Double J's 50 Best Albums of 2023

“You can feel a lot of motion and energy,” Caroline Polachek tells Apple Music of her second solo studio album. “And chaos. I definitely leaned into that chaos.” Written and recorded during a pandemic and in stolen moments while Polachek toured with Dua Lipa in 2022, *Desire, I Want to Turn Into You* is Polachek’s self-described “maximalist” album, and it weaponizes everything in her kaleidoscopic arsenal. “I set out with an interest in making a more uptempo record,” she says. “Songs like ‘Bunny Is a Rider,’ ‘Welcome to My Island,’ and ‘Smoke’ came onto the plate first and felt more hot-blooded and urgent than anything I’d done before. But of course, life happened, the pandemic happened, I evolved as a person, and I can’t really deny that a lunar, wistful side of my writing can never be kept out of the house. So it ended up being quite a wide constellation of songs.” Polachek cites artists including Massive Attack, SOPHIE, Donna Lewis, Enya, Madonna, The Beach Boys, Timbaland, Suzanne Vega, Ennio Morricone, and Matia Bazar as inspirations, but this broad church only really hints at *Desire…*’s palette. Across its 12 songs we get trip-hop, bagpipes, Spanish guitars, psychedelic folk, ’60s reverb, spoken word, breakbeats, a children’s choir, and actual Dido—all anchored by Polachek’s unteachable way around a hook and disregard for low-hanging pop hits. This is imperial-era Caroline Polachek. “The album’s medium is feeling,” she says. “It’s about character and movement and dynamics, while dealing with catharsis and vitality. It refuses literal interpretation on purpose.” Read on for Polachek’s track-by-track guide. **“Welcome to My Island”** “‘Welcome to My Island’ was the first song written on this album. And it definitely sets the tone. The opening, which is this minute-long non-lyrical wail, came out of a feeling of a frustration with the tidiness of lyrics and wanting to just express something kind of more primal and urgent. The song is also very funny. We snap right down from that Tarzan moment down to this bitchy, bratty spoken verse that really becomes the main personality of this song. It’s really about ego at its core—about being trapped in your own head and forcing everyone else in there with you, rather than capitulating or compromising. In that sense, it\'s both commanding and totally pathetic. The bridge addresses my father \[James Polachek died in 2020 from COVID-19\], who never really approved of my music. He wanted me to be making stuff that was more political, intellectual, and radical. But also, at the same time, he wasn’t good at living his own life. The song establishes that there is a recognition of my own stupidity and flaws on this album, that it’s funny and also that we\'re not holding back at all—we’re going in at a hundred percent.” **“Pretty in Possible”** “If ‘Welcome to My Island’ is the insane overture, ‘Pretty in Possible’ finds me at street level, just daydreaming. I wanted to do something with as little structure as possible where you just enter a song vocally and just flow and there\'s no discernible verses or choruses. It’s actually a surprisingly difficult memo to stick to because it\'s so easy to get into these little patterns and want to bring them back. I managed to refuse the repetition of stuff—except for, of course, the opening vocals, which are a nod to Suzanne Vega, definitely. It’s my favorite song on the album, mostly because I got to be so free inside of it. It’s a very simple song, outside a beautiful string section inspired by Massive Attack’s ‘Unfinished Sympathy.’ Those dark, dense strings give this song a sadness and depth that come out of nowhere. These orchestral swells at the end of songs became a compositional motif on the album.” **“Bunny Is a Rider”** “A spicy little summer song about being unavailable, which includes my favorite bassline of the album—this quite minimal funk bassline. Structurally on this one, I really wanted it to flow without people having a sense of the traditional dynamics between verses and choruses. Timbaland was a massive influence on that song—especially around how the beat essentially doesn\'t change the whole song. You just enter it and flow. ‘Bunny Is a Rider’ was a set of words that just flowed out without me thinking too much about it. And the next thing I know, we made ‘Bunny Is a Rider’ thongs. I love getting occasional Instagram tags of people in their ‘Bunny Is a Rider’ thongs. An endless source of happiness for me.” **“Sunset”** “This was a song I began writing with Sega Bodega in 2020. It sounded completely nothing like the others. It had a folk feel, it was gypsy Spanish, Italian, Greek feel to it. It completely made me look at the album differently—and start to see a visual world for them that was a bit more folk, but living very much in the swirl of city life, having this connection to a secret, underground level of antiquity and the universalities of art. It was written right around a month or two after Ennio Morricone passed away, so I\'d been thinking a lot about this epic tone of his work, and about how sunsets are the biggest film clichés in spaghetti westerns. We were laughing about how it felt really flamenco and Spanish—not knowing that a few months later, I was going to find myself kicked out of the UK because I\'d overstayed my visa without realizing it, and so I moved my sessions with Sega to Barcelona. It felt like the song had been a bit of a premonition that that chapter-writing was going to happen. We ended up getting this incredible Spanish guitarist, Marc Lopez, to play the part.” **“Crude Drawing of an Angel”** “‘Crude Drawing of an Angel’ was born, in some ways, out of me thinking about jokingly having invented the word ‘scorny’—which is scary and horny at the same time. I have a playlist of scorny music that I\'m still working on and I realized that it was a tone that I\'d never actually explored. I was also reading John Berger\'s book on drawing \[2005’s *Berger on Drawing*\] and thinking about trace-leaving as a form of drawing, and as an extremely beautiful way of looking at sensuality. This song is set in a hotel room in which the word ‘drawing’ takes on six different meanings. It imagines watching someone wake up, not realizing they\'re being observed, whilst drawing them, knowing that\'s probably the last time you\'re going to see them.” **“I Believe”** “‘I Believe’ is a real dedication to a tone. I was in Italy midway through the pandemic and heard this song called ‘Ti Sento’ by Matia Bazar at a house party that blew my mind. It was the way she was singing that blew me away—that she was pushing her voice absolutely to the limit, and underneath were these incredible key changes where every chorus would completely catch you off guard. But she would kind of propel herself right through the center of it. And it got me thinking about the archetype of the diva vocally—about how really it\'s very womanly that it’s a woman\'s voice and not a girl\'s voice. That there’s a sense of authority and a sense of passion and also an acknowledgment of either your power to heal or your power to destroy. At the same time, I was processing the loss of my friend SOPHIE and was thinking about her actually as a form of diva archetype; a lot of our shared taste in music, especially ’80s music, kind of lined up with a lot of those attitudes. So I wanted to dedicate these lyrics to her.” **“Fly to You” (feat. Grimes and Dido)** “A very simple song at its core. It\'s about this sense of resolution that can come with finally seeing someone after being separated from them for a while. And when a lot of misunderstanding and distrust can seep in with that distance, the kind of miraculous feeling of clearing that murk to find that sort of miraculous resolution and clarity. And so in this song, Grimes, Dido, and I kind of find our different version of that. But more so than anything literal, this song is really about beauty, I think, about all of us just leaning into this kind of euphoric, forward-flowing movement in our singing and flying over these crystalline tiny drum and bass breaks that are accompanied by these big Ibiza guitar solos and kind of Nintendo flutes, and finding this place where very detailed electronic music and very pure singing can meet in the middle. And I think it\'s something that, it\'s a kind of feeling that all of us have done different versions of in our music and now we get to together.” **“Blood and Butter”** “This was written as a bit of a challenge between me and Danny L Harle where we tried to contain an entire song to two chords, which of course we do fail at, but only just. It’s a pastoral, it\'s a psychedelic folk song. It imagines itself set in England in the summer, in June. It\'s also a love letter to a lot of the music I listened to growing up—these very trance-like, mantra-like songs, like Donna Lewis’ ‘I Love You Always Forever,’ a lot of Madonna’s *Ray of Light* album, Savage Garden—that really pulsing, tantric electronic music that has a quite sweet and folksy edge to it. The solo is played by a hugely talented and brilliant bagpipe player named Brighde Chaimbeul, whose album *The Reeling* I\'d found in 2022 and became quite obsessed with.” **“Hopedrunk Everasking”** “I couldn\'t really decide if this song needed to be about death or about being deeply, deeply in love. I then had this revelation around the idea of tunneling, this idea of retreating into the tunnel, which I think I feel sometimes when I\'m very deeply in love. The feeling of wanting to retreat from the rest of the world and block the whole rest of the world out just to be around someone and go into this place that only they and I know. And then simultaneously in my very few relationships with losing someone, I did feel some this sense of retreat, of someone going into their own body and away from the world. And the song feels so deeply primal to me. The melody and chords of it were written with Danny L Harle, ironically during the Dua Lipa tour—when I had never been in more of a pop atmosphere in my entire life.” **“Butterfly Net”** “‘Butterfly Net’ is maybe the most narrative storyteller moment on the whole album. And also, palette-wise, deviates from the more hybrid electronic palette that we\'ve been in to go fully into this 1960s drum reverb band atmosphere. I\'m playing an organ solo. I was listening to a lot of ’60s Italian music, and the way they use reverbs as a holder of the voice and space and very minimal arrangements to such incredible effect. It\'s set in three parts, which was somewhat inspired by this triptych of songs called ‘Chansons de Bilitis’ by Claude Debussy that I had learned to sing with my opera teacher. I really liked that structure of the finding someone falling in love, the deepening of it, and then the tragedy at the end. It uses the metaphor of the butterfly net to speak about the inability to keep memories, to keep love, to keep the feeling of someone\'s presence. The children\'s choir \[London\'s Trinity Choir\] we hear on ‘Billions’ comes in again—they get their beautiful feature at the end where their voices actually become the stand-in for the light of the world being onto me.” **“Smoke”** “It was, most importantly, the first song for the album written with a breakbeat, which inspired me to carry on down that path. It’s about catharsis. The opening line is about pretending that something isn\'t catastrophic when it obviously is. It\'s about denial. It\'s about pretending that the situation or your feelings for someone aren\'t tectonic, but of course they are. And then, of course, in the chorus, everything pours right out. But tonally it feels like I\'m at home base with ‘Smoke.’ It has links to songs like \[2019’s\] ‘Pang,’ which, for me, have this windswept feeling of being quite out of control, but are also very soulful and carried by the music. We\'re getting a much more nocturnal, clattery, chaotic picture.” **“Billions”** “‘Billions’ is last for all the same reasons that \'Welcome to My Island’ is first. It dissolves into total selflessness, whereas the album opens with total selfishness. The Beach Boys’ ‘Surf’s Up’ is one of my favorite songs of all time. I cannot listen to it without sobbing. But the nonlinear, spiritual, tumbling, open quality of that song was something that I wanted to bring into the song. But \'Billions\' is really about pure sensuality, about all agenda falling away and just the gorgeous sensuality of existing in this world that\'s so full of abundance, and so full of contradictions, humor, and eroticism. It’s a cheeky sailboat trip through all these feelings. You know that feeling of when you\'re driving a car to the beach, that first moment when you turn the corner and see the ocean spreading out in front of you? That\'s what I wanted the ending of this album to feel like: The song goes very quiet all of a sudden, and then you see the water and the children\'s choir comes in.”

*NO THANK YOU*—the follow-up to 2021’s Mercury Prize-winning *Sometimes I Might Be Introvert*—emphatically deepens Little Simz’s connection with producer Inflo, and provides further confirmation of the Islington rapper’s generational abilities. The initials of the title of her soul-searching fourth LP spelled out her first name, and the name of its surprise follow-up also hints at a purposeful double meaning. Perhaps a kindly expression of gratitude for the flowers given since *SIMBI*’s success? More likely an act of defiance. Either way, within this trademark ambiguity Simz gets her shine on across 10 sumptuous tracks. BRIT Awards Producer Of The Year 2022 Dean Josiah Cover—aka Inflo—taps into the rich, bluesy elements of his enigmatic Sault music for urgent dispatches from Simbi Ajikawo. It’s a rich sonic seam: A returning undercurrent of gospel-rooted R&B reinforces lines with spiritual resonance. From tone-setting opener “Angel” (dedicated to the model Harry Uzoka, who died in January 2018), soft choral flourishes and dreamy Cleo Sol vocals help Simz pick up where she left off in 2021. “Revoke access, I’m running it back, yes/Missing opportunities, I wish I was that pressed.” Building on a deep-rooted synergy, Simz and Inflo go the whole length on the gut feeling that has made their partnership so prolific. For Simz, an artist who’s always operated to her own set of standards, an equally clear-sighted collaborator (Inflo is also across the keys, chords, and strings) finds her at her most compassionate and precise, tackling family trauma and the emotional isolation of success. Within the streams of sharp, self-analyzing rhymes, scattered samples, and prolonged orchestral sections—“Sideways” and “Control”—lies the sound of a winning combo firmly in the groove. As Simz continues to soar, she’s evidently still clearing house. By facing down the dark reaches of the mind and the tests of her daily environment, emotional and soulful highs and lows are wonderfully bared across her tightest lyrical offering to date.

