Indie darling Soccer Mommy dropped a cover of The Chicks' "Wide Open Spaces" on May 14. Because of Soccer Mommy's melancholy rock sound, a cover of a country hit from the 90s took me by surprise. The "circle the drain" singer reminds the world that she hails from Nashville and is no stranger to country tunes as she naturally dons her metaphorical cowboy hat and clicks into this country melody. The arrangement is fun and original, and it's strangely refreshing to hear her refined, soft vocal on a song originally sung by country powerhouse—and blueprint—Natalie Maine. According to Instagram, Soccer Mommy recorded this cover a few years ago. Definitely better late than never, and I hope this means we could be getting more nostalgic country covers from the indie queen sometime soon. Photo by Brian Ziff.

Losses of any sort can make happy homes seemingly crumble into empty sanctuaries. The homes, although boisterous with life and new beginnings, become a catalyst for the occupants’ aching nostalgia over the person or thing they’re now devoid of. With every sorrow-driven piano key and powerfully executed vibrato, Jovan Perez explores the boundless aches of lamentation in his latest release “feel again.” Guided by a melancholic piano that sends shivers down the spine, the track takes listeners through the painful ups and downs of reminiscing on a past connection. There’s a story-like structure to the song that aids in the evocation of fervent emotion portrayed by Perez both lyrically and vocally that is unique to the young artist’s sound. The 20-year-old carries with him a revivifying soulfulness that is youthful in delivery, yet timeless in essence. Despite the track portraying the heart-wrenching perspective of an individual trapped within their own nostalgia, Perez has share that he wants listeners to “let this song serve as a reminder that these feelings are normal, and to try to find happiness and purpose in the present you’ve been gifted with.”

“Feel again” is Perez's third officially released track, and his second this year. The New York-based singer, songwriter and producer has already garnished the attention of fans via his covers on YouTube and is continuing to build his own empire within the music industry.

On the edge of uncertainty, propped by a slew of disappointment, Chastity Belt’s Annie Truscott and Jay Som’s Melina Duterte cling to one another in their latest musical collaboration as Routine. After the wracking letdown of cancelling tour during the rise of the COVID-19 pandemic, the duo spent a month of writing and recording in Joshua Tree—leading to their debut EP, And Other Things. Infused with this desert essence and leeway into catharsis, “Numb Enough” is one of five sonic vignettes offered on the EP. The misty vocals traipse along shaded strings of guitar, in a crestfallen deliverance of one’s frustration toward a cold and detached partner. Despite the despondency, there is an element of self-assurance in the lyrics: “I’m not here to entertain you / I’m not your play doll.” The track further rises out into a sturdy fizz of guitar, clearing away into daybreak. It is a signal of renewal, culled from disappointment, that can inspire all to find release in turbulent times. Photo by Eleanor Petry.

Leading in with immediately captivating vocals and an energetic drop-in of electric guitar, girlhouse documents the realization of a relationship conflict during what many call the most wonderful time of the year. This track explores the concept of dressing things up and becoming convinced that they can work when in reality we are so capable of creating mirages of beautiful love. Lauren Luiz conveys this sentiment through lyrics like “All of our lies are covered in tinsel now.” “Ugly xmas sweater party” is the type of song that delivers warmth and goodness through its sound, even when the message is acute and empathetic to reconciling with the recognition that being with someone was not, in full, what they seemed. Photo by Anna Lee.

Rachel Bochner’s latest single, “Pick Me Up,” details how toxic love can be when we use its addictive powers to fill a glaring void in our own lives, to distract us from our loneliness. Bochner is NYC-based and you can hear the city’s influence in her sound; the cyclical and mesmerizing electric riff and steady drums frame its view like a yellowing Polaroid frame—the driving bass like the hum of taxis and traffic. Whether it's in NYC or elsewhere, most of us have endured the lyrical story that Bochner is narrating. Imagine yourself wandering the city on an early winter evening; it’s already dark by the time you walk alone to the subway, passing and peering into warm, golden windows where you see friends having dinner and two lovers on a date. You look down at your phone—no messages—and hasten your speed to dissolve once again into the darkness, obscured only by neon “open” signs on bodegas' doors and red traffic lights reflecting in the puddles on the ground. It’s here that loneliness bites even harder than the cold air, as the world seemingly spins magnificently around us for everyone else yet we wander home with no plans, no purpose. The only thing that shatters this sinking melancholy: your phone lights up and it’s the person who’s made a mosaic of your heart, despite you denying with each new crack in the glass that you’ll never let them do it again. The pull of better judgement loses out to having company for the sake of it—for the promise of whatever small adventure awaits with them as opposed to your empty apartment, and you give in (“I know it isn’t good for me / But whеn I’m down / And need a pick me up / Can you pick me up”). “Pick Me Up” is the tonic for this ennui, like a note from a friend telling us that we can do better, and that when you’re in a sparkling, skyscraped city, loneliness is often just a mirage. Bochner’s full EP, 2AM, is out in January.

I Know I Know said, “You know what 2020 needs? A good ol’ 2014-style breakup banger,” and then delivered exactly that with their latest single, “Talk." It’s got an infectious syncopated pulse that tugs your body out to the dance floor. True, that dance floor is your room with a Bluetooth speaker hopping across your desk, but it doesn’t matter. Coiled tight, under stress, it was only a matter of time until you exploded somehow. The intense kick drum shakes apart any thoughts, leaving only feelings in their place—and feelings, you can deal with. Feelings, you can drown. They don’t stand a chance against the electronic effects and noise. Melting into movement for yourself and absolutely no one else feels cathartic, in a rabidly selfish way. The moment is yours, and you refuse to share it. You are wrapped in yourself completely, and it feels good. Once you lose your breath, there’s just enough space cleared in your brain to think about someone else. You consider yourself in context, exploring your actions from multiple perspectives. Yours. Theirs. Not all the angles are pretty, but they’re not all ugly either. It might be too little too late, but you finally got there. That should count for something, you think, even if it doesn’t. "Talk" ends with an unspoken question dangling off the edge of the track. It’s an eternal question, as terrifying as judgement day: “If I call you, will you answer?”