathanie revisits an outgrown love that will always exist in suspended animation somewhere in her mind. Check out her past releases and upcoming new music on Quadio, the college-driven streaming platform that has been introducing us to our favorite emerging artists around the country for the past two weeks.

"Lovin" by Kristina Sarro is a beautiful ballad about what a longing for love looks like from afar. This soft bedroom-pop track is brought to you by Quadio, the new streaming service dedicated to finding the best of the best music from talented college students all over. This stunning song is one of so many incredible finds on the platform.

Sonically, "Lovin" is captivating. Like a hug, I was brought in by the soft piano, but it wasn’t long before I was enveloped by low-key acoustic guitar. Soon enough, electric guitar added an element of dreaminess that made me instinctively want to close my eyes and sway as I continued to listen. Sarro’s folksy vocals float effortlessly over the slow lo-fi beat, singing lyrics, “I know there is heaven / and I know there is a hell / cause there has to be a God that crafted you so well / I can see / he took his time / carefully.” 

When asked what the inspiration for it was, the Belmont student said, “It’s pretty much about a very very nice looking guy I see all the time on campus. I’m definitely the “admire from afar” type of person.” Inspired by artists like John Mayer, Kacey Musgraves and Alina Baraz, Sarro wraps her influence, unique style and personal experience beautifully on her track "Lovin."

As we continue to partner with online music platform Quadio to bring you the latest music from up-and-coming collegiate artists, allow us to introduce you to Dania—dynamic and dreamy Philly-based indie-pop singer-songwriter and musician. Our pick of the week for the Northeast region, the University of Pennsylvania’s Dania has made splashes on Spotify’s “Ballads International” playlist (find her here nestled comfortably between Jessie Reyez and Noah Cyrus) as well as their “Arab X” playlist. 

Dania’s Syrian-Croatian background informs her songwriting as she expertly weaves together Arab melodies and Western-inspired alternative beats to create a harmonious blend of culture and sound. In her latest release, “Cardamom Tea,” the result is a resoundingly unique and dark dream-pop lullaby of tortured love. The mellow, illustrative beats and soft piano that accompany Dania’s echoing vocals throughout as she sings of “cardamom tea and hesitation” cease only when her lyrics drop into Arabic during the bridge. She sings, beautifully and resonantly, “Akhir marra, Wallah / Hadi akhir marra” (which translates to “the last time, I swear this is the last time”) just before we hear the last iteration of the chorus. 

The song closes with the lyrical equivalent of that pit in your stomach you know all too well if you’ve ever loved deeply and lost: “This is what happens / When you make someone your true religion.” An advocate for mental health awareness and Muslim visibility in the arts, Dania has undeniably used her existing platform for good. We hope that by sharing her music with you, we can help to stretch her platform—and her important work—even further.