Jen Cloher has never shied away from probing lyrical examinations, delving into the loss of their parents and the final days of a romantic partnership on previous records. Cloher’s fifth album explores their Māori ancestry, right down to the cover photo depicting the songwriter in the Aotearoa river in which many generations of women in their family have bathed and swum. That sense of history pervades these songs, some even incorporating lyrics sung in te reo Māori: Opener “Mana Takatāpui” was inspired by Cloher learning the Māori word for “queer,” while the Theia co-write “He Toka-Tu-Moana” is delivered entirely in language. As with the Melbourne-based artist’s past work, there’s a consistent fearlessness to the subject matter, whether Cloher is questioning the potency of a protest song or lamenting climate change and stolen land. Musically, the album slips naturally between robust indie rock and unadorned folk, with a surprising foray into R&B-style swagger on the downright sultry “My Witch.” As ever, Cloher’s razor-sharp articulation makes sure that no lyric goes unappreciated.

I Am The River, The River Is Me, Cloher’s fifth album, is verdant and rich; it luxuriates in stillness, and carries itself with cool, unfussy confidence. It suggests that home is not found in a place or a politic, but in the community you keep: Inspired by Cloher’s powerful matrilineal line of wāhine Māori, I Am The River, The River Is Me is not urgent, or hurried, but it is vital, made with the care and ease of someone who knows that their past began before birth, and will continue long after they’re gone. 

“I wrote it as a story,” Genesis Owusu tells Apple Music about *STRUGGLER*. “The album is pretty much what would this story sound like.” You can tell. The Ghanaian Australian artist born Kofi Owusu-Ansah’s second album is a surreal concept album about a protagonist—the Roach—fighting for his life in a kind of post-apocalyptic world overrun with constant physical and metaphysical threats. The antagonist, God, stops at nothing to try and bring the Roach down, to destroy him both inside and out. “The Roach character is a metaphor for we as humans,” he says, “and the God character is a metaphor for all these huge uncontrollable forces around us, natural and man-made, these systems we\'ve built around us that were supposed to make our lives better. But at some point, we started feeling like we\'ve been caged by them and they’ve slipped out of our control.” Owusu-Ansah’s story lays out three philosophical concepts that the Roach journeys through: nihilism, existentialism, and, ultimately, absurdism, the latter of which was inspired in part by the Samuel Beckett play *Waiting for Godot* and Franz Kafka’s *Metamorphosis*. The title and its character were inspired by *Berserk*, a legendary manga series by Kentaro Miura which features a character who “just gets dealt the worst hand in life”, he explains. “He has to fight through these forces so unimaginably larger than himself, to the point where it can\'t even be called a fight. The other characters call him a struggler.” Owusu-Ansah’s debut, *Smiling With No Teeth*, was a concept album as well, albeit a more personal one that explored his journey with two “black dogs”—personifications of racism and depression. “I’d poured so much of my life experience into it,” he says. “When it was time to make album two, I had to reconfigure which well to draw from and how to be inspired again.” It was that search itself—an existential hunt for purpose in a world that feels (and is) absurd—that led to the story of *STRUGGLER*. Like his debut, it’s still personal, but in a universal way; it’s a journey that Owusu-Ansah feels humanity as a whole experiences in its search for meaning, sense, and the will to live. It’s a particularly prevalent experience in 2023, while the world is reeling from a pandemic, successive environmental disasters, and a growing financial crisis. The music, recorded with a range of producers in Australia and the US, reflects those feelings: frantic and punky at times, slinky and languid at others—and the tracks with the darkest themes often have the smoothest, loftiest melodies. Read on to explore the story and concepts within this thought-provoking record. **“Leaving the Light”** “I just wanted to jump straight into it. I wanted it to be the tone-setter for the album. When I think of the story setting, it\'s almost post-apocalyptic, barren. When we started making this song, we wanted it to feel like the world was ending. There’s a huge wall of fire and debris and wind, and somehow you are trying to outrun that. That’s the pace of the opening chapter for the album.” **“The Roach”** “‘The Roach’ and ‘The Old Man’ are where I introduce and give context to the two main characters. ‘The Roach’ is the story of this flawed antihero character that\'s just trying to move through life at this pace, but starting to question what the point is. We get a sense of their mentality and why they\'re doing what they\'re doing. Some lines in the second verse: ‘Feeling like Gregor Samsa, a bug in the cog of a gray-walled cancer/I’m trying to break free with a penciled stanza/So are we human, or are we dancer?/I\'ma waste a life trying to chase an answer.’ It’s like they\'re moving through life at a survivor\'s pace because they have to or they\'ll get crushed. But in their mind, they\'re starting to question the point. It\'s indicative of how we can feel at our lowest. There\'s this absurd whirlwind of chaos around you, but you just got to keep stepping and get to the next day.” **“The Old Man”** “I think the verses of ‘The Old Man’ also give more context to the Roach character, but then the choruses talk about this looming figure up in the sky that\'s dealing the bad hands, trying to mess up your life. The passages at the end are where we get the context to what the God character actually is. ‘Your master is a system. Your master is a suit, a dollar. Your master is a planet. Your master is chaos itself. Your master is absurdity itself.’” **“See Ya There”** “You have your ups and your downs, your peaks and your valleys. This is the abyss. This is the character at their low point. They\'ve been struggling, running through and fighting to figure it all out, and it\'s like, ‘What is the point of all of this turmoil and struggle that I\'ve been going through?’ Throughout the album, the three main philosophies it touches on are nihilism, existentialism, and absurdism. This is definitely the point of nihilism. It\'s the scary and depressing realization, but the abyss inevitably comes before the transformation.” **“Freak Boy”** “This is stepping out of the existential crisis for a bit. This is the point where the character acknowledges they don\'t have the answers, they keep moving. Even if they don\'t have the answers, they don\'t want to fall into this pit of despair. The chorus goes, ‘Don\'t wanna turn out just like you, hating everything that you do/I hope I figure out a thing or two.’ On we forge. It’s almost a rejection of the abyss and all of that. It would be easy to want to close your eyes to everything that\'s going on around you and just live an ‘ignorance is bliss’ mentality, but maybe that\'s not the healthiest way to go. You gotta figure out how to do this right.” **“Tied Up!”** “I feel like it\'s easy to identify qualities when you put it into a character or a piece of fiction, but in reality, it’s all drawn from how I\'m seeing human beings. It\'s all of these qualities I see in everyday people that we don\'t acknowledge in ourselves every day. We don\'t give ourselves enough credit for it. ‘Tied Up!’ is a continuation of that. I feel like there\'s a point in giving up the need to feel in control of external circumstances and focusing more inward. Maybe, if I can\'t control the things around me, I can control my perspective of how those things look and how those things are. Maybe that will help me in my journey. Maybe there is some light somewhere, but maybe that comes from me first, not outside.” **“That\'s Life (A Swamp)”** “This one\'s kind of a journey. It\'s the two-part banger. I feel like it’s almost a step back into reality. With ‘Freak Boy’ and ‘Tied Up!’ you don\'t really get any conclusive answers; you never really will. I feel like it\'s the character trying different things to make their experience easier. ‘Tied Up!’ ended with the character being like, ‘Maybe if I can change my perspective on things, things will be easier.’ But that\'s a process that I feel puts a lot of onus and responsibility on you, and when the world is falling apart, I don\'t think you can really do that. That’s where the chorus comes from: ‘I said, baby, it’s not about me,’ and then in the second part, ‘My arms are tired from carrying the weight of your shit.’ It\'s a step back into the reality of the situation.” **“Balthazar”** “If ‘See Ya There’ was nihilism, then ‘Balthazar’ is existentialism. So ‘See Ya There’ was like, ‘There’s no meaning—oh *fuck*.’ Here, it’s like, ‘There’s no meaning. *Fuck yeah*, this is amazing.’ Maybe there’s no inherent meaning, but maybe all that means is we\'re not shackled by this predetermined thing we\'re supposed to do. Maybe that means we can make our own meaning. One of the first lines is about taking the power back into your own hands, and the second verse turns it into a battle against time. Maybe we can have control over ourselves and our destinies, but we gotta do it before time runs out. The second verse is almost paraphrasing a monologue from *Waiting for Godot*: ‘In one day we go blind… In one day we go deaf… We can fly, fall in love, waste aside, be the one.’ We can achieve or complete all of this in one day, and yet we choose to wait. Why? It opens up this idea where you can take control and do it now. Stop waiting. The time is now.” **“Stay Blessed”** “‘Stay Blessed’ is keeping on with this newfound empowerment through the realization that all of these things might have a negative side, but there\'s also a side of immense possibility, a ‘we\'re all in this together’ vibe. The Roach is everyone, and there are a million roaches out there because that\'s all of us. And that goes back to that line, ‘If you kill me now, you\'re gonna deal with roach number two.’ It\'s like, we can\'t be stopped. The song starts delving into that third and last philosophy of absurdism. Maybe there\'s no inherent meaning, and maybe we don\'t need to make our own meaning at all. We\'ve come this far in the journey, and we\'ve grown so much that maybe that\'s the gift itself. Maybe the fact that the sun rises and falls every day, and we get to see that from this magical distance where it\'s this giant ball of fire. It\'s far away enough where we get to feel its warmth, but it doesn\'t burn us to death. And we get to hug our friends every day, see cute little birds flying through the sky. It’s such a one-in-a-billion chance that this has all happened and we get to experience it. That’s absurdism to me. We exist in this world, and we can\'t buy or earn our way out of absurdity.” **“What Comes Will Come”** “It\'s a solidification of the journey so far. We go through these hardships and trials and tribulations, and maybe it\'s because of Hollywood media or just a naive sense of whatever, we expect the outcomes to be based on how good we are or how well we did. But we just live in this absurd reality. What comes will come, and that\'s not a bad thing. It\'s not a good thing, either. It\'s just a thing. Rollercoasters need their ups and their downs to make the full experience fun and exciting.” **“Stuck to the Fan”** “It’s not a happy ending. It\'s not a sad ending. It\'s not really even an ending. It\'s the point of acceptance. The Hollywood story arc is like, you climb the big mountain, and then there\'s a field of flowers for you to frolic in after your hard journey. In reality, you climb the mountain, and then there\'s another huge mountain waiting to be climbed. But the good thing about that is after you climb a new mountain, you become a better climber to get ready for the next big challenge and the next big hurdle. And I think that\'s just kind of indicative of life, which I wanted this story to be. I just wanted it to be an honest portrayal. Shit has hit the fan for so long that it\'s stuck there, and that\'s just the way it goes.”

