“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.

Hopeful pessimism is something I’ve become very familiar with recently. Feeling as though the world might be ending, but still choosing to hope for the best, has become common practice for many. While the lyrics of Derek Ted’s new song, “out there,” appeal to the pessimist within me, the melody and instrumentation of the song make for a more joyous three minutes and forty five seconds. Ted makes his feelings known in the first verse as he sings, “There’s poison out there just waiting for you / Don’t you forget what you’re made of / When everything taught just waltzed out the door / That look in her eyes won’t tame you.” While this seems to be pulled from a specific experience, it also feels like Ted is generally warning his audience about what the world has to offer and how to proceed accordingly. Each chorus differs slightly, but they all focus on a sensory experience in Ted’s environment, varying from water dripping from a faucet in the kitchen to the rising of dark smoke on the horizon. Though each differs, the repetition in the lines, “There’s no way to save the world we live in / Hide out alone, let the silence sink in,” furthers the doomsday narrative Ted propagates in the song. With all of this being said, I wouldn’t classify “out there” as sorrowful. The fast-paced finger-picked guitar and light percussion lightens the seriousness of the lyrics, creating a contrast that allows for listeners to bop their head along to the narration of the end of the world. Photo by Jason Lin.