"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. 

“Who Do We Look To Now” is excellently composed and lyrically profound. Within this track, Amsterdam-based singer-songwriter Nana Adjoa contemplates self-identity while living in world where hope and inspiration are in scarce supply. This track teems with gorgeous symphonics, infusing non-traditional instruments like xylophones, pipe organs and violins into a jazz-infused pop medium. Adjoa sings with gentle conviction, guiding her listeners though poetic musings and heartaches. “Who Do We Look To Now” is just one of the many contemplative tracks featured on her newly released debut album, Big Dreaming Ants. Photo by Latoya Van Der Meeren.

I have a tendency to live in my memories. When I miss someone who’s no longer in my life or I want to relive a really good day, I’ll put myself back in a specific scenario, letting the emotions that I felt then wash over me, taking me out of my current reality. There are certain songs that provoke that same process, even if it doesn’t generate a specific scene, but only the lingering embers of an emotion. “Tara Street” by Eric Gabriel reignites those embers, making you feel less alone in the journey of finding yourself. Sonically, “Tara Street” sounds like a combination of the erratic yet cohesive production choices of The 1975, mixed with the poetic vulnerability of Sufjan Stevens. 

The track starts with a very light and airy synth with the hum of background vocals, before Gabriel’s voice comes into play. As the song continues the instrumentation becomes more complex, as saxophone, piano and bass are introduced. His arrangement of synthetic and natural instruments will leave you grasping onto old parts of yourself, as you slowly start to morph into someone new. The chorus lets us in on Gabriel’s inner turmoil surrounding that process, as he sings, “I’m losing my way / With each step that I take / 'Cause I’m following bells and whistles / That fade in the wind, and turn into nothing / Again and again.” As the song progresses the instrumentation heightens, with the addition of new synths, percussion and both electric and acoustic guitar, just as an inner monologue might when you feel off-balance within yourself. Though lyrically he seems to be spinning out, his meticulous choices in both the instrumental arrangement, as well as in his vocal control, create a beautiful contrast. While music allows us to live in our memories, it also provides space for us to simultaneously create new ones. With “Tara Street,” Gabriel succeeds in fostering an environment for that growth to occur.

Young Summer’s “If the World Falls to Pieces” starts off slow and methodical with singer-songwriter Bobbie Allen’s honeyed voice melting over a gentle piano. It’s atmospheric and sparse without feeling like it is lacking anything. “Now we have nothing left to lose / things look beautiful if you forget what they can do,” the Nashville-by-way-of-DC artist croons genuinely. The song feels like it belongs in an old music box with a worn porcelain ballerina twirling along to the twinkling of keys and the gentle swell of strings. Allen’s voice is heartfelt without being dramatic as she sings, “If the world falls to pieces / at least I’ll be with you.” There is a definite balance between technicality and artistry. It is a sweet and gentle love song with an undertone of understanding that love cannot fix everything, but it can make the hard parts more bearable. Photo by Stephen Fanok.

Daniela Andrade is probably best known for her covers. From her tender, lingering acoustic version of "La Vie En Rose" to her punchy and affecting take on "Crazy in Love," Andrade has garnered a following of faithful fans who adore her unmistakable vocals and her overtly romantic songwriting style. But recently, the initially more reserved Honduran-Canadian artist has been sharpening her pop-synth skills, introducing more lo-fi, Latin and jazz influences into her discography. 

"Nothing Much Has Changed, I Don't Feel The Same" is the intro track on her newest EP of the same name. This track introduces a fresh layer of textures and sounds for Andrade, diversifying her as a musician and making her an instantly more interesting player in the indie singer-songwriter game. This most recent release follows her 2019 LP Tamale, where we see Andrade addressing a level of sensuality and introspection we hadn't seen as clearly in her previous work. Regardless of the tonal change, Andrade is securing herself as a mature and sincere songwriter and performer. "Nothing Much Has Changed, I Don't Feel The Same" is a great intro to a short and enjoyable pop/ambient EP that runs just over 11 minutes long. Give the record a listen wherever you stream.

Brighton-based Philip Brooks' latest track, “i’m so in love with all of my friends,” is a sleepless midnight reverie, a scribbled but still-unsent letter written on a napkin, an aching contradiction. It’s coming home to yourself and your true feelings; a knowing that sometimes, even when we want to stay in the same place, our hearts say that it’s time for us to go. Over light keys and syncopated drums, Brooks alternates between a conversation with themself and a conversation with someone they want to bring with them to their next destination. The chorus hits like a gut-punch as shimmering synths kick in and drive Brooks’ words; they touch on a feeling that has been familiar to many of us during this year of unusual isolation, singing “I’m so in love with all of my friends / But I feel like there’s nobody left.” The loneliness is suspended in a dreamlike mix of analog and electronic sounds, recalling the flair of alt-pop groups like Valley, girl in red and Nightly. It is from this medium that Brooks urges us to recognize that there’s two sides to every coin. Are you receiving the same kind of love you give to others, and would you even want your kind of love in return? You feel alone, but are you, really—or is that person you're dreaming of a phone call away? Brooks' track reminds us there’s always a new adventure waiting, in the people and places around us, should we choose to pick up the phone.