You’ll be hard-pressed to find a description of boygenius that doesn’t contain the word “supergroup,” but it somehow doesn’t quite sit right. Blame decades of hoary prog-rock baggage, blame the misbegotten notion that bigger and more must be better, blame a culture that is rightfully circumspect about anything that feels like overpromising, blame Chickenfoot and Audioslave. But the sentiment certainly fits: Teaming three generational talents at the height of their powers on a project that is somehow more than the sum of its considerable parts sounds like it was dreamed up in a boardroom, but would never work if it had been. In fall 2018, Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus, and Julien Baker released a self-titled six-song EP as boygenius that felt a bit like a lark—three of indie’s brightest, most charismatic artists at their loosest. Since then, each has released a career-peak album (*Punisher*, *Home Video*, and *Little Oblivions*, respectively) that transcended whatever indie means now and placed them in the pantheon of American songwriters, full stop. These parallel concurrent experiences raise the stakes of a kinship and a friendship; only the other two could truly understand what each was going through, only the other two could mount any true creative challenge or inspiration. Stepping away from their ascendant solo paths to commit to this so fully is as much a musical statement as it is one about how they want to use this lightning-in-a-bottle moment. If *boygenius* was a lark, *the record* is a flex. Opening track “Without You Without Them” features all three voices harmonizing a cappella and feels like a statement of intent. While Bridgers’ profile may be demonstrably higher than Dacus’ or Baker’s, no one is out in front here or taking up extra oxygen; this is a proper three-headed hydra. It doesn’t sound like any of their own albums but does sound like an album only the three of them could make. Hallmarks of each’s songwriting style abound: There’s the slow-building climactic refrain of “Not Strong Enough” (“Always an angel, never a god”) which recalls the high drama of Baker’s “Sour Breath” and “Turn Out the Lights.” On “Emily I’m Sorry,” “Revolution 0,” and “Letter to an Old Poet,” Bridgers delivers characteristically devastating lines in a hushed voice that belies its venom. Dacus draws “Leonard Cohen” so dense with detail in less than two minutes that you feel like you’re on the road trip with her and her closest friends, so lost in one another that you don’t mind missing your exit. As with the EP, most songs feature one of the three taking the lead, but *the record* is at its most fully realized when they play off each other, trading verses and ideas within the same song. The subdued, acoustic “Cool About It” offers three different takes on having to see an ex; “Not Strong Enough” is breezy power-pop that serves as a repudiation of Sheryl Crow’s confidence (“I’m not strong enough to be your man”). “Satanist” is the heaviest song on the album, sonically, if not emotionally; over a riff with solid Toadies “Possum Kingdom” vibes, Baker, Bridgers, and Dacus take turns singing the praises of satanism, anarchy, and nihilism, and it’s just fun. Despite a long tradition of high-wattage full-length star team-ups in pop history, there’s no real analogue for what boygenius pulls off here. The closest might be Crosby, Stills & Nash—the EP’s couchbound cover photo is a wink to their 1969 debut—but that name doesn’t exactly evoke feelings of friendship and fellowship more than 50 years later. (It does, however, evoke that time Bridgers called David Crosby a “little bitch” on Twitter after he chastised her for smashing her guitar on *SNL*.) Their genuine closeness is deeply relatable, but their chemistry and talent simply aren’t. It’s nearly impossible for a collaboration like this to not feel cynical or calculated or tossed off for laughs. If three established artists excelling at what they are great at, together, without sacrificing a single bit of themselves, were so easy to do, more would try.

On his Mercury Prize-winning debut album, 2017’s *Process*, Sampha Sisay often cut an isolated figure. As the Londoner’s songs contended with loss—particularly the passing of his parents—and anxieties about his health and relationships, a sense of insularity and detachment haunted his poignant, experimental electro-soul. Arriving six years later, this follow-up presents a man reestablishing and strengthening connections. Lifted by warm synths and strings, songs are energized by the busy rhythms of jungle, broken beat, and West African Wassoulou music. Images of flight dominate as Sampha zooms out from everyday preoccupations to take a bird’s-eye view of the world and his place in it as a father, a friend, a brother, a son. “I feel sometimes making an album is like a manifesto for how I should be living, or that all the answers are in what I’m saying,” he tells Apple Music. “I don’t necessarily *live* by what I’m saying but there’s times where I recognize that I need to reconnect to family and friends—times where I can really lose connection by being too busy with my own things.” So where *Process* ended with Sampha ruefully noting, “I should visit my brother/But I haven’t been there in months/I’ve lost connection, signal/To how we were” on “What Shouldn’t I Be?” *Lahai* concludes in the fireside glow of “Rose Tint,” a song celebrating the salve of good company: “I’m needy, don’t you know?/But the fam beside me/Is what I needed most.” Before then, *Lahai* examines Sampha’s sense of self and his relationships through his interests in science, time, therapy, spirituality, and philosophy. “I became more confident with being OK with what I’m interested in, and not feeling like I have to be an expert,” he says. “So even if it comes off as pretentious at times, I was more comfortable with putting things out there. That’s an important process: Even in the political sphere, a lot of people don’t speak about things because they’re worried about how people will react or that they’re not expert enough to talk on certain things. I’m into my science, my sci-fi, my philosophy. Even if I’m not an expert, I could still share my feelings and thoughts and let that become a source of dialogue that will hopefully improve my understanding of those things.” Started in 2019 and gradually brought together as Sampha negotiated the restrictions of the pandemic and the demands and joys of fatherhood, the songs, he says, present “a photograph of my mental, spiritual, physical state.” Read on for his track-by-track guide. **“Stereo Colour Cloud (Shaman’s Dream)”** “I wanted to make something that felt like animation and so the instrumentation is quite colorful. What started it off was me experimenting with new kinds of production. I was using a mechanical, MIDI-controlled acoustic piano and playing over it. Same thing with the drums—I built a robotic acoustic drummer to build these jungle breaks. So, it’s all these acoustic instruments that I programmed via MIDI, and also playing over them with humans, with myself.” **“Spirit 2.0”** “It’s a song I started in my bedroom, a song I wrote walking through parks in solitude, a song I wrote at a time I felt I needed to hear for myself. It took probably a year from start to finish for that song to come together. I had the chords and the modular synths going for a while and then eventually I wrote a melody. Then I had an idea for the drums and I recorded the drums. It was also influenced by West African folk music, Wassoulou music. I guess that isn’t maybe quite obvious to everyone, but I’ve made quite a thing of talking about it—it’s influenced the way I write rhythmically.” **“Dancing Circles”** “This also came from this kind of acoustic/MIDI jamming. I wrote this pulsing, slightly clash-y metronomic piano and wrote over and jammed over it. I put the song together with a producer called Pablo Díaz-Reixa \[Spanish artist/producer El Guincho\], who helped arrange the song. I sort of freestyled some lyrics and came up with the dancing refrain, and then had this idea of someone having a conversation with someone they hadn’t seen in a long time, and just remembering how good it is, how good it felt to dance with them.” **“Suspended”** “I feel like a lot of what I’ve written goes between this dreamlike state and me drawing on real-life scenarios. This is a song about someone who’s reminiscing again, but also feeling like they’re kind of going in and out of different time periods. I guess it was inspired by thinking about all the people, and all the women especially, in my life that I’ve been lifted up by, even though I frame it as if I’m speaking about one person. The feeling behind it is me recognizing how supported I’ve been by people, even if it’s not been always an easy or straightforward journey.” **“Satellite Business”** “This feels like the midpoint of the record. I guess in this record I was interrogating spirituality and recognizing I hadn’t really codified, or been able to put my finger on, any sort of metaphysical experience, per se—me somewhat trying to connect to life via a different view. The song is about me recognizing my own finitude and thinking about the people I’ve lost and recognizing, through becoming a father myself, that not all is done and I’m part of a journey and I can see my parents or even my brothers, my daughter. \[It’s\] about connection—to the past and to the future and to the present. Any existential crisis I was having about myself has now been offloaded to me thinking about how long I’m going to be around to see and protect and help guide someone else.” **“Jonathan L. Seagull”** “I speak a lot about flying \[on the album\] and I actually mention \[Richard Bach’s novella\] *Jonathan Livingston Seagull* in ‘Spirit 2.0.’ For me, the question was sometimes thinking about limits, the search for perfection. I don’t agree with everything in *Jonathan Livingston Seagull* as a book, it was more a bit of a memory to me \[Sampha’s brother read the story to him when he was a child\], the feeling of memory as opposed to the actual details of the book. I guess throughout the record, I talk about relationships in my own slightly zoomed-out way. I had this question in my mind, ‘Oh, how high can you actually go?’ Just thinking about limits and thinking sometimes that can be comforting and sometimes it can be scary.” **“Inclination Compass (Tenderness)”** “Birds, like butterflies, use the Earth’s magnetic field to migrate, to be able to navigate themselves to where they need to get to \[this internal compass is known as an inclination compass\]. I feel that there’s times where love can be simpler than I let it be. As you grow up, sometimes you might get into an argument with someone and you’re really stubborn, you might just need to hug it out and then everything is fine—say something nice or let something go. Anger’s a complicated emotion, and there’s lots of different thoughts and theories about how you should deal with it. For me personally, this is leaning into the fact that sometimes it’s OK to switch to a bit more of an understanding or empathetic stance—and I can sometimes tend to not do that.” **“Only”** “It’s probably the song that sticks out the most in the record in terms of the sonic aesthetic. It’s probably less impressionistic than the rest of the record. I think because of that it felt like it was something to share \[as the second single\]. Thematically as well, it just felt relevant to me in terms of trying to follow the beat of my own drum or finding a place where you’re confident in yourself—recognizing that other people are important but that I can also help myself. It’s a bit of a juxtaposition because there’s times where it feels like it’s only you who can really change yourself, but at the same time, you’re not alone.” **“Time Piece”** “Time is just an interesting concept because there’s so many different theories. And does it even exist? \[The lyrics translate as ‘Time does not exist/A time machine.’\] But we’re really tied to it, it’s such an important facet of our lives, how we measure things. It was just an interesting tie into the next song.” **“Can’t Go Back”** “I feel like there’s a lot of times I just step over my clothes instead of pick them up. I’m so preoccupied with thinking about something else or thinking about the future, there’s times where I could have actually just been a bit more present at certain moments or just, ‘It’s OK to just do simple things, doing the dishes.’ The amount \[of\] my life \[in\] which I’m just so preoccupied in my mind…Not to say that there isn’t space for that, there’s space for all of it, but this is just a reminder that there’s times where I could just take a moment out, five to 10 minutes to do something. And it can feel so difficult to spend such short periods of time without a device or without thinking about what you’re going to do tomorrow. This is just a reminder of that kind of practice.” **“Evidence”** “I think there’s times where it just feels like I have ‘sliding door’ moments or glimpses or feelings. This is hinting \[at\] that. Again, the feeling of maybe not having that metaphysical connection, but then feeling some sort of connection to the physical world, whatever that might be.” **“Wave Therapy”** “I recorded a bit of extra strings for ‘Spirit 2.0,’ which I wanted to use as an interlude after that, but then I ended up reversing the strings that \[Canadian composer and violinist\] Owen Pallett helped arrange. I called it ‘Wave Therapy’ because, for some of the record, I went out to Miami for a week to work with El Guincho and before each session, I’d go to the beach and listen to what we had done the day before and that was therapeutic.” **“What if You Hypnotise Me?” (feat. Léa Sen)** “I was having a conversation with someone about therapy and then they were like, ‘Oh, I don’t even do talking therapy, I just get hypnotized, I haven’t got time for that.’ I thought that was an interesting perspective, so I wrote a song about hypnotizing, just to get over some of these things that I’m preoccupied with. I guess it’s about being in that place, recognizing I need something. Therapy can be part of that. As I say, nothing has a 100 percent success rate. You need a bit of everything.” **“Rose Tint”** “Sometimes I get preoccupied with my own hurt, my own emotions, and sometimes connecting to love is so complicated, yet so simple. It’s easy to call someone up really and truly, but there’s all these psychological barriers that you put up and this kind of headspace you feel like you don’t have. Family and friends or just people—I feel like there’s just connection to people. You can be more supported than you think at times, because there’s times where it feels like a problem shared can feel like a problem doubled, so you can kind of keep things in. But I do think it can be the other way round.”

