Runnner, the sometimes-solo-sometimes-collaborative project of Noah Weinman, is back with his third release of 2020. “New Sublet” has the band’s characteristic lo-fi slacker-folk vibe, but this time it’s met with strumming reminiscent of early 2000s Coldplay, meets the folk sensibilities of Caamp, with the croon of solemn horns. Melancholy and candid, the song describes an experience all too familiar to many 20-somethings: something in your life ends, whether it’s a relationship or a job, and it sparks a desire to browse new apartments in faraway cities—aching for the chance to begin again. But what happens when running away starts to become a habit? Does a fresh start ever truly fix what is in need of repair? Throughout the track, Weinman tries to talk himself out of craving a dive into the unfamiliar. Over a soft banjo melody, Weinman sings, “you’re just getting addicted to starting all over again.” After all, “New Sublet” reminds us that no matter where you go, you take yourself with you.

Distance between two people can be caused by a number of circumstances. Breakups, faraway homesteads, required or voluntary travel, state-mandated lockdowns, death. The reason for separation in “Lipstick Song” is not evident, but it seems to be driving the narrator of the story into madness. This barely three-minute vignette of modern love portrays what we’ve all experienced at one time or another: clinging to tiny objects for comfort in a loved one’s absence.

Porches front person Aaron Maine admits he’s put himself into a trance thinking about his beloved then does something not typically advisable: “Like a symbol I rode to the mall / Slow motion, I picked out a shade / Fantasy, I slid it across your lips.” There’s only one reason to buy something as personal and individual as a tube of lipstick for someone who may never receive it: to continue living in denial that said person is gone. It’s masochism at its sweetest: a longing that hurts so good, you never want it to end. Maine’s trance is lovely to listen to. The production is thoughtful and carefully balanced, beginning with a simple bassline melody and building to a carnival of electronic instruments and vocal harmonies by the second chorus. Even at its peak, there are no extraneous parts. While the most prominent synth lines are heavy and almost aggressive, together they weave a beautiful, heady spell. After listening to “Lipstick Song” while quarantined at home, you may feel compelled to scavenge around for your own relics of the past.

Amid the hellscape that is 2020, Purity Ring is here to soothe your quarantine blues. The duo teased “peacefall” on Facebook, calling it a song “to keep you company.” After years of radio silence, Purity Ring is on the cusp of releasing their first album in five years (WOMB drops today, April 3rd). Megan James and Corin Roddick from Edmonton, welcome back. The first releases of WOMB (“peacefall,” “stardew,” “pink lightning,” and “i like the devil”) show the duo sticking to what they do best: producing glittering, synth-forward pop that plays with syntax and swims through your ears. These are songs to listen to alone in your bedroom when the insomnia hits. More avant-garde than another eternity (which featured tracks like “push pull” and “heartsigh") early signs suggest WOMB is a return to the Shrines era Purity Ring—albeit with a more refined sound. "peacefall" is a gorgeous tale of finding peace in darkness. Hypnotic vocals by James are supported by backing vocals from Jonna Bjerre, “Ride like a maniac / Into, into the light.”

Despite being a vast and difficult to define genre, indie music in the 21st century has occasionally had to battle accusations of pretentiousness and self-seriousness. “Sway,” one of the standout tracks from Kansas-based indie upstart Jordana’s freshly released LP, Classical Notions of Happiness, stands in direct opposition to these claims. The woozy synths and subdued bass playing contrast well with the sharp hi-hats and clean guitar sections; altogether, it feels like a natural accompaniment to Jordana’s demure vocals. Her melody is so effortless that it feels like it could have been a first take, but the delivery is far too polished for that to be the case. The languid pacing of “Sway” meshes perfectly with the hazy, somewhat unstructured atmosphere Jordana carefully crafts throughout the duration. It is more difficult to create a meandering but purposeful piece of mood music than it seems—a track lacking an earworm chorus or real attention-grabbing piece of instrumentation can easily get lost in a modern music scene that is increasingly geared towards those with the shortest attention spans. “Sway” stands in stark opposition to these trends, an engaging piece of music made from a place of personal desire rather than one brought about by external forces, and the result is an effortlessly fun R&B-tinged romp from an artist who is thankfully just getting started.

Runnner’s latest release, “Ur Name on a Grain of Rice," is a melancholic but self-aware confessional that sweeps across the part of your chest reserved for heartbreak. This LA-based, seven-member ensemble could have walked straight out of the indie-folk scene of 2009, harkening back to the glory days of Dr.Dog, Iron and Wine, and Death Cab for Cutie’s acoustics. Sloping, winding vocals, reminiscent of Andy Shauf, are stretched over the steady pulse of the drumline and the chirping twang of a banjo. Met with the powerful swell of sax, horns, and vocal harmonies (including Helen from Skullcrusher), the layers build gradually over the length of this mesmerizing five-minute track and culminate in a euphony of textures, the singer repeating almost defiantly “I’m shouting it now, cos I can’t write it down, I’m letting it pour out the sides of my mouth.” With cutting observations like “I can’t stand to be alone, because it’s so easy to ignore me,” there is more than just yearning to the lyrics, there’s humility as well, underlining the all too familiar duality of doubt and desire. “Ur Name on a Grain of Rice” is a lush track that reminds us of the ways love teaches us personal growth; It’s something we want to deserve, but maybe aren’t ready to yet.

