Oracle Sisters credit the inspiration for their newest track “Asc. Scorpio '' to their guitarist Lewis Lazar, who conceived of the song after being stung by a scorpion in Jamaica. This experience served merely as a jumping-off point for the band’s future releases, all of which will take on the complex associations we have to our memories within an uncertain international moment. “Asc. Scorpio” captures this intention expertly, combining a dreamy and laid back sound with lyrics that are fearful at times, nostalgic at others. “Asc Scorpio” montages youthful and idyllic images of the past—a child in a crib in a rocking chair—with painful images of the global present—an elephant in hunger, a power grid and thunder. “Asc. Scorpio” does not explicitly speculate what the future holds, but perhaps suggests that in any cultural moment, pain is punctuated with joy, and the joy is what we attempt to hang on to. Ultimately, Oracle Sisters prove that many meditations can come from a warm, Jamaican beach day that is interrupted by a sting.

Existence in the current digital oligarchy—this era in which a faceless social collective constantly yells at us to fulfill myriad, shallow but ultimately meaningless expectations—has left us, collectively, overwhelmed. No one, it seems, is happy with themselves, or anyone else. And if they are, you probably won’t hear about it online. FKA twigs is a heartbreaking example of this social paradox—her relationship with Robert Pattinson was, by all accounts, terrorized by hordes of online trolls who felt she wasn’t good enough for him. In “Cellophane,” her first song in three years, twigs anguishes over flooding pressure from people who want to see her and her lover’s relationship crumble. Her attempts to push back are futile. “And I don’t want to have to share our love,” she sings in the song’s lone verse. “I try but I get overwhelmed / All wrapped up in cellophane, the feelings that we had.” The first single off her upcoming record feels like a gut-punch—it’s a song that leaves you, like twigs, gasping for oxygen, for a space to breathe again.

What is there left to say about The National that hasn’t yet been said a dozen times over? For fans of The National, though, who doesn’t want to hear it again? In “Hairpin Turns,” the Dessner brothers meticulously craft one of their signature soundscapes, this time on piano and guitar, orchestrating the band to pull arrangements out from under the listener. The Devendorf brothers make up the warped backbone of the song, Bryan innovating unconventional patterns on the drums and bassist Scott foregoing the four strings altogether in exchange for a swelling sub-bass synthesizer. Berninger, in his unmistakeable voice in its unmistakable rhythm with his unmistakable wordplay still delivers a touching chorus, not letting the artistry of it all detract from the beauty of lines like, “What are we going through, you and me? Every other house on the street’s burning.” He is helped out this time by Gail Ann Dorsey, long-time David Bowi bassist and short-time Tears For Fears band member, who contributes vocals to the track, somehow deeper and more time-worn than Berninger. It’s not a ludicrous claim to call The National the most consistent band in alternative rock (although hardcore Spoon fans may disagree)—their first three records show immense promise in retrospect with gems like “All the Wine” and “Mr. November.” As a result, the four-album run since 2007’s Boxer has been nothing short of stellar, showing the natural growth of a band that never seems to grow out of its prime. The National has been presenting singles from their eighth album, I Am Easy to Find, due out May 17th, in a way that feels somehow less revolutionary, less loud and less like a statement than another indie stalwart’s recent effort, Vampire Weekend’s Father of the Bride, but by no means less great.

California based indie-folk duo Black Match’s newest track, “Nowhere,” is like the eye of a brilliantly violent storm, placid, smooth yet vulnerable . The core of the song sits in the small, calm diameter of an otherwise chaotic, enraged spiral. Black Match, which consists of childhood friends and musical partners, Hannah and Ian, possesses an intense musical strength that extends beyond their masterfully penned lyrics, folk-blues inspired guitar, and otherworldly harmonies. The duo taps into the essence of what makes music so undeniably human. With lyrics like “Are we all just in the inbetween / longing to be heard and to be seen” and “All I see is you painted next to me but you’re nowhere,” they are unafraid to fully expose their true identities and experiences. Black Match is deeply in touch with themselves and the vulnerability of their music. “Nowhere” is compellingly honest despite its simple instrumentation and stripped-down production style. It’s the kind of track that truly encapsulates the universal power of music—to make each and everyone one of us feel a little less alone in this world. We are very excited to premiere “Nowhere,” the title track off of Black Match’s forthcoming EP, and we hope this song speaks to you the way it does to us.

Mal Blum uses punk tropes like distorted power chords and driving drum beats not to express anger, but as “the next chapter of my therapy session,” they said in a press release for the album Pity Boy, due out July 12. “I Don’t Want To," the second single from the album, is a joyful, energetic song about feelings typically at direct odds with joy and energy, as Blum sings, “When I go out / When I come home I only feel relief.” Blum takes the trepidation expressed in the lyrics and cleverly plants those ideas in the music itself, too. They rush to get words out, finagling them into the correct number of beats, never quite finishing a complete thought. “Some people have / Commitment issues / Heard through the grapevine / That you moved into / A whole new life,” they sing, and even the verse’s guitars, played by Blum and Audrey Zee Whitesides of Speedy Ortiz, feel jumpy and excited. There’s an undeniable joy in “I Don’t Want To,” the sigh of relief of a weight finally being lifted off one’s chest. This sigh battles with the song’s themes until the explosion of the chorus, a triumphantly confident sing-along ultimatum — “I don’t want to / I don’t want to / I don’t want to / So I won’t.”