“I started taking more accountability, turning the mirror back on myself,” Angie McMahon tells Apple Music. The Naarm-based singer-songwriter’s second album comes four years after her debut, *Salt*—and reflects on the inward journey she embarked upon during that time. Comparing her present self to the person she was around the time *Salt* came out, she’s worked at shifting her approach to life, growth, and relationships—with others, but more importantly, with herself. “I’ve gone deeper into accepting that you have to withstand shit to be alive,” she says. “That’s what I was trying to do more of: not just be alive and survive, but embrace it.” *Light, Dark, Light Again* was recorded between regional Victoria, Melbourne (Naarm) and Durham, North Carolina, where her studio band included members of Bon Iver and Megafaun. Throughout it all are themes of growth, intentionality—and doing the work. “I’m always wanting to understand what’s going on, what’s hurting, why it’s hurting,” she says. “And I realized I’ve been operating out of fear for so much of my life. So I’ve been trying to identify what I\'m afraid of and why, and trying to go towards it.” Below, McMahon shares the insights and lessons learned on—and from—several tracks. **“Saturn Returning”** “It was nice to feel like I’d gone through enough of the work to reflect from this place of willingness to embrace the lessons. I was experimenting with bringing my blossoming little spiritual life—and being comfortable with myself—into the music in textural ways, with a new mood. I was part of this songwriting club with some friends where we’d text prompts to the group, and just encourage each other and give feedback. I’d wanted to communicate to my friends: ‘This is where I\'m at.’ When I wrote the opening lines, I was like, ‘If I was Adrianne Lenker, how would I start a song?’ I’ve never made something that cinematic before—it felt really dramatic and triumphant.” **“Fish”** “This and ‘Fireball Whiskey’ are the breakup songs on the record—about the same relationship. It was early in the record-writing process, 2020, and the relationship was over but I was trying to write about it and process heartbreak. I was learning that I can\'t blame other people for my pain. That shift and mindset informed a lot of the record, because I found so much more space in that.” **“Letting Go”** “This was its own little entity, teaching me to let go and surrender. This song is where I\'m storing all of my lessons; it’s become a home for those reminders. The start of the chorus came to me years before: ‘I\'ve been learning about letting go/How to do it without my claws scratching the surfaces.’ I kept trying to find a home for it, to the point where I became really precious about it. So writing the rest was really hard, I didn\'t want to fuck it up. It’s what led to the end of the song, about making mistakes, about not being a perfectionist. And the song was initially a piano ballad, but then it evolved into a rock song, and now you can dance to the song and run it.” **“Black Eye”** “I feel like I could make a whole record of songs like this one that are more like sad country, and I probably will. It’s one of the darker or sadder ones, but it creates balance. And one of the truest moments on the record, or the one I can relate to most of the time, is the line about trying to balance everything. It’s literally what I\'m trying to do all the time. You can\'t have the light stuff without the dark stuff. It was a struggle with the record, generally. I was challenging myself to write with a positive mindset, but also not bypass or ignore the fact that sometimes I feel really depressed, sometimes life’s really depressing.” **“I Am Already Enough”** “It was fun putting this and ‘Exploding’ one after the other. It felt like a kind of rebellious way to lean into that basicness—like, ‘Here\'s another song in G major that, again, is just going to repeat the same line over and over.’ It kind of felt a bit punk. It becomes a moment on the record with those two songs together where I\'m acknowledging that I get so overwhelmed by my brain. I was in the car—I tend to yell in the car because I\'m convinced no one can hear you. I had started really embracing saying things out loud to myself and I was just yelling this line. I didn\'t even really care what the rest of the song ended up like, I just knew I wanted it to be basic and primal and to have this chorus and the yelling. I was leaning into the politics of radical self-compassion and self-love, and it felt kind of anti-capitalist.” **“Serotonin”** “It nearly didn\'t make it on. My inner critic tore this song apart, but it felt important to write about antidepressants. I came off them in the process of writing the record, and I had a really hard time with it physically. I felt sick for a month. I didn\'t know it was going to be so hard, and I wanted to capture that experience and acknowledge that so many people are on meds or experiencing going on and coming off them, and that it\'s a big thing to ride out. It’s a fragile thing to write about, but to me, it\'s like running uphill. The whole thing is just this kind of puffing, puffing, but I\'m going to keep running. I’d become a jogger when I was writing this song, and finally learned that I could push through more than five minutes of jogging and not die. In the song, you\'re kind of on the summit of the hill or something, and you\'re just like, ‘I made it, and I\'m still OK, even though it\'s hard. I can do hard things.’” **“Staying Down Low”** “It’s also about depression. I’d already written it by the time *Salt* came out. I was starting to understand that turning the mirror on myself was going to be more important, and this was where I was learning that lesson. I was writing about someone else\'s experience with depression, but I realized that I had some things to learn about projection—and that everything I write is actually about myself. It’s the same as how I was learning that when you\'re in conflict with someone, you\'re projecting your shit onto them in some way. You\'re experiencing life through your specific lens, your traumas.” **“Making It Through”** “This captures the true sentiment of what was or is happening in my body. I\'ve had a lot of anger, a lot of meltdowns and other kinds of relationship breakdowns that I didn\'t really touch in the record, that weren\'t romantic. I had a really nice epiphany out in the ocean one day about how the waves keep coming, and they\'ll always keep coming. And you just get to choose whether you dive into them or let them hit you face-on or with your back to them. The song kind of feels like a sonic representation of that epiphany. By the end, I\'m in that repetitive mantra meditative space, which is throwing back to the ‘Saturn Returning’ go-with-the-flow-of-the-river thing. The water theme felt like a really nice way to bookend it.”

In early 2021, Tom and Ed Russell were working on a mix for the iconic London club fabric. They knew they wanted a particular tune included, but simply couldn’t find the track anywhere or remember its name. Faced with a deadline and an endless dig through disc logs, the pair changed their approach: They would themselves write the song they could hear. The track became June 2021 single “So U Kno”—an insidious, addictive banger that’s a cornerstone of the Russells’ debut album as Overmono. It’s an anecdote that reveals a great deal about the brothers’ practical mindset and prodigious abilities. Veterans of the UK dance scene (Tom, the elder Russell, released techno as Truss, while Ed put out drum ’n’ bass as Tessela), the Welsh-raised producers combine for something special here. *Good Lies* is an extraordinary electronic record: a genre-defying set glistening with purpose, poise, and dance-floor delirium. “The main anchor for the album isn’t genre-based, it’s an emotional place,” Ed tells Apple Music. “It’s a particular emotional sense that we try and achieve with a lot of our music—depending on what mood you’re in on that day, you could interpret that state in a few different ways.” Tom is able to pinpoint the origins to that “emotional ambiguity.” “I think our formative experiences of partying in the Welsh countryside had a massive impact on us,” he says. “When you have the sun going down and the sun coming up, and those emotions of somewhere between euphoria, slight sadness that the night’s coming an end but a real sense of optimism that you’re going into a new day. These sorts of weird crossover points are what we try and find in how we put our music together.” Read on for the brothers’ track-by-track guide. **“Feelings Plain”** Ed Russell: “It was originally going to close the album. We wanted to see if we could make a sort of plainsong piece of music—13th-century church music, where someone would be singing one note over and over and then someone else joins in, and everyone’s singing these cyclical things. But when it all comes together, they start cycling differently and you get this big wash of voices. But we wanted to try and do a sort of R&B take on plainsong—it was one of the songs that had a more conceptual start to it.” Tom Russell: “It was the furthest we’d gotten in terms of direct new avenues that we might explore. It’s a bold statement of intent to start.” **“Arla Fearn”** ER: “When did you first write this bassline, Tom?” TR: “About 1976. No, I think it was about 15 years ago.” ER: “I would tell Tom it’s the best thing he’d ever written. It’s got so much mood and character and just sounds so satisfying to me.” TR: “I know Ed meant it as a compliment but I kept on taking it as a bit of a diss really. But I finally gave in.” ER: “We spent ages processing the drums and then Tom sampled the Geovarn vocal and came up with the insane outro. The track is at 135 BPM, and by the end it’s at 170 BPM, but you never really notice it’s changed—it just flips the vocal into a different spot. We really wanted the album to be a place where tracks would often morph into something completely different. That it’s bubbling over with ideas.” **“Good Lies”** ER: “We went through a phase of trying not to sample every Smerz song because they just had so many good hooks. They’re incredible at writing these top lines that sound straight off early-2000s garage records, but not in a pastiche way. We had the vocal from \[2018 Smerz track\] “No harm” and spent a lot of time chopping it into the phrasing we wanted and creating a hook out of this little section that had jumped out at us. The demo for the instrumental then came together in a day, but there was an 18-month, almost two-year period from writing the demo to coming back and starting to really chip away at it.” **“Good Lies (Outro)”** TR: “When we were writing the ‘Good Lies’ instrumental, we thought we’d see if we could flip it and turn the vibe on its head into something moodier. It’s always going back to that ambiguity with us. There’s something of that in the *Good Lies* title. What constitutes a good lie?” **“Walk Thru Water” (feat. St. Panther)** TR: “Ed was at my studio in February \[2022\], and we were battening down the hatches for Storm Eunice.” ER: “It was this quite nice feeling of, ‘All right, there’s a storm coming, we’ve got loads of snacks and a few drinks, the place to ourselves, and we can’t go anywhere.’ Tom had written these really beautiful chords and I’d kept saying I wanted to do something with them. We got really stoned while the rain was coming down, listening to these chords, and we came across the St. Panther vocal.” TR: “I then started doing the beat on the Pulsar—which is a drum machine that’s quite difficult to tame but on certain things it just works beautifully.” **“Cold Blooded”** TR: “This started out as something quite different. It dawned on us that we’d written this massive IDM tune.” ER: “It was a bit too nice, wasn’t it?” TR: “It was this late-’90s breakdance thing—not really the vibe we should be going for.” ER: “I had this Kindora sample that I’d wanted to use for ages, and then Tom sent me this slowed-down version of ‘Cold Blooded’ with the new drums and I realized it’d be fucking killer. It then became a month of last-minute adjustments, which we sometimes get ourselves into a bit of a hole with. Tweaking everything until the last.” **“Skulled”** ER: “We had the Kelly Erez sample put away into our sample folder. And then we built a drum machine—a copy of a ’70s drum machine called the Syncussion, made by Pearl, the drum kit manufacturer. It \[the Syncussion\] was meant to sound like a normal drum kit, and it sounds so far away from real drums it’s insane. We spent a couple of weeks trying to make our version sound like we’d soldered it not quite right. It has this weird, sort of dry, alien, ’80s vibe to it. Like with all our stuff, it’s processed so heavily.” TR: “Ed has come up with this mad compression chain, which you can basically put any sort of drums into and you get this massive wall of noise.” ER: “I said earlier the best thing Tom has written was the bassline on ‘Arla Fearn,’ but I’ve changed my mind now: It’s the piano outro to ‘Skulled.’ We both loved the idea of the song ending like a classic ballad—a Céline Dion tune.” **“Sugarushhh”** TR: “We liked the idea of trying to shoehorn in a screaming 303 to the album somewhere.” ER: “Tom’s good at doing these quite irregular things that you don’t immediately notice. This, if you actually count it out, is in some weird time signature and it’s cycling every nine bars. It was also really important that we had this abrasive, aggressive 303 line being offset completely with a really beautiful vocal.” **“Calon”** ER: “Tom played me the first iteration of this in the back of a van on the way to a festival in Minehead. We’ve sampled Joe Trufant a few times before and we liked the idea of there being a few familiar voices on the album.” TR: “We then hired a studio in Ibiza and Ed had the idea of making the beat much slower. It became this big, slowed-down house tune—it dropped to something like 110 BPM.” ER: “We were in a US club sound-checking and played through some tunes from the album. Hearing it on the club system we were like, ‘Fuck me!’ It’s this sneaky banger.” **“Is U”** ER: “We’ve both been massive Tirzah fans since the start, and one day the ‘All I want is you’ line from ‘Gladly’ just jumped out of the speaker at us. We then spent ages trying to make the beat on this mono machine we have, which has all these really shit ’80s drum samples. We just mangled them until we had the beat, and then chopped up the vocal to get what we felt was a really strong and more confrontational delivery. Tom then put these lush chords in the breakdown and it opens the track up, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.” TR: “It’s amazing when a track starts to take on a life of its own. Playing this out and seeing the reaction gives me goosebumps every time.” **“Vermonly”** ER: “A lot of our tracks will be written on just one piece of gear and we see what you can do with it. I had bought Tom a synth for his birthday, but when I gave it to him he said he wasn’t going to be in the studio for a few days, so I asked if I could take the synth I had just given him. I sent him a really rough 16-bar loop with the main melodic ideas, and he did the rest, really.” TR: “Tracks like this are really important to us. They might get lost on an EP. It’s not always about writing dance-floor bangers.” **“So U Kno”** ER: “We were doing this mix for fabric and we both knew we wanted a very particular tune in the mix but couldn’t find it. So we basically just thought, ‘Fuck it, it’ll be quicker to write something ourselves.’ I had a chopped-up vocal and a rough beat going, played it to Tom, who went straight over to a Jupiter-6 synth and immediately played the bassline before doing the same with the chords.” **“Calling Out”** TR: “Ed had suggested to try and sample something by slowthai and I managed to find this little \[section\] I really liked from quite an obscure track called ‘Dead Leaves.’ I loved the line ‘I’m like the sun, I rise up and then gone.’ Then we combined it with a CASISDEAD and d’Eon sample and it really started to make sense. I have a tendency to overcomplicate things, but Ed is often able to say, ‘We don’t need that,’ or ‘Change a snare from there to there.’ A tiny idea or decision can make such a huge difference.” ER: “I remember when Tom sent me the chords for the end and I felt like it reminded me of old Radiohead—the perfect way to close the album.”

