The intersection of these two titans' talent is truly a blessing to the coinciding fanbases of emo rock and alternative comedy. What may seem like a slim Venn diagram has actually proven to be quite robust, as fans' recognition of this track at Phoebe Bridgers' recent live shows implies Punisher wasn't the only album this ghost-and-skeleton-clad crowd has been spinning. "That Funny Feeling," originally written and performed by Bo Burnham, one of comedy's premier talents, is a standout from his most recent special Inside, which landed on Netflix in May of this year and nearly broke the internet in the process. If you're familiar with Bo and Phoebe, it shouldn't shock you that she heard this song and loved it. The intelligence and poignance fit the bill of what she imbues in her own work. The articulation of general complacency in the midst of societal collapse, climate crisis and international neural numbing is crystal clear and sharp as a knife in this rendition. There's a certain brand of nihilistic nuance shared by the two that strikes a chord with fans. 

If this description seems abstract, it's intentional. I'd rather you take a moment to listen to Bo's original track (which you can find on streaming services, or even better, in context while watching his special on Netflix) and then take a moment to listen to Phoebe's cover. Not long ago, the two performed this song together for the first time at Largo in LA, an undoubtedly special experience for the audience; "That Funny Feeling" has since become a part of her setlist, a pleasant and near-perfect fit for the live show, as the song itself melds seamlessly into the narrative of Punisher, an echo or sister song to "I Know The End." If I wasn't already privy to Bo's work, I might mistake it for one of her original songs. The folk base of it appeals to her roots, while Phoebe brings a more explosive element to the track by adding horns and a longer, evolving outro. I'm thankful Bo and Phoebe sparked a friendship clearly built on philosophical and artistic similarities, and I hope it means we'll see more collaborations between the two of them in the future. Photo by Daria Ritch.

Separation is not for the faint of heart on “Alone,” San Cisco’s love letter that’s scared to say “I miss you.” The Australian indie pop trio fashions their psychedelic pop quintessence into a vulnerable ballad, singing of the constant push and pull in a long-distance relationship. It seems impossible to quiet the voice asking, “Does love drift away / A little bit every day?” when you wear yourself thin attempting to exist in two places at once, both where you reside physically and with the one person who feels like home. There’s an idyllic nostalgia in love feeling “elastic,”  how it “pulls me back to pink sunsets”; it calls to mind an old love of mine tied to strawberry skies and golden sand between my toes, one that I lost to distance, yet still enraptures me years later. 

The emotionally challenging song strays greatly from first track of theirs I ever heard, the infectiously bouncy “Run,” which still sits close to my heart as the first and only time I’ve ever heard my name in a song. The group’s new sense of self-awareness permeates their latest record, Between You and Me. 

—

we close a 400-mile gap and I fall
onto your shoulder in the cab, hoping 
my head will still fit into the crook of your neck.

fingertips trace the outline of my bare legs
blue eyes move from my chest, lifting and dropping
to the numbers on the meter, rising
back to the lights, meshing
into a blur of white out the window.

“Yours,” the latest single from Will Davila, fits perfectly into his catalog of easygoing songs with skillful guitar work and heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics. The vocals are warm and, at times, slightly muffled. The song’s raw honesty shines through a cloud of mellow keys and guitar, as Davila expresses uncertainty about a relationship: “What if I tried to do the same? Would you need me in your life like you did before?” It’s a song about commitment, the patience to wait for someone else (“Just as long as I’m the one you’re waiting for,”) and especially, the desire to treat them better than they have been treated in the past (“I won’t be like him ‘cause it’s not what you deserve”). “Yours” goes down as smooth as its tender message; the understated arrangement and gentle groove make way for emotive lyricism and vulnerability. When Davila sings, “Baby, I’m all yours,” he leaves it all out in the open.

Singer-songwriter Abe Parker and rapper Paul Russell’s new single “Somebody New” is a perfectly sweet love song about how “this could never be a song for somebody new.” The two met via Reach Records' Christmas album The Gift when Parker took notice of Russell’s verse on the track “We Three Kings.” Russell’s laid back flow is perfectly accented by reverb-heavy guitar and minimalistic beats that make it feel like the perfect low-key summer track as he takes the lead on the first half. He tells the story of a relationship starting with “you know we met back then / acting like we understand art” before mentioning the passage of time and leaning into the chorus. It’s sweet and romantic while being grounded in reality and small details. Parker takes over after the first chorus and tells a story of his own, singing, “played for keeps and girl you got my life / didn’t even have to try.” The sweet and smooth collab is a perfect way to end the summer.

Izzy Heltai has a talent for demonstrating nostalgia and incentivizing reflection. "Songbird" is an early glance at Father, a nine-track exploration on matters past and present that is bound for stores and streaming platforms on October 9. Here, surf-rock meets folk to underscore a light case of introspective questioning. Though romantically afflicted, Heltai keeps a playful posture that rings out like a daydream. The speaker is refreshingly bashful and dodges direct discourse with the subject of his affection. Instead, he seeks the advice of his friends in the audience. His under-confident message meets a generous, full-bodied sound to convey the reality of passion — a conflicting force of total presence and inner retreat, all at once.