To find solace in a song is a gift, and when that song is by Phoebe Bridgers, it hits differently. Bridgers’s new song off of her highly anticipated second solo album, Punisher, encapsulates the intensity of a relationship and the magnitude of what it means to be human. 

“I See You” is the breakup ballad that chronicles more than just feelings, but a learned appreciation for a relationship, even though it has come to an end. Chaotic, almost stress-inducing instrumentation leads to a pleasant, quaint release once Bridgers sings the words, “But I feel something / When I see you now.” The song pauses just as time seems to pause when a certain person is around. 

“I See You” is Bridgers doing what she does best—describing experiences that we, as sentient beings, often cannot find the words for. “‘Cause I don’t know what I want / Until I fuck it up” is her being transparent and raw, and “If you’re a work of art / I’m standing too close / I can see the brush strokes” magnifies an admiration that goes beyond a casual fling. Her ability to produce lyrics that pinpoint unspoken, yet relatable truths about life as we know it make “I See You” more of a sanctuary than an audible experience.

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.”

With the lilt of a cosmic lullaby, Lucy Dacus pieces through the nuance of mother-daughter relationships on her springtime release "My Mother and I." Over a hypnotizing acoustic guitar riff with just the right amount of twang and waves of atmospheric sparkling, Dacus’ lyricism is a tender survey of the parts of mother that she sees in herself, and what it means to raise a daughter in a society that is highly critical of women’s bodies. As always, Dacus sings with compelling warmth and a keen sense of honesty. The minimalist instrumentation serves to further highlight her intimate lyricism. The tune takes a timely Taurean turn in the chorus as Dacus sings of the astrological sign that she shares with her mother—"the stars have a lot to say / about babies born in the month of May / we are down to Earth / we see eye to eye / we dig our feet in / my mother and I."

“Come Home” is the smooth, crescendoing opening track on Anderson .Paak’s newest album, Ventura. The release finds .Paak making a successful return to soul after veering left, toward rap, on last year’s Oxnard, a decision that disgruntled fans hoping for a follow-up to his groundbreaking 2016 record, Malibu. Ventura, released just five months after Oxnard, is that follow-up; it’s a larger, livelier, and wiser ode to romance and classic soul, and “Come Home” is a powerhouse of an opener. The funk rock heart of the arrangement, which builds to gratifying release, compliments the impressive percussion and .Paak’s light, jovial vocal. He sings to his love with an effortlessly likable croon: “I’m begging you please / Come home / No one even begs anymore.” Later, André 3000’s rap solo acts as its own distinct section of the song and showcases his virtuosic talent with words. It’s the perfect bridge, balancing out .Paak’s tender, sincere soul with sharp words and a pulsing flow. With a groovy beat and compelling lyrics, “Come Home” is a fun ode to old school soul music.

“Mrs. Carver,” from Burlington, Vermont’s Fever Dolls, with its Americana imagery, feels like a piano ballad straight out of Springsteen On Broadway—right down to the wistful harmonica break . A disclaimer at the start of the music video warns, “Listeners can expect to feel sentimental / reflective / empathetic / verklempt,” the last of which of course is a derivative of the Yiddish word meaning “overcome with emotion.” The songs of Fever Dolls walk a fine line between melodrama and whimsy, in large part due to Evan Allis’ prodigious songwriting talents. “Mrs. Carver” showcases both his penchant for mining the emotional depths of expository songwriting and his playful dedication to word choice, snapping pictures of precise moments with the internal slant rhymes of lines like, “Mrs. Carver of West Virginia / Second daughter of a prominent fixture / Pride of Harvard, blight of the bay.” Singer Renn Malloy, able to belt the roof off of any covered bridge in Vermont, shows tactful restraint in “Mrs. Carver,” delivering the band’s most moving performance to date.