ANOHNI’s music revolves around the strength found in vulnerability, whether it’s the naked trembling of her voice or the way her lyrics—“It’s my fault”; “Why am I alive?”; “You are an addict/Go ahead, hate yourself”—cut deeper the simpler they get. Her first album of new material with her band the Johnsons since 2010’s *Swanlights* sets aside the more experimental/electronic quality of 2016’s *HOPELESSNESS* for the tender avant-soul most listeners came to know her by. She mourns her friends (“Sliver of Ice”), mourns herself (“It’s My Fault”), and catalogs the seemingly limitless cruelty of humankind (“It Must Change”) with the quiet resolve of someone who knows that anger is fine but the true warriors are the ones who kneel down and open their hearts.

Originally, Ruban Nielson thought his fifth album under the Unknown Mortal Orchestra name would be a “really happy, really cheesy” one, an “Eye of the Tiger”-inspired break from the nocturnal, often introspective psych and funk for which he’s become known. “I was worried that the music that I made before the pandemic was so weird and reflective that the pandemic could push me too far,” he tells Apple Music. “I wanted to create something that wasn’t so much an expression of the time as it was an antidote for it—music that would help you escape.” But in navigating a series of family-related traumas—including a terminal diagnosis for his maternal uncle in his mother’s native Hawaii—Nielson was reminded that life is rarely that simple. In further connecting with his family heritage and history—and working alongside his brother and former Mint Chicks bandmate, Kody—he realized that everything he was writing couldn’t help but braid together elements both happy and sad. It resulted in his first double album, recorded, in large part, in a new home studio he built in Palm Springs. “The reality is that I was feeling extremely reflective about my family, thinking about the way we grew up,” he says. “Being ultra nostalgic and realizing that everything our family’s gone through has culminated in where we are now, which is a mixture of really tragic things and really beautiful things. I was just thinking that if I could make the record somehow feel that way, then that would be a good record.” Here, Nielson takes us inside a few of the album’s songs. **“Meshuggah”** “As I write more songs, there’s more and more territory that I haven’t explored, so I sometimes find myself in these little songwriting challenges. I think the original idea here was trying to think of a way to make a love song that used sugar as imagery, because after so many songs have been written, the history of pop music is so broad and so clichéd. So, I thought, what if the metaphor wasn’t sweetness? What if the metaphor was actually energy? Because sugar is a source of metabolic energy. I don’t think anyone’s written a love song that’s this cold, scientific assessment of the way that sugar—or love, or somebody’s love, or the way somebody is—somehow infuses you with power, and almost in a scary way.” **“That Life”** “‘That Life’ had a lot to do with the first six months or so of living and working in Palm Springs. It’s an interesting place because almost every day, it’s peaceful and sunny. But most of the Coachella Valley is really windy and noisy and spooky at night. So, it’s quite creepy—it feels kind of haunted, and I think that’s the thing that makes me like it so much, that it’s a mix between something really pleasant and something that seems to be hiding something dark. ‘That Life’ was taking impressions of all kinds of things that were going on around me—or things that I imagined were going on—and piecing them together in a kind of panorama. I was thinking about Palm Springs as Hieronymus Bosch’s *The Garden of Earthly Delights*. There’s all these kinds of hideous stories all around.” **“Layla”** “’Layla’ is me imagining the mindset of my mother when she was young, and my uncle when he was a young boy—thinking about how they both wanted to escape. I’ve always felt kind of weird about how one of my uncles came to Portland, and my mom went to New Zealand. I just was always like, ‘Why would you want to leave paradise?’ But for Hawaiians, Hawaii isn’t paradise—it’s just home. And sometimes, home is heavy. At the beginning, the idea was almost like, let’s write a reggae song, like one that my uncle would have written. But it’s not a reggae song—there’s not really that many reggae elements to it. You can just hear that somebody had reggae in mind when they were writing it.” **“Weekend Run”** “My family never had any money, and a lot of my family, they just do regular jobs—anything from working for a moving company, being a house painter or builder, or scooping ice cream at Baskin-Robbins. I think ‘Weekend Run’ is just an ode to the weekend, to the idea that the weekend is really special, and it didn’t just appear out of nature. The weekend was won by the labor movement, and a lot of people take something like that for granted. People actually came up with it and made it happen, and people could still come up with ideas like that. People could still fight for things like that.” **“Nadja”** “I think it’s a bit of a collage, of a few specific experiences that I feel like, because I’ve experienced them multiple times, it just can’t be a coincidence. There is this part in the song where I sing about being in a bed where someone you love has been sleeping. You miss them so much, and then you find one of their hairs, a strand of hair on the pillow, and then you just feel so dysfunctionally kind of obsessed with the person, just not knowing what to do with the hair. You can’t throw it away, or do you just leave it there? I remember finding a strand of hair from someone that I was in love with, and I tied the string around my finger, coiled it up and then just ate it, just thinking where else is it going to go? I have to put this hair inside me because I don\'t know what else to do. It’s something strangely, slightly creepy. But also, I don’t know—it’s true.” **“Keaukaha”** “Keaukaha is almost like an emotional landscape. We got back from Hawaii, me and my brother, and during the time when we were mixing the record, we did a bunch of jamming and recording. Keaukaha is part of Hilo. It’s the place where my mom grew up as a little kid. This is really exactly the way I felt coming back that time, so we called it Keaukaha because that\'s where we’d been spending time, and that’s where Mom took us to show us where she grew up, in the house she was in. It’s a heavy place for me because there’s just so many things that happened there. I wouldn’t say bittersweet, but it’s just that some things are just so heavy that it’s impossible to enjoy them 100 percent. There’s just so much weight and history.” **“I Killed Captain Cook”** “I suppose I was in some way looking for approval from my mom because my mom loves that story so much. Over the pandemic, I had some time on my hands, and I was teaching myself photography. So, I went to Hawaii and took my daughter, and then I asked my mom if she would want to dance to the song, and I would try and film it on this camera I’d bought, and maybe that could be a little project. I kind of started to see how all these things all fit together into one project. I just had to kind of look at it through the lens of where I was now, not where I originally thought the album was going to end up. It’s a Hawaiian song to me, my interpretation of slack-key and hapa haole music.” **“Drag”** “Kody and I were working in Palm Springs with \[bassist\] Jake \[Portrait\], and we kind of just started riffing. It was a really nice day, and we captured the way the afternoon felt. Before we start making music, one of my favorite things to do is to try to cultivate a mood. Try to find something special, try to have a day that feels special, and then right in the middle of experiencing that day, try and make some music. Hopefully, that translates and captures the moment, so you can revisit it whenever you want. That’s ‘Drag.’”

Created between the dry freeways of Palm Springs, California and lush coastlines and Hilo, Hawai’i, V is the definitive Unknown Mortal Orchestra record. Led by Hawaiian-New Zealand artist Ruban Nielson, V draws from the rich traditions of West Coast AOR, classic hits, weirdo pop and Hawaiian Hapa-haole music. With his sharpest-ever ear for “making it UMO”, Ruban evokes blue skies, beachside cocktail bars and hotel pools without ever turning a blind eye to the darkness that lurks below perfect, pristine surfaces. The road to V began in April 2019 when UMO headed to Indio, California, to perform at Coachella. For that fortnight, Ruban booked an Airbnb in nearby Palm Springs and brought his family along. Between performances, he realized the desert resort city’s palm tree-lined streets reminded him of a childhood spent playing by white hotel swimming pools with his siblings while their entertainer parents performed in showbands across the Pacific and East Asia. A year later, Ruban started thinking about Palm Springs again as the COVID-19 pandemic loomed on the horizon. After contemplating spending lockdown at home in Portland, he purchased a house in Palm Springs. Having spent a decade touring, Ruban knew he had health issues and burnout to address. As America went into lockdown, he settled in for enforced downtime. Under the palm trees, he had the space to reflect. He felt a sense of gratitude for the lifestyle music had afforded him. The warm, dry weather cleared up his lifelong asthma issues, he found himself singing better than ever before, and new songs began to flow out of him in his home studio. When he recorded his third album Multi-Love, Ruban incorporated disco elements into the lo-fi funk-rock dreamscapes of his first two records. Coming from a punk background where the slogan “disco sucks” had been casually thrown around, he found a subversive glee in flipping the script. On V, you can hear a continuation of this impulse in the arid disco-funk of ‘Meshuggah’. “There are two kinds of musical taste, constructed and instinctual,” Ruban said. “Taste as clout is dangerous to art, in my opinion. Then, there’s music that will send a shiver down your spine. You didn’t ask for that shiver. It just happens.” During the pandemic’s early days, Ruban’s brother Kody had flown from New Zealand to Palm Springs to help him with his recordings. When they talked about records that moved them in that spine-shivering manner, Ruban started thinking about the ubiquitous 70s AM radio rock and 80s pop songs he remembered hearing as a child while their parents were working as entertainers. He wanted to write his version of those records, leading to the two glorious uptempo singles UMO released in 2021, ‘Weekend Run’ and ‘That Life’. However, the golden good times never last forever. As health issues began to plague one of his Hawaiian uncles, Ruban realized he was coming face to face with a sharper, more acute sense of mortality looming. Putting his recordings aside, he helped his mother and another of her brothers move home from New Zealand and Portland to Hawai’i to be with him. As they settled in, Ruban began dividing his time between Palm Springs and Hilo on the northeastern side of the big island. He knew that part of his connection with Palm Springs came from how it evoked aspects of his childhood. For Ruban, Hawai’i had a similar association, but it also brought back faded memories of the darker side of his parents' lifestyle. On those trips, he heard those classic AM radio rock records he’d talked about with Kody everywhere. They were inextricably intertwined with the palm trees, swimming pools, and glamorized hedonism he’d internalized since childhood. There's a type of music in Hawai'i called Hapa-haole (Half white). You can hear it expressed in signature UMO style through the humid guitar-led atmosphere of V's penultimate song, ‘I Killed Captain Cook’. Although the songs are presented in a traditional Hawaiian manner, they're mostly sung in English. Having been influenced by Hawaiian music since UMO’s first album, Ruban saw a space for himself within the tradition. When he reflected on his success, he realized he had the responsibility and platform to represent Hapa-haole music on the global stage. After reuniting with Kody at a cousin’s wedding in Hawai’i, the brothers traveled to Palm Springs. There, with assistance from their father, Chris Nielson (saxophone/flute) and longstanding UMO member Jake Portrait, they brought everything Ruban had been mulling over about together through the fourteen singalong anthems, cinematic instrumentals and mischievous pop songs that make up V. “In Hawaii, everything shifted off of me and my music,” Ruban said. “Suddenly, I was spending more time figuring out what others need and what my role is within my family. I also learned that things I thought were true of myself are bigger than I thought. My way of making mischief - that’s not just me - that’s my whole Polynesian side. I thought I was walking away from music to focus on family, but the two ended up connecting.” The first double album in the UMO discography, V, makes a strong case for itself as Ruban’s sunbleached masterpiece while simultaneously recontextualizing and enriching the journey that led him to this moment. Alongside Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation, Pulp’s Different Class, and Prince’s 1999, it’s a breakthrough work from a mid-career artist in full control of his creative powers. Most of all, V is about having fun while making music and art that transcends clout and currency. In the process, Ruban effortlessly reclaims taste as a personal part of selfhood; in that reclamation, he propels UMO to breathtaking new creative heights.

