"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. 

girl in red's new single "rue" is a haunting, emotional track, obviously inspired by the HBO show Euphoria both sonically and lyrically. From the start, the pounding drums and reverb-drenched instrumentals recall the dark nights and neon dreamscapes depicted in the series. The lyrics describe a relationship in which her mental health issues have made things hard on her partner, taking a toll on the relationship—similar to the dynamic between Rue and Jules shown in Euphoria. She describes crippling depression in the lines, "I hate the way my brain is wired / Can't trust my mind, it's such a liar / Believe me when I say / I can't carry the weight." Despite her struggles, though, it becomes obvious throughout the song that she wants desperately to save the relationship, repeating "I will make it work" in the bridge like a mantra, almost as if her saying it enough times will make it come true. "rue" is an emotionally impactful, atmospheric track with a booming, catchy chorus that will not be leaving your mind anytime soon. Listen to "rue" wherever you stream. Photo by Isak Jenssen.

Ahead of the release of his first solo project under the name of Lupin, Hippo Campus's vocalist and guitarist Jake Luppen presents track "May". The single is a delightfully chaotic introduction to him as Lupin, even for the fans who were already used to him as Jake. An honest reflection on his relationship at the time, May's lyrics might remind you of the feeling of the passage of time this year: "It lasted longer than you had expected / (Oh May) But shorter than I thought it'd be." The daze of the energetic beat or the heightened vocals only corroborates the idea of ever-so-reluctantly letting go of a connection with someone. While his writing on Hippo Campus had the mixed energy of a crew of artists, Lupin's self titled debut album is set to be a deeper dive into him as a whole—his story, his ups and downs, his most profound fears, the mark he is leaving in the world. The album's release is set for October 9.

It almost goes without saying the concept of time in the year of our lord 2020 has all but completely disappeared, and while the concept of stalled time is present in Neil Frances' track "Tuesday," the feeling is more on the side of timelessness. "Tuesday" begins with a jolt, propelling the listener outside of their personal 2020-inspired brain fog, right back into the beloved club scene of the 1990s. Crashing cymbals carry the song, inviting the listener to engage in a light and fun chair-swivel dance, but inside the listener's head, they're grooving contently in an era where it was not only safe to go out on a Tuesday, it was common not to give the idea a second thought.

The Los Angeles duo seem "in" on the idea of creating a timeless throwback anthem where the listener spends the quickest three and a half minutes on a hip-shaking journey into yesteryear. They invite us to forget everything which may be ailing us, with the opening lyrics "There's no good or bad with what we have / don't you know?" It's clear the feeling on the agenda for "Tuesday" is nothing short of good one; the duo's music video for the track exclusively features dogs riding in the car with their heads blissfully hanging out the window, a sweet and calming backdrop for a song which details the collective confusion over the lost sense of time, but frequently reminds us it is built on the ever-present reminder there is still positivity in the world.

Montreal-based alternative pop artist Tedy grapples with toxic masculinity, trauma and vulnerability in his single "Boys Don't Cry." Tedy tells the tale of always having your guard up, never showing weakness, only to realize your vulnerability's strength. The Haiti native's smooth and soulful vocals are soaked in hopelessness at the start of the track, diving into feelings of fear and sadness. This is especially present in lyrics like, "I ripped my heart and buried it, there's no need for it no more," and "cause boys don't cry, so don't let them see." As the music builds into swell full of 808s, synths and infectious guitar lines in the bridge and the final chorus, Tedy urges listeners to "try and feel something" and move to a place of acceptance and empowerment. Photo by Mathew Guido.

Dirty Projectors' latest, "Holy Mackerel," welcomes David Longstreth back into the spotlight after a wonderful string of releases had bandmates Maia Friedman and Felicia Douglass blessing the mic with two EPs: the beautifully poignant Windows Open and the joyous Flight Tower, respectively. "Holy Mackerel" will be featured in their third EP release this summer, Super João (out September 4), and this time will have Longstreth on lead vocals.  

According to the band’s social media, the song’s title comes from a story about Longstreth’s partner, who supposedly at only ten months old exclaimed, ‘ho maaco!’ while observing a hippopotamus at a zoo. The story claims that those were her very first words—a cute backstory that adds on to the already personal and intimate songwriting, where the idiomatic expression takes on a new and romantic dimension. There is a soft, genuine tenderness in Longstreth’s vocals. The song floats away on a cloud of cool and breezy bossa nova rhythm patterns. Longstreth plucks on nylon strings with ease, but behind an apparent simplicity lies the band’s signature idiosyncrasies.  

The ongoing release of their five-part EP series this summer has reminded us of the band’s incredible ability to keep itself constantly new, fresh and relevant—this time, allowing us to take turns getting to know each band member a little better, all while we continue to watch David Longstreth slowly turn into David Byrne. Photo by Jason Frank Rothenberg.

"Feel Like Doing Nothing" is an anthem for those days where you recognize yourself on the verge of burnout, and you take a moment to pause just before you fall over the edge. (Otherwise known as a Sunday, probably sometime in mid-August). Kate Bollinger's track opens with mellow acoustic guitar initially uncommitted to a tempo, skipping and starting in a way that still manages to feel more organic than forced. Soon warm jazzy-tone bass slides in and rounds out the pulse. Its heartbeat-like groove is a bit faster than you would expect—like someone trying really hard to take a deep breath and relax. Keys wander in and out like intrusive thoughts, while guitar lines try to establish a melody, and the bass keeps up its groove. The track keeps moving, not quite rushing, until the verse where She comes home and sits on the couch. Over the rest of the track, the heartbeat of the song gets progressively slower as the keys finally meld into the melody. It’s a thank you note for the people you love, whose presence makes it easier to feel like you can take a breath, lie on the couch, and feel good doing absolutely nothing. Photo by Jonathan Roensch.