"These Kids We Knew," the latest single from ROSTAM, addresses climate change with an assertive, but hopeful hand. Lushly produced simple strums are a warm background for the contrastingly harrowing subject matter. Written while Rostam was recovering from Covid-19 last March, the song chronicles Gen-Z putting an older generation on metaphorical trial in "sidewalk courts" for the state in which they've left the Earth's climate. We see the lasting effects already with what's going on in Texas as we speak, unprepared for the temperatures they are now withstanding. It's not a far-off future that Rostam conceptualizes in this track, so with young activists like Greta Thunberg and Leah Thomas as key leaders in the climate revolution, change may still be on the horizon. Rostam's hopeful outlook might inspire that generation to believe that it's not too late to hold these harbingers of destruction accountable for their part in causing this crisis. You'd just have to wait for them to get back from Cancún first. Photo by Olivia Bee. 

“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.

With her latest single, “Feminist Gf,” San Francisco singer-songwriter Samantha Margret has evolved into a sharpened power, in both production and lyricism. This is a track that begs to be listened to on hi-fi headphones — with creeping touches like soft, panned tapping-fingers-on-drums at the onset, a bass that thumps in your chest and the endlessly creative mixing of Samantha’s clear vocals, the singular energy of Billie Eilish comes to mind, paired with the endearing personal touches of Taylor Swift’s best lyrics — all still with a style that is distinctly Samantha’s. With her prior release, “Emotional,” she took on the patriarchy in a more playful tone, but the Samantha we hear on “Feminist Gf” has stepped forward, teeth bared, to usher the offending misogynist into a new era (her line "You've got a feminist girlfriend, like that makes you excused" could cut with a knife). Songs like Swift’s “You Belong With Me” may have made some of us feel comforted back in the early 2000’s that didn’t squarely fit into a traditional feminine narrative, but as feminism has evolved to be intersectional and inclusive, “Feminist Gf” deserves a place among the girl-power tracks we need now. Rather than against each other, Samantha unifies femininity of all types and expressions to focus where it counts.

“Postcard from Spain” is the stunning lead single from Canadian producer Ryan Hemsworth’s new project, Quarter-Life Crisis. This track blazes with post-modern complexity and profound artistry — but considering it features lyrics and vocals from the insanely talented Frances Quinlan of Hop Along, we would expect nothing less. Known for her quizzically insightful lyrics and searing vocals, Quinlan was tasked with writing the lyrics and vocal melody for an instrumental track Hemsworth had previously recorded. The finished product is a beautiful sonic tale that recounts one character’s muse-inducing trip to Spain. The track features overlapping layers of both electronica and modern rock, which, like Quinlan’s lyrics, contribute to complementary sonic tones that are fragmented but undeniably intertwined. 

Quinlan is one of several artists that Hemsworth will be collaborating with in his upcoming project. The full Quarter-Life Crisis EP is set to be released on December 4 by Saddle Creek.

As summer has faded to fall, and we all long for warmer days, Jordan Hawkins is here with a lifeline. Reminiscing on a sunny love, the song is full of so much heart. Instantly the production welcomes you into its arms, seemingly sitting in the sand as the sun sets. Hawkins arrives with the vocals and lyricism to match the mood. Visions of perfect moments at the beach embody Hawkins’ writing, revealing a desire to rekindle romance with a past flame, bringing those moments to life. The song’s chorus feels entirely relatable and chock-full of earnest desire. Hawkins’ undeniable smooth tone sets you at ease as you feel yourself dissolve into this daydream. And that’s what holds your ear — the incredible performance from Hawkins himself. There’s strength in his earnestness, giving more power to the grit, more assurance to the smooth, and such a visceral longing love when he steps into a higher register. There is such variety in his delivery, yet Hawkins navigates the shifts effortlessly. As a listener you can just float right alongside, enjoying every moment. It seems like every choice on this song was after that same mission, an effort to make this song feel like easy love: vibey percussion, beautiful waves of trumpets, dreamy chords, a warm bass to hold it together, subtle harmonies, the trumpet and guitar solo. It’s all there. Photo by Kiyo Vigliotti.

knees hiked to my chest in the corner booth
of some midtown sports bar, I watch it end
with an Old Fashioned clutched close to my body.

I never did get used to the fact that sometimes
you kissed me just because you felt like it
shameless as always.

—

Chicago-based quartet Slow Pulp's “Trade It” sits between slowcore and shoegaze, guitar-driven and melancholic, emo at heart. Hurt is palpable in lead singer Emily Massey’s plaintive “Am I all that you wanted?” A cathartic shift highlights a synth lilt that yearns to trade everything in to start over. “It’s all that I’m asking,” she sings, and it shouldn’t be so much to ask, but is somehow everything. A twisted sense of nostalgia sits deep in my stomach, searching for certain sadness, someone who has long escaped me. I don’t miss them, but this song almost makes me wish I did. The track comes from the band's self-produced debut record, Moveys. In a statement, Slow Pulp describe Moveys as the manifestation of their dealings with “health challenges, personal upheaval and a pandemic, all while learning how to be better songwriters and friends.” Photo by Alec Basse.