“This is an album of real gratitude and real authenticity,” Dan Sultan tells Apple Music. “I was able to exorcise things that were unacceptable and manifest for myself a feeling of peace and acknowledgment—which is a nice place to be as an artist.” Now sober after battling substance abuse and addiction, the singer of Arrernte, Gurindji and Irish descent points to the fact that his fifth studio album is self-titled—and that it’s his first release to feature only his face on the cover—as being representative of this inner peace and the themes of acceptance and gratitude that permeate the LP. Produced by Eskimo Joe guitarist Joel Quartermain, *Dan Sultan* finds the First Nations singer-songwriter matching his confessional lyrics with a rich well of rock ’n’ roll, soul, pop, and blues. Here, he talks through the record, track by track. **“Story”** “It’s about when I was four years old, and there was a note on our door saying, ‘Fuck off, Abos,’ or something horrible like that. It’s the first time I remember knowing that people didn’t like me because of my heritage. But it’s also a song about being an adult and being stripped of your experiences, or your experiences being devalued, going unacknowledged, which is just as hurtful and potentially harmful as the initial experience. In spite of all that, I’m a beautiful father and friend and husband. I have my moments, but my kids are safe and happy. That’s my measure of success. It’s a positive song—going through those things and being great in spite of it.” **“Won’t Give You That”** “It’s about not being defined by anything. I’ve certainly made mistakes in the past, but I’ve done things that have been more beautiful than not. If you pay attention to the media \[reports about me\], everything’s horrible, and it’s just a bit of a lazy approach. My story is a beautiful one. I’m someone who has always been an artist, has always been a musician, and I’ve always been really good at it. I’ve loved doing it. Now I’m in a place where I’m better than I’ve ever been at it, and I feel great. That’s my story.” **“Wait in Love”** “It was when I stopped drinking. I wasn’t well. My relationship with my wife, then-girlfriend, was relatively new. And it wasn’t fair. \[In the song I’m saying to her\], ‘Can you wait in love with somebody?/There’s some things I have to do.’ Basically, I was not being as much of myself as I could be. That’s a horrible thing when you’re in a relationship and you’ve made promises. When you tell someone you love them—that’s a promise. I wasn’t doing that until I was able to. It’s a love song with immense gratitude, acknowledging how fortunate I am to be where I am.” **“Ringing in My Ears”** “It\'s just a song of gratitude—acknowledging the past and feeling grateful for the moment and hopeful for the future. Which I think is a nice way to live.” **“Fortress” (feat. Julia Stone)** “It’s about coming home after a long day and feeling the lashings of love that wash over you, clean you. It’s about that safety and that security that you have from loved ones, which I’m extremely fortunate to have every day in my fortress.” **“Chance to Lose Control”** “It’s about finding peace with yourself. You can’t change anything else. I’m not going to try to change the way someone else is feeling or thinking. I can try to take on each day with a peaceful mindset. That’s just for my benefit. You can go through things and relationships can begin and end, you change jobs or you move or whatever it is, change your mind about things. But it’s still just you. It’s about finding peace with that.” **“Rise Up”** “It’s a message to myself. I\'m not trying to tell anyone else what to do, but I think where I’ve gotten frustrated before, or even angry before, is feeling like people aren’t doing what I think they should be doing or anything like that. I’m in a much better place now—where I don’t actually have any of those wants or expectations on anyone else’s behavior. It’s about taking a bit of control over your echo chamber and finding peace within yourself. That helps me find peace with everything else.” **“Saint Nor Sinner”** “That’s a song about me having day-on-day benders at my house when I used to live alone—before I met my wife and had a family—when I was pretty affected by drugs and alcohol. I’d have these big parties on my own, and it was so much fun. But then the bridge hits and it’s this moment of reflection, and it’s really sweet and beautiful: ‘You can fight me with your reason/And I can show you my hand but as I rise to my feet/I fall where I stand,’ sometimes literally. It’s really sad, but it’s such a fun song.” **“Boats”** “The bushfires inspired that, and the images of people having to escape their homes by getting in boats. Kids on their parents’ shoulders, having to be held underwater while hot ash rains down on the ocean. Terrifying. It got me thinking about how scary things must have to be to have your kids out in the middle of the ocean, in the middle of the night, as opposed to in their own bedroom. Then it evolved into being about asylum seekers and refugees. I asked The Peacemakers Ensemble \[choir\] from Western Sydney, who are all asylum seekers and refugees, to sing on it, and it gave the song that credibility.” **“Undreamt Shores”** “I was watching one of those shows like *Great Canal Journeys*, something really beautiful and quiet. They said, ‘Weaving through the canal to undreamt shores,’ or something like that. I’d never heard that \[phrase\] before. So I hung on to it. It’s a song about just going with it, sort of like ‘Chance to Lose Control.’ Things change, relationships end, or your feelings about something change, and you arrive at a new place. It’s about an arrival. It’s scary and it’s exciting.” **“Lashings”** “It’s the whole record in a song. It’s about acknowledging the past, and being grateful for the moment and excited, motivated for the future. The lyrics are beautiful. I was in my home watching my kids play—it’s lashings of love. That’s a really beautiful thing, so I wrote that bit there and then, in that moment.”

As much as Romy Madley Croft’s debut solo album is an absorbingly personal record, its roots lie in music intended for other people. In 2019, The xx singer/guitarist met—and immediately gelled with—Fred again.. during a period of creative exploration that lead her to Los Angeles to try writing chart-topping pop songs for other artists. “I ended up writing some quite honest songs about myself, thinking someone else was going to sing them, and realizing, ‘Actually, maybe these are my songs…’” Romy tells Apple Music. Arriving in 2020, airy, anthemic debut solo single “Lifetime” was written to uplift herself during the pandemic. In stark contrast to the hush and restraint of The xx, the song leaned into the rapturous dance music influences of Romy’s youth, and it’s a direction continued on *Mid Air*. “At the time \[that The xx emerged\], I was genuinely just suited to feeling more shy and being more guarded,” she says. “It was nice to share a different side, and it definitely opened up a lot more doors in terms of the way people see me. I wanted to find a way to balance melodic, storytelling pop writing with club-referenced music, and Robyn was a big reference. She makes very emotional songs within a dance/electronic sphere. Robyn is someone that I really admire. I’ve met her a few times and I’ve sort of mentioned to her that I’m on this journey with it and she’s been really encouraging and supportive.” Co-produced with Fred again.., bandmate Jamie xx and veteran hitmaker Stuart Price, *Mid Air* succeeds in building a dance floor on which Romy can shake out her feelings. The joy and freedom of the shiny synths and skyscraping melodies serve as a misdirect to the lyrical themes of grief and heartbreak, rooted in the loss of both her parents at a young age and, recently, another very close family member. “I wrote \[lead single\] ‘Strong’ and ‘Enjoy Your Life’ as part of an ongoing ambition to remember to check in and talk to people and let things out,” she says. “I’ve had to talk about grief and my parents way more than I would if the whole album was just love songs. I’m ready to talk about it more. It’s been amazing having conversations with people that I wouldn’t normally have, and hearing and learning and connecting. People come up to me in a club to talk to me about grief and I’m like, ‘Wow, actually, this is very special.’ The fact that people feel like they can talk to me means a lot.” Let Romy guide you through *Mid Air* track by track. **“Loveher”** “This is the first song that I made with Fred after writing these songs for other people, the first track that I wrote thinking, ‘This actually is my song to sing.’ Very much the first tentative steps into this project. It opens the album because I can hear that slight nervousness in it and I shed that as the tracks go on. I had done a songwriting session with King Princess and she was like, ‘This is who I love, I’m writing a song about a girl, there’s no question.’ I was really inspired by the way that she was very comfortable with that. I thought about myself at that similar age and I didn’t feel that way. I didn’t feel comfortable or reassured that it would be chill for me to say that. Maybe it would’ve been fine, but in my head I was worried about it. The more young, queer artists I hear talking about their exact experiences and being really amazing, visible, inspiring people, the more I’m inspired to do my own thing and talk about my actual experiences in a clear way.” **“Weightless”** “This song is about realizing, ‘Wow, I’m really feeling all these things and that’s OK,’ and really embracing that. It still feels like it’s from the earlier, tentative time, lyrically. It was originally written as an acoustic ballad, and I wanted it to become more than that, so I went on a journey to take it into an electronic space. It was a challenge I set myself—I still wanted it to work when you take it off the track and take it back to the guitar. That’s something I admire about a well-written song.” **“The Sea”** “The lyrics for ‘The Sea’ are inspired by a trip to Ibiza. Or my vision of what it would have been like in the early 2000s—the dream of Ibiza. I went for the first time for Oliver’s \[Sim, The xx bandmate\] 30th birthday. We went out clubbing and we went on a boat and it was exactly what I had hoped it was. I’ve been back since, for my honeymoon. I also got to play Pacha in 2022, which was really amazing. But that first time, I was listening to the instrumental while I was driving around and I was thinking, ‘I want this song to feel connected to this place. I want it to feel like a home in a summer situation.’ So that’s how I framed it, lyrically.” **“One Last Time”** “I wrote this thinking it was for someone else—I didn’t have anyone specifically in mind, but just as a fan, if I had to pick someone, Beyoncé is my number-one person. Thinking it wasn’t going to be me singing pushed me to try out something new, vocally. Just pushing my voice. It was fun to come back to it and sing it in my own way. It’s one of my favorites to sing.” **“DMC”** “I love an interlude. I feel like that’s quite a pop-album thing. My friend always says that she loves a DMC corner in the club—I don’t know if everyone knows DMC is a deep, meaningful conversation, but that’s what it means to me. Those moments where you have a kind of emotional exchange somewhere that ends up being the right place, even though it’s not typically the place you have those chats. This is just a little moment of stepping outside of where we’ve been, like we’re outside the club. You have a little reset and you carry on.” **“Strong”** “I wrote this one for myself, using songwriting as a way of processing grief and my relationship to it and putting it out there. I internalized a lot of things for a long time and thought I’d put it out of sight, out of mind. I think having time off tour and being in a good place in a relationship was when it all started to come up and I had to face those things. ‘Strong’ was me just reflecting on that at that point, and just feeling it out, and trying to write around that. It was great to put it in a song that is quite uplifting and high tempo. It keeps giving different meanings to me in different contexts.” **“Twice”** “I worked on this with an amazing songwriter called Ilsey, who co-wrote ‘Nothing Breaks Like a Heart’ \[by Mark Ronson and Miley Cyrus\]. I’d been writing for other people for a while and finding it hard to make connections. I wanted something a bit more real. Ilsey has got quite a country style, so when I got paired up with her, I opened up and said, ‘This is what I’m going through,’ and she helped me write this very storytelling-like song. I’d never had a songwriter help me lyrically before, but it was really cool. It’s another one that started as a guitar ballad, but I didn’t want it to stay that way. Stuart worked on it and it evolved into what it is now—echoes of a club and then building into being a big club-experience track.” **“Did I”** “This was sonically created around the same time as ‘Strong.’ I’ve written a lot of acoustic music and I wanted to put it into a different frame, so I was playing a lot of early-2000s trance to Fred. There’s already a blueprint embedded in trance—a haunting vocal and huge chords and builds and euphoria. It’s one of my favorites, so I’ve been playing it out in clubs recently. Lyrically it reflects a part of my relationship \[with my wife\], from back when we were younger and we broke up.” **“Mid Air” (feat. Beverly Glenn-Copeland)** “I consider this to be a transitional moment on the album. The fact that Fred and I made this piece of music together is a reflection of a weird moment we were both in—it’s more winding and introspective than everything else we did together. Although there’s a lot of euphoric sounds on the album, I’m not always super upbeat, there’s times when I have a bit of a weird time mentally. It’s kind of the aftermath of the night out: ‘Twice’ and ‘Did I’ connect as a mix and ‘Mid Air’ is the musical comedown. \[American singer and composer\] Beverly Glenn-Copeland’s voice comes in as a reminder, a self check-in. Then you come back into ‘Enjoy Your Life’ as a reaction to that.” **“Enjoy Your Life”** “This was probably the most challenging song to make because it contains a lot of different elements. I’m trying to say quite a lot in it and make it danceable and contain lots of samples. Finding the balance took quite a long time. When I heard \[Beverly Glenn-Copeland\] say, ‘My mother says to me/Enjoy your life,’ I thought it was such a beautifully simple disarming sentence, but I didn’t want to just say, ‘Yeah, life’s amazing.’ I wanted there to be a journey in the song. In the verses, I’m processing some stuff, I’m having a bit of a weird time, but I’m reminding myself: Life is short, enjoy your life. I wanted there to be enough of a narrative to give that context. Just to acknowledge and then also celebrate.” **“She’s on My Mind”** “I wanted to end the album with this because it feels like the end of the night when you’re at a party and someone puts a disco song on and everyone just has their hands in their air. It’s a fun one to end on. Just embracing and accepting how you feel. From the way that I start the album—the more tentative way of singing—to the end where the last thing I sing is, ‘I don’t care anymore,’ it’s a bit of a release of pressure.”

