"Juice," from PYNKIE's latest album #37, is an oasis for the lost hearts scared of falling too deep. Not only can NJ-based Lindsey Radice write a lo-fi dance ballad like very few, she can write, perform and co-produce an entire album of them and make it look easy. "Juice," which appears about halfway through the album, reflects upon a troubled relationship with dependency issues over a comforting lo-fi beat. While Radice sings, "Make me go home / Once in a while / Don’t let me stay all night / I don’t wanna fight," the song will have you feeling safe — maybe a perfect analogy to what keeps you coming back and back again to someone who makes you feel scared. That and the fact that the rest of life can be much more scary. PYNKIE's sophomore album #37 is out now, and it's full of sweet testaments of love and figuring the world out. Photo by Kelli McGuire.

Jocelyn Mackenzie’s “Better” is a refreshingly confident and self-assured track that celebrates building a relationship that is healthy and compassionate. The song wastes no time, announcing itself with a declarative hit from a cello’s open C string. Just in case that didn’t catch your attention, Mackenzie’s siren-like voice commands it with a “Listen up!” This song knows what it’s about, and it’s not shy to tell you. Mackenzie’s voice shapes earnest lines communicating her exact desires into something you yearn to hear. As playfully percussive synth textures bubble up around serious strings, she coyly stretches and rolls up syllables that keep you hanging onto each one. The verses shine a light on all the sources of insecurity that might creep in and twist a relationship into something unpleasant. However, each verse also takes time to affirm the incredible volume of love underneath that is there to support the relationship. When the hook finally hits, exalting vocal harmonies echo “better,” turning it into a word as golden and holy as a hallelujah. “Better” finds resounding joy in vulnerability, leaving no room for anxiety or doubts — only love. Photo by Ester Segretto.

Imagine falling into a kaleidoscope, twinkly lights and fractured colors twirling in dizzying shapes around you. Body Language’s new track, "Living," is the audio version of that. Listening is an immersive experience, with synths moving in waves and choruses of angels coming at you from every direction. The vocals have a pixelated, echoey quality at times, as though recorded at the bottom of a tech-drenched well. The spacey soundscape is punctuated by a synth bass that’s right on point and a sparse, precisely placed groove. The chorus comes out of nowhere — huge energy and front-and-center vocals bring us into the center of the action, only to give way to the angels again. This tune is a delight to fall into headfirst, swimming in colors and good-vibe energy.

If a late-life star were a song, it would probably be "Boy Meets Void." The overall texture of the song is bright, though not necessarily warm, with a lyrically dense center. Quite simply, it’s the heaviest charming little song you’ve ever heard. Upbeat rhythm guitar saunters through the motions as the bass keeps the tempo marching on. The lyrics blend hyper-literal realism and metaphor, sitting somewhere between lucid and a little spacey. Semi-diegetic textures wrap around each section, lending a little more substance to the narrative. With each chorus, the boy retreats further into solitude. The choir of voices that surrounds Dylan Pacheco’s vocals in the first chorus drops off sharply an awkward four words into the next one. Every time “boy meets void,” the vocals drop off and the melodic line is picked up by a void-like warbly, distorted guitar. Synth ghosts float around the lyrics in the second verse after a “car crash that never happened.” Overall, the song is filled to the brim with fantastically imaginative imagery that almost distracts from the blunt commentary on depression. It describes one of the periodic points in managing depression where it becomes a relatively dull story of coexistence. It’s not bad, but it feels like it’s always there, vaguely lurking in the background. Sometimes you fall off the bandwagon entirely, sometimes factors outside your control nudge you off a little. You get tired of talking about it, and conversations feel repetitive. You know what makes it easier, and you know what makes it harder. So, you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep walking with one hand in the void. Photo by Trey Karnes.

Wild Child’s Kelsey Wilson is experiencing an exuberant freedom in her solo project Sir Woman, and she is sure to have you spellbound within her groove. Wilson sings of a woman with a totally transfixing presence in “Making Love.” Feathered with soulful, glimmering touches of keys and a feel-good rhythm, this track is made for falling in love under the ambient glow of a roller rink. Wilson draws heavily on themes from music rising out of the '70s disco scene, revering women almost as talismans, beholding some glamorous magic and power in their being without any effort. This track is a funk-filled and daydream-inducing form of nostalgia for a bygone era that promises enchantment and glory. Photo by Barbara FG.