Melanie Faye charms on "It's A Moot Point," an intimate, new tune whose sickly sweet sound attempts to patch the holes in a flawed love. Her lush vocals shine on the track, driven by a relaxed backbeat as well as the jazz guitar prowess that made Faye viral in 2017 through a cosign from SZA. Contrary to the laid back nature of the song, Faye's lyrics expose her pain, allowing us to ponder exactly what the moot point in the relationship might be. "I hold on foolishly / To the only thing that means everything to me," she laments, suggesting that they had run their course. However, pleading in the chorus with "Give me one more chance babe and your mine now," Faye lands on a more hopeful note. While her Instagram is brimming with videos of guitar and bass riffs, clips of her singing are much less frequent, making the song a pleasant surprise to fans now hoping for more.

David You’s “Sand” is a gentle rumination on the intangible beauty of love. Born and raised in New York, the indie-folk artist layers soft angelic vocals over delicate acoustic fingerpicking and a light twinkle of the piano. The five-minute track is languid in its gratitude as he sings, “I wanna say / I am thankful for your love / you give me hope and trust.” Though the sound is almost mournful, the song is an ode to love and the peace it can bring. It explores the beauty in finding someone with whom you can completely be yourself and feel unashamed. You describes the way love can alter the passage of time singing, “now all the time / passes me like sand / slipping through my hands.” Though we long to hold onto love and happiness forever, it comes and goes at it pleases. “Sand” is the first track off of David You’s newest EP Beautiful, Like Pyramids.

French-Korean artist Claire Chicha, otherwise known as spill tab, creates mesmerizing electro-pop alongside producer David Marinelli. On their latest single, “Calvaire,” the two deliver an unstoppable bop that is as danceable as it is atmospheric. The vocal is lush and delivered in French, but you don’t have to know French to appreciate this banger. In a teaser for the music video accompanying the song, Chicha mentions “Calvaire represents shitty circumstances that can ruin life. Something overbearing.” This sentiment is relatable now more than ever before, as we isolate ourselves and navigate away from our “normal” lives. As troublesome as our current crisis might be, at least we have “Calvaire” to move us with it’s embellished, percolating beat.

Hey. Hello...hello? “Jupiter” begins with the ring of a phone call and what sounds like a one-sided conversation. It’s easy to get lost in this track, a gentle wash of strumming and percussion from The Marías. Lead singer María Zardoya’s vocals are spellbinding, as she sings about waking up next to someone you love, bathed in sunlight. She delivers sweet musings in breathy tones, “Maybe the photo’s out of focus, I can’t believe that no one noticed," never raising her voice beyond a few octaves. When you learn the band’s origin story, which begins with drummer Josh Conway approaching Zardoya at a gig in Los Angeles, the harmonies take on a deeper meaning.

Scene: the spartan hallways of a music academy, after hours. Distant piano arpeggiations fade into consciousness, floating skyward before dissipating into aging, yellowed, acoustic ceiling tiles. You follow the sound, and at last, crack open the door to a large, nearly empty rehearsal hall, revealing a lone pianist practicing what sounds to be a Liszt piece. A percussive element follows the shape of the melody: the exaggerated clack of piano keys snapping you into reality. Staying grounded is necessary. Yael Naim casts a siren’s spell, tantalizing with her perfect vocal blend of airiness and earthiness. To prevent you from drifting to sleep, a plucky synth part enters, and suddenly you’re catapulted into a magical quest to save Zelda...or something. The production builds, adding a harpsichord, an angelic choir, a small brass section. “She” guides the listener through an orchestral journey of the psyche: the loss of control, the doubting of your own sanity, the questioning of self and the fear of what comes next. Above all the confusion, sunlight streams, blinding as through stained glass in a stately cathedral, bathing you in hope. Naim spins an ethereal dance that twists and turns in and out of darkness and light, serving up a hauntingly appropriate backdrop for these uncertain times.

“Witches” from Alice Phoebe Lou is magical. Boldly incessant synth cascades over every word, hypnotizing and enticing. This song weds the cosmic and the terrestrial as Lou’s entrancing vocals cast spells, proclaiming “I'm one of those witches, babe / I'm one of those witches, babe / Just don't try to save me, 'cause / I don't wanna be saved." Listen as this track pulls you in and out of a lovely dream, and makes your body sway in that “golden way." When the things that make us worry are far beyond our control, songs like these are a wonderful gift. We can surrender for a moment to kindly hypnotic music like “Witches” and be at ease.