Nature TV is a rock quartet from Southern England. Solo, Josh, Guy and Zal are the main ingredients in this ensemble, and the energetic gloom of their latest jam, "Solid Door," nods organically to their new wave British company.

Guy's voice brings a heaviness that lasts well after the song is over. Somehow, he illuminates the echoing, mournful groove while simultaneously inciting dark, emotional gravity. The rich contrasts in this style of production are a rare event. It's as if they've reimagined psychedelia to integrate the darkness of our own generation with that of generations past. Here, the "Solid Door" in question seems an intentionally ironic ambassador for set boundaries. Doors have a funny way of opening, closing, and opening again.

Cute. Charming. A bit whimsical. Saturday morning cartoons and eating cereal. All of these associations come to mind when listening to Channel 1’s upbeat key groove “The Breaks.” The track opens with a quick flitting drum machine rimshot and quickly launches itself into earworm territory. Grooving bass conjures memories of being ten years old and absolutely having a ball digging ambient online game music as deep into the psyche of your parents as your own. Densely layered with sparkly synth timbres and vocal effects that sound like teleporting through a tunnel, it’s an adventure complete with its own sound effects. It’s so infused with humor and catchy riffs that the lyric center of the song remains somewhat elusive. Until, that is, you do some mild internet detective work and pull up the lyrics on Bandcamp. Despite the somewhat goofy exoskeleton, the core of the song is about being alone, and the juxtaposition of extreme discomfort and extreme relief that comes with it. Through our lives, we’re constantly constructing and reconstructing our self-concept. Who we are and what we do are critical pillars of that self-definition. It’s generally a good thing, and relatively accurate. However, it’s also easy to get wrapped into a cloak of definitions of who you are in relation to other people. Who you’re trying to be like, who you’re not trying to be like, who you’re in a relationship with, who you’re related to on your father’s side. What you do for living, what you do for fun, what your favorite kind of music is. It goes on and on. It can be pretty comfortable and easy to spit out to strangers at parties. However, when one of those things goes missing or changes? It’s an unwelcome dose of exposure that leaves you feeling vulnerable. But a break like that also allows you the opportunity to remake yourself in the image of a fresh canvas, ready to create something new.

"My Best," the energizing new single from LPX, invites us to let go of the things we cannot control and seek joy in life in spite of it. The solo project of MS MR's Lizzy Plapinger, LPX reframes the notion of pop music into something evocative, vibrant and unflinchingly authentic. “It’s like why am I so scared to discover / That chaos starts and ends with me” finds Plapinger encouraging you to harness your inner madness, to be hyperaware of how whole you are on your own. A raw garage rock spirit invokes that very disorder and permeates her polished package of clever alt-pop, while warped synths and a soaring chorus put sound to the "fight or flight" response, kinetic like the energy on a roller coaster's downhill dive.

Lately, days play out like a broken record. I wake up to a brief moment of thoughtless zen before remembering that I have nowhere to go. There's no office, no show tonight at Trans Pecos, no reason not to stretch out the wear time of this week's t-shirt. "Anxiety's exhausting me, it's a self-made bed," Plapinger sings, before insisting that "it only feels like a threat if I let it." As I've had to re-learn how to take care of myself, I find that my "best" vacillates from manic productivity to being proud that I even made my bed, and that's okay. Written before 2020, the track was never intended to be included on her upcoming record to be released later this year. But, as circumstances change, "My Best" now rises as a fitting anthem rooted in solidarity, Plapinger's way of reminding us she's on our side. Photo by Remy Lagrange.

Brighton-based Porridge Radio’s latest, “7 Seconds,” is an introspective indie rock tune full of garage-worthy guitars and frontwoman Dana Margolin’s searing voice. The band has a certain knack for making sad, lonely songs sound like a song you’d want to show your parents, and “7 Seconds” is no different. Catchy melodies, driving guitars and danceable choruses all work towards the bait and switch, and all of a sudden you’re crying in the club. This track in particular finds Margolin searching for the end of something that never felt right: “'Cause you can't hear me, you can't hear me / You can't hear a word I'm saying / And you're not here but your body is getting closer every day," she sings. The track swells and then fades as all but a tender guitar and Margolin’s voice are alone as she seemingly whispers into her own ear, “Do you ever think about who you were then and who you are now?” — an attempt to reflect on the past and look forward to what’s ahead.