Bringing modern tones and textures to ‘70s rock sensibility, “High on My Own” is a stand-out track from Tempesst's recent debut album, Must Be a Dream. This dose of joyful psychedelia from the Australian alternative five-piece injects the start of the album with an electric energy. It’s easily one of the peppiest tracks on the record, while still having a slowed-tempo chorus. Tempesst makes this refined, fun-loving sound look easy to execute, and as a listener, you can’t help but feel like it’s second-nature to them. Though this is their first LP, the London-based band have been cutting their teeth releasing singles and playing shows for most of the late 2010s. Tempesst’s full-bodied sound is the culmination of years of playing, experimenting and soaking up fresh experiences. Their influences run the gamut, from the Brooklyn indie rock scene to '70s psychedelia. The vocals are reminiscent of Alex Turner (Arctic Monkeys) or Van McCann (Catfish and the Bottlemen). All in all, Tempesst possesses a likability and originality that I hope carries them far, and something tells me this new album is just the beginning for them. If you sit down to listen to “High on My Own” today, I hope you do so with the intention of hearing the whole album. It’s an incredibly easy and enjoyable listening experience (plus “Mushroom Cloud” follows “High on My Own,” and it’s another one of my favorites on the record). Photo by György László.

We are also thrilled to share that we have been collaborating with Tempesst on the official music video for "High on My Own," which will be out soon. Keep an eye out!

On “Reaper,” a song off their recently released album Mirage on the Meadow, Pine Barons combine psychedelic instrumentals and vivid lyrical imagery to deliver a haunting track that truly rocks; perfect listening for this, the spookiest of seasons. The tone is firmly established within the first few seconds, as a series of long atmospheric tones from the synth drape themselves over the drum and guitar lines. Before the lyrics come in you have already been set on a meandering walk through the dark forest in your mind. 

Songwriter and vocalist Keith Abrams cleverly illustrates the concept of scattered thoughts in the pre-chorus where, utilizing different production effects, he plays two intertwining inner monologues: one perpetually questioning, and one confident in its defeatist statements but not offering any answers. From this back and forth bursts the hook, which delivers everything you could ask for in a great rock chorus. It’s melodic, it’s powerful and it stays with you long after the song has ended. For much of “Reaper” there is an expertly curated sense of movement, like some physical manifestation of inner anxieties is stalking you at a distance. The closing guitar solo and coda, which layer in melodic callbacks from earlier sections, bring about a feeling of envelopment, like that fog of fear has finally caught up and engulfed you. Photo by Chris Sikich.

“Valley,” the opener off of Kevin Morby’s latest album Sundowner, is a melancholy ballad to the singer-songwriter’s Midwestern roots. Like many of the songs off the album, “Valley” finds the singer reflecting on life in the Midwest by using its landscape as a vehicle to remark on the simplistic beauty of it all. Morby’s singular voice acts as a guide through the rich landscape that the laid-back instrumental paints, as he croons, “In the valley below me / In the valley below / They all pretend not to know us / They all act like they don't know.” As the two-minute mark rolls around, Morby keeps quiet and lets his guitar steal the show, once again showcasing simplicity, as you can almost close your eyes and see the grand and underrated beauty that Morby depicts just lines before. Photo by Johnny Eastlund.

Billowing richness within and throughout, Sam Lynch’s “Keeping Time” is a mingling of revelry and the phenomenon of loss. Lynch says it's “a song about losing your footing, and the endless search for something steady to hold onto.” While the impermanence of many things can be jarring, Lynch’s delicate voice, along with the tranquil demeanor of the tone in which she hovers over verses, brings a certain grace into the realm of instability, creating space for coming to terms with life’s ever-present ambivalence. This track is one of many gorgeous odes to distinct forms of loss on her new album Little Disappearance, which was released in full on October 9 and is deserving of many a listen. Photo by Mackenzie Walker.

It bops, it grooves, it gets your feet moving and then it breaks your heart. Through driving drums, hypnotic synths and poetic lyrical paradoxes, “Shake // Those Feelings,” the new single from Brooklyn-based trio Moon Kissed, tackles an age-old question of love: is the passion worth the pain? In the first section of the song, Moon Kissed juxtaposes a dancey synth rock tone with lyrics drenched in a deep longing to feel again: “I’ve been struggling with numbness,” and more bluntly, “I want you to break me.” As the song goes on, the vocals build and layer, the drums get bigger and the synth gets funkier; it becomes impossible not to at least bop your head along and, more likely, you’ll find yourself dancing around whatever room you’re occupying at the time.

Then, once you’ve been fully immersed in the whirling, intoxicating melody, the song undergoes a powerful shift. The drums cut out, plucked guitar strings and longer atmospheric synth tones take over, and the intense longing, which characterized those lyrics that you started to dance to, is presented in its raw vulnerable form. A softer vocal and a pensive mood guide you out to the end of the beautiful track. Photo by Evan Parness.