"clockWise" is a striking single, mysterious both in its feel and its creator. There’s very little that's easy to find out about thomTide other than the unquestionable — as an artist he is channeling some deeply creative and original textures and songs. His three previous releases are all less than 100 seconds, offering only a taste of what his musical world could be. Across these releases, thomTide brings up a diverse cast of comparisons for me: hints of Moses Sumney’s longing and grandiosity; using his falsetto as an instrument in ways that channel 645AR; and an undeniable swagger that feels like that of Brittany Howard. “clockWise” is an earned next step, an evolution in sound that still keeps the mystery alive. A driving kick forces a dark guitar riff onward, as he delivers poetic thoughts on growing and time. Just like the song’s energy, there is no stopping life from moving forward. Yet, rather than fall victim to its unrelenting momentum, thomTide takes it in stride, recontextualizing it as a motivation and reminder to “love and fail while we may.” Around halfway through, the song expands outwards, those lead vocals reaching for something more. In the final thirty seconds, drums are traded for a chorus of voices, creating a hauntingly beautiful moment. This is a performance that proves thomTide is not messing around, the mysterious figure capable of so much incredible artistry in under two minutes. We'll certainly be tuned in for what's to come. thomTide's hand-painted sweater is by Ryan Sadler and Spencer Lee. Photo by Ahmed Owda.

Tim Atlas stays true to his DIY roots on “Cold Shoulder,” a lo-fi tune that questions what vulnerability is worth. Penned, produced and mixed entirely by Atlas, the single teases his upcoming third EP, which will be his first as a fresh signing to Nettwerk Records. The R&B-saturated pop track blends ever-so-slightly dissonant chords with an animated beat as Atlas comes to terms with the end of something ambiguous, perhaps not worth calling a relationship, that was doomed from the start. “Drinking in the basement / Sinking in my own self doubt” has Atlas asking himself if he was the fool all along for leaving himself unguarded, if a shoulder to lean on was really so much to ask. For me, I’ve all but forgotten how to talk to people this year, much less forge intimate connections in an already vulnerable state. I see myself “scroll the web just to feel closer” all the time, and feel Atlas’ regret in letting someone in. It's barely a whisper, the way Atlas distorts his voice to confess: “I wish you'd call just to say hi to me." “Cold Shoulder” perfectly encapsulates the ennui and introspection that so characterizes bedroom pop.

Couch Prints is back with an electric anthem for those with recurring dreams and love spells. Songwriters Brandon Tong and Jake Truax have found an honest way to embody the perseverance that true love (even inexplicable love) can inspire without abandoning the celebration of inner strength that pales every other question and concern. The audience will undergo a resurrection with lead singer, Jayanna Roberts. Angelic tones and instrumental drones dawn an awakening that builds as if the song is slowly fighting to stand vertebra by vertebra. Eventually, Roberts charges forth to meet her fate. "I'm getting so familiar," she laments, with extraordinary confidence. "Faces" is an unconditionally loving friend to those who have chosen to follow their hearts, in spite of what the past has warned against. Photo by Wade Schaul.

To put it simply, “Devil” is a groove to get lost in. There is a special vibrance about Jeremy Schmett’s debut as a solo artist that is filled with honesty and grit, as well as optimism and uplifting cadence, as this LA-based producer/guitarist is not afraid to be his true self on all platforms. While the track initially hits your ears as an indie rock/pop tune, layers of Schmett’s jazz and soul influences peel back to reveal his myriad capabilities, as he "dances with the devil in a pretty dress on the floor.” This is an artist to be on the lookout for; a male Maggie Rogers with the guitar prowess of Tom Misch. We can’t wait to see what kinds of genre-bending genius comes from Jeremy Schmett as he continues to make his mark on the indie music scene.

This recent single from Australian artist FELIVAND feels vintage yet brand new, giving timeless themes new life. The synths develop such rich character and attitude, while her vocals feel like a fresh wrinkle in today’s incredible alt-R&B scene. The second verse opens with a line that I’ve kept returning to — “Every time I see you, feel like I gotta re-meet you” — and ends by asking, “What happened to the person I knew?” It’s a moving distillation of the song’s theme. FELIVAND reaching out for someone that’s just not there to reach back any more. A gut-wrenching line that suggests this has been a repeated effort. Trying, hoping, believing that what once was good can be good again. But the ship has sailed, or rather we find that it’s not even the same ship anymore — a devastating result. And as we feel for FELIVAND, we see there’s more damage being done. This propels us into the bridge, an incredibly powerful highlight moment of the song. FELIVAND shines beneath this spotlight, a moment full of so much emotion and soul, with palpable pain. There’s no beating around the bush anymore: “You don't think of consequence, the wrong type of confidence. You're hurting your friends.” Can’t get enough? Us either. Good news: her newest single “Ebb & Flow” just came out today as well.

“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.