“The main objective was to be as honest as humanly possible,” drummer Femi Koleoso tells Apple Music. “The result is that this is the most Ezra-sounding record we’ve ever made.” Since they emerged at the vanguard of London’s jazz circuit in 2016, Koleoso’s quintet Ezra Collective have crafted their sound into a blend of jazz improvisation, Afrobeat fanfares, hip-hop swagger, and soulful melodies. It’s a potent mix, one that has seen them turn festival audiences into bouncing masses, rather than the chin-stroking group often associated with jazz, and it has also earned them a legion of famous fans. For their second album, following 2019’s *You Can’t Steal My Joy*, they have enlisted some of these chart-topping pals, including singers Nao and Emeli Sandé, rappers Kojey Radical and Sampa the Great, and words from artists such as Steve McQueen and the late Tony Allen. The resulting 14 tracks live up to Koleoso’s promise, embodying Ezra Collective’s vibrancy with the thundering rhythms of “Victory Dance,” the neo-soul warmth of “Smile,” and dubby dilations of “Ego Killah.” “It’s music to move you and make you feel moved,” Koleoso says. Read on for his in-depth thoughts on the album, track by track. **“Life Goes On” (feat. Sampa the Great)** “We end each of our albums with a cover, and we start the next one with a cover too. It’s all about making the albums chapters of the same book of our lives. This record, therefore, samples the Fela Kuti tune ‘Shakara,’ which is the last track on our last album, *Steal My Joy*. I got really into amapiano in the lockdown, and that’s where the shaker and saxophone sounds come from. When it came to finding a feature, I knew Sampa would encapsulate Fela Kuti and UK jazz—she was perfect.” **“Victory Dance”** “I was training for a marathon during the lockdown, and it ended up being something of a spiritual journey to go on. I kept thinking about the pain that you endure for that single moment of victory and the involuntary dance you do when you get there. This track is meant to make people shake and dance like that, so the horn part was written like a fanfare, and then it drops into an Afro Cuban salsa where you can’t help but move.” **“No Confusion” (feat. Kojey Radical)** “Tony Allen was a great mentor of mine, and I wanted to pay tribute to all that he’s taught me on this track. The title is an allusion to the Fela Kuti number ‘Confusion,’ which is one of the few recordings of a Tony Allen drum solo, and it also refers to not being confused about who you are or what you’re capable of. The track opens with a recording of a conversation I had with Uncle Tony on Worldwide FM, and he’s telling me the greatest lesson of all: ‘no one can be you-er than you.’” **“Welcome to My World”** “Fela Kuti is one of the main influences for Ezra Collective, but this is the first record where we made a tune that really evoked his sound, which was composed by our trumpet player, Ife Ogunjobi. We couldn’t agree on the drumbeat because it defines the direction of the song, but once we landed on what you hear, it became one of my favorites. We’ve been playing this live ever since it was written, and it always goes off.” **“Togetherness”** “We’ve spent the record traveling through the music of Southern Africa so far, and this track takes us to another of Ezra Collective’s cultural touchstones: the Caribbean. Sound system culture is a massive part of my life, and I go to Channel One every Sunday when I’m in London. If you live in the city, you’d be hard-pressed to not hear the influences of Caribbean music everywhere, and this tune taps into the reggae and dub sounds that are all over town.” **“Ego Killah”** “Jorja Smith is like an extended member of the group and one of our best friends, so it was only right that she sings the opening to this track. ‘Ego Killah’ stays on the Caribbean influences and goes deeper into the bass vibrations of dub. I always feel that the core of jazz music is paying homage to what’s come before and changing what will come after, so that’s why I wanted to incorporate all these different sounds into our improvisations.” **“Smile”** “When we started Ezra, all we played were jazz standards, and we always tried to make them original. We’ve been playing ‘Smile’ for 10 years now, and our version is inspired by D’Angelo’s ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love,’ since it’s a neo-soul take on a standard. I like to alter the expectations of what we might be capable of playing in our shows or on our records, and this is just such a beautiful song that makes audiences cry every time.” **“Live Strong”** “I always try to get every person who is involved with Ezra Collective on the album as it’s a nice thank-you to have their names written on the vinyl forever. The clapping that you hear on ‘Live Strong’ is all the engineers and crew, as well as our manager, Amy, who was heavily pregnant at the time. Now the record’s out, I’ve credited her new daughter, Ivy, too. The track itself is influenced by the group Sault, especially their track ‘Son Shine,’ which has such a beautiful feel that takes its own time. This is one that will get the audiences two-stepping when we play it.” **“Siesta” (feat. Emeli Sandé)** “This track was written by our bass player, TJ \[Koleoso\], and has the same amapiano influences of ‘Life Goes On.’ It’s meant to be the moment of rest during the journey that allows you to keep going. I think it’s one of the most beautiful songs on the album, since it’s heavily influenced by Kokoroko and their laidback and pretty melodies, as well as the work of Khruangbin. I met Emeli at Steve McQueen’s birthday party a few years ago, and this was just the perfect marriage for her.” **“Words by Steve”** “Before lockdown, Steve McQueen reached out and asked to meet me for breakfast. Before I even sat down at his table, he went on the most incredible monologue I’ve ever heard, describing the effects that Black people have had on culture in the UK, and he ended it by saying that we belong in any building in London, since we have helped to make this city. This was the birth of the album concept, *Where I’m Meant to Be*. We became great friends, and I wanted to give him credit for all of his wisdom, so I featured this phone call between us.” **“Belonging”** “In 2020, we did a tour with Hiatus Kaiyote and as we got to see them play so much, we grew a whole new appreciation and love for their ability to weave time signatures and feels. This track is inspired by their work, but it plays like the most UK jazz number on the record, since it’s aggressive, complicated, and still has deep emotion. It is the song on the album that was hardest to make as it had the most arrangements, but it’s honest. It’s going to be a hard one to play live!” **“Never the Same Again”** “Dark and depressing songs don’t come naturally for us as a group—we’re all about spreading joy and positivity through our music. Our keyboard player, Joe Armon-Jones, wrote this track and it really encapsulates that feeling of optimism, using the same Sault-inspired sound that drove forward the feeling of ‘Live Strong.’” **“Words by TJ”** “We love giving context to our music with words, which is why we keep the mics on in between recording tracks, so we can always collect sound bites and stories from different band members. This interlude is one instance of TJ talking about playing Ronnie Scott’s and giving a testament to the power of the music. We only ever write songs to make people feel how he describes on the track.” **“Love in Outer Space” (feat. Nao)** “We always end with a tribute to someone who’s come before us. We’ve covered Sun Ra before, and this is one of my all-time favorite melodies of his on ‘Love in Outer Space.’ We have been playing the instrumental version of the track live for years, but I missed the vocals that Sun Ra sings on the original, so I knew Nao would be perfect for our recorded version. It’s a song that I’m so proud of and the best way to end the journey—it gives the listener permission to go anywhere.”

Ezra Collective’s new era, a venture in discovered maturity and raised stakes, will be defined by the anticipated second album. 'Where I’m Meant To Be' is a thumping celebration of life, an affirming elevation in the Ezra Collective’s winding hybrid sound and refined collective character. The songs marry cool confidence with bright energy. Full of call-and-response conversations between their ensemble parts, a natural product of years improvising together on-stage, the album - which also features Sampa The Great, Kojey Radical, Emile Sandé, Steve McQueen, and Nao - will light up sweaty dance floors and soundtrack dinner parties in equal measure.

Margo Price’s fourth album is a record born from journeys. There’s the physical one, in which the Nashville-based singer-songwriter and her husband/collaborator, the musician Jeremy Ivey, traveled first to South Carolina to focus on writing new material, much of which made it onto *Strays*, then to California’s Topanga Canyon to record the final LP. And, perhaps more consequently, there’s the spiritual journey, as Price and Ivey spent part of their writing retreat taking intentional, exploratory psilocybin trips in an effort to tap more deeply into their own creative wells. Accordingly, *Strays* is Price’s most expansive, adventurous LP yet, employing an intricate, far-reaching soundscape of rock, psychedelia, ’70s pop, and subtle flourishes of her earlier brand of left-of-center country. The shift in sound didn’t shift Price’s focus, though, which is, as always, crafting songs that stand the test of time. “Sonically, it’s a little bit different,” she tells Apple Music. “But if you strip away all the instruments, what you have left at the end of the day is still a song that’s great that you can play on the piano or guitar and it’ll stand up on its own.” Opener “Been to the Mountain” is part origin story, part battle cry, as Price chronicles the many roles she’s played—a mother, a child, a waitress, and a consumer, among others—before defiantly declaring, “I’ve been called every name in the book, honey/Go on, take your best shot.” The Sharon Van Etten collaboration “Radio” is Price at her poppiest, pairing melodic hooks with frank observations on womanhood and motherhood. “County Road” grapples with mortality and pays tribute to late drummer Ben Eyestone, envisioning the afterlife as an escape from earthly troubles. And closer “Landfill” opens with a gut punch of a lyric—“I could build a landfill of dreams I deserted”—before ultimately ending the LP on a hopeful note. Below, Price shares insight into several key tracks on *Strays*. **“Been to the Mountain”** “This was one of the very first songs that flowed out the next day after we came down from our mushroom trip. I just really wanted to incorporate poetry. I wanted it to be really psychedelic, and I wanted this album to be able to serve as a record that people could put on if they were going to maybe dabble in psychedelics. I think it can be a companion piece in that regard. I feel like whenever I have taken a psilocybin trip, there’s always that moment right before everything starts happening in your brain and your body, and you feel like you’re about to go on a roller coaster. That’s what I wanted—to capture that feeling.” **“Radio” (feat. Sharon Van Etten)** “The melody to the song came to me when I was walking in the woods. I just started singing the melody and the words into my phone and made a little voice memo. I got back home, picked up the guitar, and I was really proud of what I had, but I really wanted the label to be excited and to trust in my ability to write a pop song. So, I said that it was written with somebody I had planned to co-write with, and it just didn’t happen. But I did send it to Sharon Van Etten, and I was like, ‘Does this need a bridge? Do you like this song?’ And she’s like, ‘I absolutely love this song. It’s incredible. I don’t think it needs a bridge, but I would change these lines.’ She began co-writing on it and then put all those incredible harmonies and just added her touch to it. I think she’s one of the greatest writers that’s currently out there right now. I love her and I think everything she touches gets this beautiful, I don’t know, chrome feeling to it. There’s just a little bit of magic in everything that she worked on.” **“County Road”** “This is a song \[for late drummer Ben Eyestone\] that means a lot to me and my band collectively. We truthfully all have to hold back tears when we play it; we just miss him so much. But we know that he is still around, and sometimes we’ll feel his energy when we’re playing that song. It was just really tragic how he passed. A lot of things were at play. I think the American healthcare system and a lot of things just worked against him. He died \[from cancer\] so tragically and so suddenly. But at the same time, it was pre-pandemic. It was before everything changed in our world in so many ways during that year of 2020. It’s a dark song. We say things like, ‘Maybe I’m lucky I’m already dead.’ But really, I think that there is this freedom that has to come with death. You’re not suffering here and going through all these incredibly difficult life lessons.” **“Lydia”** “It’s strange sometimes how you have this premonition that you don’t want to come true, or you don’t think it’s going to go this way. I never saw this *Handmaid’s Tale* future. I thought things were fucked up, but they weren’t this bad. That song was written after walking around Vancouver and seeing a lot of people there that were struggling with opioid addictions. They all seemed like they had this vacant, ghostly quality, and so did the city and the area of town that we were in. There was a methadone clinic really close by, and the venue owners literally told us, ‘Be really careful. There’s a lot of needles out the back door. You guys go that way.’ It was just a really heavy mood. While it has pieces of me and little vignettes of who I’ve been at times in my life, I think this is definitely a character study. It was a person that I created, something that was fictional but that is ultimately a portrait of what it might be to be living in the lower class and struggling in America right now.” **“Landfill”** “I think we go through such wild territory throughout the album, and we’re definitely getting some high highs and some low lows. I really just wanted to end the album with a little bit of clarity and a little bit of peace. I wanted the last word that I say on this album to be ‘love.’ I wrote that song also in South Carolina, and it was at the very end of our trip, after we’d been there for seven or eight days. We were trying to find this abandoned lighthouse and passed a landfill on the way. I just started thinking about the metaphor of how your mind can be that way; you have so many memories and difficult things that you bury and push down. But I wanted it to still be hopeful.”

