Like Madonna, Cher and all other single-named pop royalty, Shamir is fierce, even in the face of heartbreak. “On My Own,” the latest single from the Philly-based musician, discusses his confidence through lost love. Through raunchy guitar riffs and melodious synths, Shamir speaks of the power he’s generated from his own self-respect. “Don’t bargain with my worth,” he sings, “cause I don’t mind to live all on my own / and I never did.” The strength Shamir carries throughout the song, in tandem with the field march feel of the drums, has morphed its meaning into what many are calling an “introvert anthem.” That description has caught on for good reason. Shamir’s vocal provides an uplifting cadence that makes wonderful company for isolation and the forever journey of self-discovery. When the full-bodied bridge hits, he finds the apex of his message. He sings, “I feel it in my bones, inside myself is where I belong.” Shamir doesn’t care to feel like he belongs, because to himself, he always did.

If you took Phoebe Bridgers to a club on a sweltering Saturday night and sweetly encouraged her to get her groove on, the triumphant result would be "Lonely Boy" by Becca Mancari.

Mancari delivers the perfect track for the summer, clocking just under two-and-a-half minutes; a decadent and triumphant pop song, which wouldn't be out of place if it were featured on the soundtrack to a beloved teen drama from the aughts. She takes her lonely subject on an upbeat ride, trying to figure them out. 

Getting a lonely person to contemplate their loneliness would normally seem like a daunting task, but Mancari goes easy on them as she spends the majority of the song gently asking "Are you a lonely boy?" Mancari is intent on driving the question into her subject's mind, to the point where they're unable to avoid figuring out why they're always a loner—but they get a bit of a pass because this "lonely boy" still tries.

Becca Mancari's first album since 2017, The Greatest Part, will be released on June 26 via Captured Tracks.

The staggering genius of Sean Bowie emerges immediately upon pressing play on their fourth album as Yves Tumor, which opens with “Gospel for a New Century.” Tumor’s own brand of brilliance survives in their own mystique, which shapeshifts in kaleidoscopic, sonic morsels that fleetingly reveal themselves through flashing emotional windows—into which Tumor allows us to momentarily gaze. “Gospel for a New Century” unfolds with a vintage horn sample that sounds freshly plucked from a James Brown or Edwin Starr song, soon supplemented by a full chorus of brasswinds fit for a 1970s spy-noir film score. By the time the bassline and Tumor’s vocals kick in, we’d be tempted to enlist the song as a masterwork in psychedelic, anthemic rock—but this is where we’d be wrong. Often the best art shocks and shakes us in unquantifiable ways, without grasping at labels or ticking genre boxes, and this is exactly how Tumor’s opus pierces our senses. In neon orchestral flares we can discern a host of influences from Prince and Lenny Kravitz to MGMT; yet, this recognition leaves us as rapidly as it arrived. Tumor’s “Gospel” is a roaring rhapsody of experimental funk-rock distortion, layered so finely we could spend ages dissecting it—but by the time we do, Tumor will have already entered another unexplored aural landscape.

The quiet inside of me could never match the stillness 

outside, even on nights like tonight, when the world

stops and offers me a chance to unwind.

Of all the things I carried home

and secrets left behind,

there lives one in the neon chrome

waiting for her right time.

Alone with you, the truth comes soon,

exposed in afterglow.

I'll save it for the perfect moon —

when it's my time, I'll know.

A bassline groove sets the scene for Tayla Parx’s high-pitched glossy vocals to steal the show in this sparkly, nostalgic number as she sings of not wanting to “Dance Alone.” We’ve all been there—the night is nearing its inevitable end, but we’re not quite ready to go home. We want to keep on dancing (just not alone), and we’ll do anything to keep the party going “until the lights come on.” Whether you hear this as a metaphor for clinging to a doomed relationship, or a literal ode to and reluctance to leave the dancefloor, this single by Tayla Parx, in all its glitter and glory, will definitely keep you dancing for at least one more song. 

Even if you have yet to listen to her debut full-length album We Need To Talk (2019), you’ve heard elements of her sound and style on some of the most popular songs of the last few years. From Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next” and “7 rings,” to Khalid and Normani’s “Love Lies,” to Panic! At The Disco’s“High Hopes,” to Troye Sivan’s latest release, “Take Yourself Home,” Parx has infiltrated the charts with her poignant melodic and lyrical contributions. These songs all share a polished pop sound, and it is clear in the genre-bending and infectious track “Dance Alone” that Parx sets the same high standards for her own work as a solo artist.

Dua Saleh’s "umbrellar" only gives us a few seconds before the storm sweeps us away. Once the first verse pours in, the energy of the arpeggiating synth is frantic, making our whole body vibrate with anticipation. And soon it’s here—when the beat comes in, the song morphs into a hurricane with a full force gale. That’s the point, in a way, that dizzying, hectic, heart-pounding feeling that is hard-core attraction. “Last pint from that last night / I don't know if that was real,” their vocals call out echoey over a pounding beat and a world of synths. It’s a party, and we’re melting into the intoxication. Suddenly the spell breaks, a moment of quiet, twisted vocals give us long enough to gasp for breath before diving headfirst back into the fantasy. “I swear I'm superstitious / 'Bout her sex appeal,” says Saleh even as they lose themselves again in the delirium.

“One Night Stand” is a pop-anthem expression of how guilty pleasures become creature comfort. The track is off of Australian-born artist and producer Banoffee’s debut album Look at Us Now Dad, which features the likes of Empress Of and cupcakKe alongside production credits from Yves Rothman and SOPHIE. Rooted in the brutally honest confession of her unhealthy behavior, the chorus sings as an outright admission, “You should have been a one night stand / but now you’re a habit.” I’ve often found myself in this same addictive cycle and reflect on the feeling in my poem below: 

Tidal Pools

past lovers 

empty

tic-tac bottles — 

stranger’s hands

unwashed

Goodwill sweaters —

filth that feels

good.