It was the first time you would see my apartment, but it was my last. All set to move out tomorrow. Already moved most of my things out but kept my bed and my pots and pans to make eggplant parmesan for you and me. How could I be so unsure about our future when we were as emotionally close as we we were physically? I thought of the As Tall As Lions song "I’m Kicking Myself." You were quiet as a writer or a painter at work, but your puppy eyes were thunderous as gunfire or rockets. You would stay the night, and we would wake up here together for the one and only time, and we would either lay our heads together once more somewhere else or part ways. My future with you hung in the balance, and yet my past with you sung in Dallas, and my present with you stung in challenge.

Nathaniel Paul’s “Silence” is the type of song born out of an unexplainable uncertainty; a bizarre and hard-to-shake emotion. The song calls back to the chillwave sounds pioneered by Toro y Moi, but has its own modern influx of drum and synth work. Play this one at the beach and drink coffee to it. 

Relentless guitar arpeggios fill the room as soon as you hit play on Juni Habel’s new track, "Demons," from her debut album, All Ears — it’s like heart palpitations, excited and nervous all at once. The intro has the spirit of Joni Mitchell’s more traditionally folky moments, but Habel’s melody is more static. It’s almost an ostinato over the undulating guitar. Finally at the end of the first chorus (“When I go to those places, how I stumble,” she wails, her voice cracking), the rest of the ensemble kicks in — a drum kit that resembles a bodhrán, a fiddle, a back up vocal. All come together to haunt us (“that’s when I send the demons out in the night / I forgive myself, I try,” she almost whispers), as much as Habel is clearly haunted by the demons in her mind. She conjures them masterfully for us with a few deliciously dissonant notes that, sort of, resolve. But not quite. Relatable. Photo by E Petersen.

“Comfortable,” the latest single from Quarter-Life Crisis, producer Ryan Hemsworth’s recent project, is a futuristic, slow-burning synth-pop track with a love of collaboration at its core. Built upon a solid foundation of hazy synths, relaxed guitars and the warm voice of Hand Habits’ Meg Duffy, “Comfortable” shows off Hemsworth's ability to craft songs that immediately get stuck in your head. The most recent of three singles, the track follows a structure that is no doubt familiar to Hemsworth; starting by producing carefully crafted, radio-worthy instrumentals, he has then invited some of his favorite artists to do their thing. In the instance of “Comfortable,” Duffy has done just that. Their comforting voice brings the track into a dream-like state. And, like any good dream, “Comfortable” is over before you want it to be, as the instrumental slowly fades. Photo by Colin Medley.

This song’s super chill and laid-back. I’m also a big fan of Omar Apollo and Ruel so it was super cool to hear them on a song together.  — Claire Rosinkranz

Claire Rosinkranz was thrust into the indie spotlight after her song "Backyard Boy," the last song she wrote for this year's debut EP, BeVerly Hills BoYfRiEnd, went viral on TikTok and Spotify. Since then, she has amassed millions of monthly listeners on Spotify and even released a different version of "Backyard Boy" with fellow pop artist Jeremy Zucker.

The first thing I think of to describe “Where Did Summer Go,” Bre Kennedy’s latest single, is tender. The mixing here is absolutely gorgeous; her vocals are a perfect mix of strength and dreamy breath, expertly lifted by a soft, lilting instrumental bed of guitars, subtle piano and stripped down drums. She goes on to lament that summer has passed her by with “nothing to show,” and I don’t know anyone who would hear this in the depths of fall 2020 and not feel a deep heartstring mercilessly pulled for the year that’s almost gone (and did it ever really begin?). Psychology tells us we feel comforted by music because it triggers our feelings of being empathized with; “Where Did Summer Go” is the soft, thoughtful hug we all need right now to feel not so left behind, and to make peace with time’s relentless passage in a year when it seems to have stood still. “Where Did Summer Go” is a welcome emotional gut punch reminiscent of Taylor Swift’s recent creative partnership with The National, and I’ll be listening on repeat for some warmth ‘til spring peeks its head out once again. Photo by Lindsey Patkos.

With budding instrumentation and feathery vocals comes Iska Dhaaf’s “Unheard Choir,” the final track on the Brooklyn-based duo’s latest EP, Up. “Unheard Choir” traces the everlasting remnants of loved ones that have either been lost or separated from: “Even when our bodies disconnect / There’s always something left.” Opening with cradling strings of guitar and weaving piano notes, the track flows into a cascade of reverb and percussion. As the luminescent vocals ensure that “There’s never nothing left,” the track falls into an arrangement of strings sweeping high altitudes. It is an intricate and riveting expression of longing conveyed in a balance of softness and swift cadence.

In the science-fiction universe of Reptaliens’ “Taking,” a compendium of synths orbits complex themes of perception and existence. “Taking” is the nebulous matter on our cosmic route, mystifying our notion of self to later inquire, “Are we existing?” And how can we tell? The answer may lie within the lyrics’ own contemplation of life, broken down in its simplest, most absolute forms: “Making / Eating / Loving and / Hating.” It is these characteristics, along with others, that we can tether ourselves to on the tumultuous planes of existence — the textures of life. The synth-pop track is an otherworldly experience of whirling, euphoric sounds and beaming spaceship lights that coax us into a dance — the best way to be present in our bodies and with ourselves. Photo by Dan Hanson.

Captured Tracks group Reptaliens hail from Portland, Oregon. Their dreamy new EP, Wrestling, was released on November 6.

With “Last of Us”, Oslo’s Simen Mitlid takes a soft, lush cloth to the foggy windows of our Zoom burned-out minds. Soaking up its delicate, meticulous production, I’m reminded of Sigur Rós’ ethereal style; Mitlid’s vocals float across the track, expertly layered over a rhythmic backdrop of rain-tapping-on-the-window-esque plucking and smooth, sinewy strings. Lyrically, he reminisces on childhood, on returning to “the ordinary normal,” with an earthy authenticity. The track stays right at home in its even-keeled dreaminess for its duration, evolving to deeper emotionality in tandem with the string lines lowering in key; by the time the chorus sings, “Honey, we’re out of this world,” Mitlid has brought us to back in time right along with him. Fans of José González will love this one; it’s a beautifully evocative work of art, perfectly at home to be put on repeat in the crispy winter days on the horizon.

Simen Mitlid's third full-length album, Birds; or, Stories From Charlie B’s Travels From Grønland to the Sun, and Back Again, was released on October 30.