Produced by Margo Price and Jonathan Wilson (Angel Olsen, Father John Misty), Strays was primarily recorded in the summer of 2021, during a week spent at Fivestar Studio in California’s Topanga Canyon. While the songwriting began the summer prior – during a six-day, mushroom-filled trip that Price and her husband Jeremy Ivey took to South Carolina – it was amongst the hallucinatory hills of western Los Angeles that Price experienced the best recording sessions of her career. Instilled with a newfound confidence and comfortability to experiment and explore like never before, Margo Price and her longtime band of Pricetags channeled their telepathic abilities into songs that span rock n roll, psychedelic country, rhythm & blues, and glistening, iridescent pop. Having been together since the days before Midwest Farmer’s Daughter, her 2016 debut that Rolling Stone named one of the Greatest Country Albums of All Time, Price and her band tracked live in the same room, simultaneously expanding upon and completely exploding the notions of every other album they have made together. With additional vocals from Sharon Van Etten and Lucius, plus guitar from Mike Campbell, strings, synthesizers and a breadth of previously untapped sounds, Strays is also Price’s most collaborative record yet. “I feel this urgency to keep moving, keep creating,” says Margo Price. “You get stuck in the same patterns of thinking, the same loops of addiction. But there comes a point where you just have to say, ‘I'm going to be here, I'm going to enjoy it, and I'm not going to put so much stock into checking the boxes for everyone else.’ I feel more mature in the way that I write now, I’m on more than just a search for large crowds and accolades. I’m trying to find what my soul needs.”

From the instant that a disorienting, time-stretched vocal loop collides with a rock-steady four-to-the-floor beat in the brief but invigorating “Intro,” it’s clear that The Chemical Brothers are here to rave. The duo’s 10th album, their first since 2019’s *No Geography*, is a no-holds-barred attempt to channel all the energy and euphoria of their live shows into the album format, and it’s a testament to their success that the record’s compact, 47-minute runtime can barely contain all the four-dimensional dynamism within. It’s even sequenced like a DJ mix, careening almost seamlessly across gnarly acid bangers, slow-motion big-beat throwbacks, and the sorts of stadium-sized, hands-in-the-air, sun-emerging-from-behind-the-clouds anthems that they do better than just about anyone. The duo’s Tom Rowlands tells Apple Music’s Zane Lowe that the album came together in pursuit of “the moment of feeling like something is lifting off in the studio.” That’s the perfect metaphor for “Live Again”: The song’s opening bars of surging shoegaze swirl, segueing directly out of “Intro,” have all the pent-up energy of a NASA launchpad, and once the song kicks off—serenaded by a dulcet refrain from Paris’ Halo Maud—it just keeps rocketing upward, propelled by endlessly rising glissandi. They describe their approach as a kind of deconstruction—“Sometimes you start with a quite songy song, but then you spend about three years destroying that song,” says Rowlands—and it’s audible in “No Reason,” a late-night epic that’s stripped down to little more than funk bass, extended snare rolls, and the occasional crowd-stoking whoop. Throughout, they keep finding new ways to mix up the essential components of big beats, bigger basslines, and titanic hooks. “Fountains” is psychedelic disco set to a Neptunes-inspired drum pattern; “Magic Wand” pairs breakbeat rave with old-school hip-hop ad-libs and a spooky a cappella; “The Weight” calls back to the slow-motion grind of their earliest hits and then turns all the dials to 11. Part of The Chemical Brothers’ genius has always been their balance of kinetic oomph and transcendent melodies, and that’s all over this album, most noticeably in the heavenly “Skipping Like a Stone,” a shoegaze-flavored jam featuring Beck at his melodic best. He paints a forlorn picture—“When you feel like nothing really matters/When you feel alone/When you feel like all your life is shattered/And you can’t go home”—before promising to “come skipping like a stone” in a chorus imbued with both childlike innocence and reassuring empathy. Going into the album, Rowlands says, was the idea to “make something that had a real direct emotional heart,” but to sculpt it in such a way “where it would still feel like our world.” Their Beck collab is exactly that: It’s a super-sized song about overwhelming feelings and all-encompassing love, the emotional cornerstone to one of the most ebullient albums in the duo’s career.

For the last two decades, Sufjan Stevens’ music has taken on two distinct forms. On one end, you have the ornate, orchestral, and positively stuffed style that he’s excelled at since the conceptual fantasias of 2003’s star-making *Michigan*. On the other, there’s the sparse and close-to-the-bone narrative folk-pop songwriting that’s marked some of his most well-known singles and albums, first fully realized on the stark and revelatory *Seven Swans* from 2004. His 10th studio full-length, *Javelin*, represents the fullest and richest merging of those two approaches that Stevens has achieved to date. Even as it’s been billed as his first proper “songwriter’s album” since 2015’s autobiographical and devastating *Carrie & Lowell*, *Javelin* is a kaleidoscopic distillation of everything Stevens has achieved in his career so far, resulting in some of the most emotionally affecting and grandiose-sounding music he’s ever made. *Javelin* is Stevens’ first solo record of vocal-based music since 2020’s *The Ascension*, and it’s relatively straightforward compared to its predecessor’s complexity. Featuring contributions from vocalists and frequent collaborators like Nedelle Torrisi, adrienne maree brown, Hannah Cohen, and The National’s Bryce Dessner (who adds his guitar skills to the heart-bursting epic “Shit Talk”), the record certainly sounds like a full-group effort in opposition to the angsty isolation that streaked *The Ascension*. But at the heart of *Javelin* is Stevens’ vocals, the intimacy of which makes listeners feel as if they’re mere feet away from him. There’s callbacks to Stevens’ discography throughout, from the *Age of Adz*-esque digital dissolve that closes out “Genuflecting Ghost” to the rustic Flannery O’Connor evocations of “Everything That Rises,” recalling *Seven Swans*’ inspirational cues from the late fiction writer. Ultimately, though, *Javelin* finds Stevens emerging from the depressive cloud of *The Ascension* armed with pleas for peace and a distinct yearning to belong and be embraced—powerful messages delivered on high, from one of the 21st century’s most empathetic songwriters.

“There’s songs on this record that I just am not sick of, which is the first time that’s ever happened to me,” G Flip—Georgia Flipo—tells Apple Music. There’s a good reason for that: They really, really like drums—and there’s a lot of them on their aptly titled sophomore album. Flipo might be an accomplished producer, multi-instrumentalist, and singer now, but it all started from behind a kit, and every track on this record was inspired by their first instrument. “When I was making *DRUMMER*, I had a list of drum grooves that I wanted to try to write songs from—or if I was working with an older song, reference a famous drum part,” they tell Apple Music. Additionally, they plan to share their love of percussion with listeners (and budding drummers) more directly. “I also want to put out a bit of a drum hook with all the notation for the songs, from the entry-level beats on ‘Love Hurts’ to the more advanced grooves on ‘Didn’t Mean To.’” Read on for Flipo’s insights into each track on *DRUMMER*. **“7 Days”** “The big reason I wanted ‘7 Days’ to open up the record is because I wanted a song that started with drums. So the very first thing you hear is a snare drum roll. As a young drummer, the first thing that you learn are snare drum parts. The first thing the teacher tells you is how to hold the sticks and then how to just do single strokes on a snare drum. So it just felt right that the whole *DRUMMER* record started with just the entry-level military snare roll.” **“The Worst Person Alive”** “It’s about me! I was in a relationship that fell apart. I think that person thinks I’m the worst person alive, or I’ve heard from other people that she does. But for me, this song, I just love the production that we did on it. We made the whole song in my house in Los Feliz, every single part of it. I wanted to incorporate a never-ending drum groove that’s like a chugging train that’s just going along, like in ‘Born to Run’ by Bruce Springsteen.” **“Rough”** “A gospel singer named Erica, who’s a friend of mine, came in to do some backing vocals on ‘7 Days.’ And I was like, ‘What the fuck? We need to get Erica singing on “Rough” with me.’ So me and Erica, we recorded a lot of vocals in the bathroom because she’s heavily pregnant. Right at the end of ‘Rough,’ you can hear Erica—she’s probably due soon, what month is it?—and she’s like, ‘I need to pee,’ and I’m still singing in the background.” **“Good Enough”** “When I was recording this song, I was like, ‘Let’s just see how hard I can hold this note.’ And it’s very much a Max Martin-style production where you hit the last chorus and you just have a backing vocal that holds the one note for as long as you can. There’s a lot of singing on this record where I’m really trying to push the limits on my vocals—which I don’t know if that is the healthiest thing to do, and I definitely need to go have a vocal lesson to make sure I’m not getting nodes.” **“Be Your Man”** “It’s a queer song about queer love—and it has my first guitar solo ever in it! I feel like for a lot of people who’ve lived queer lives, you meet someone and you’re not exactly what they planned. For me, in my relationship, I was definitely not what my partner Chrishell \[Stause, reality TV star\] had planned. She dated men her whole life and I definitely was a wild part in her life that just sprung up. I feel like that’s a storyline that happens often with queer relationships, but also for other relationships that aren’t queer. You just might not be what someone planned—whether that has to do with race, religion, anything.” **“Baked”** “It’s about being high and getting a bit naughty with a girl. I moved to LA two years ago and weed’s legal and edibles are legal, and I hadn’t experimented much with eating edibles at all. This whole song comes from being stoned and it’s kind of realizing, like: I’ve moved to LA and it’s different. It’s not like Australia. Nearly everything is rhythmic, even all the synths I added. It’s got that Pharrell Williams-style, early No Doubt kind of vibe to it.” **“Real Life”** “I’m dating a reality star—and dating someone in the public eye, when you’re apart, it’s like there’s media and there’s articles. It’s this whole thing and everyone’s asking you, ‘How’s your wife?’ And she’s getting asked, ‘How’s your husband?’ (or whatever my nonbinary partner term is). So it’s always so much talk and everyone’s invested in the relationship outside of the relationship. And it’s kind of like when we are just together, it’s just real life and we’re so normal. The question we get all the time is: ‘How is it being in the public eye dating, and all this stuff?’ It’s pretty normal. We’re like every other motherfucking couple.” **“Love Hurts”** “I actually wrote this song mid-breakup a few years ago when we were going through some tough times. I sang it into my voice memos, actually. The chorus I sang in the bathroom. This song’s just a classic heartbreak song. There’s a bit of a 4 Non Blondes reference, too. So in 4 Non Blondes, there’s this rim shot that sounds so fucking good to my ears and it’s always been like, *the best rim shot sound ever*. I was trying to replicate that for so long. I tried so many different snare drums, different heads, trying to work out how to nail it.” **“Kevin”** “It’s based off a crazy DM that I got; some man telling me about how I’m a woman, I’ve got a vagina, nonbinary is made up, hating that I’m queer, I shouldn’t be with Chrishell, I should be marrying a man, I’m going to go to hell. I got some hectic DMs! I wanted to just make this character named Kevin. It’s kind of like a little play on the dude version of Karen. I had fun with the lyrics on this and it’s a fun, groovy song—I didn’t want to play to a click-track for this one so it kind of wavers a little bit.” **“Didn’t Mean To”** “This song is all about the Jeff Porcaro \[drummer, Toto\] shuffle. It is 100 percent a reference to ‘Rosanna.’ That was the inspiration. Imagine having a song where everyone hears the drum beat and you know exactly what the song is. The best drummers in the world can do that: Dave Grohl on ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ for instance. Porcaro is one of those. And the intricacies in it, it’s a more advanced drum beat. You really have to have control of your left hand and get every single ghost note perfect—and get your accents right.” **“Made for You”** “This is me talking to my drums—and ending the record with a huge drum solo that absolutely pissed off my neighbors. If you turn it up, you can hear me say, ‘The neighbors will be really pissed now.’ I’ve had neighbors complaining my whole life and I’ve finally become a pretty successful musician. I do this for a living now and they are still fucking pissed off at me. It never ended! And I think, for any drummer, we’re continuously fighting against neighbors or people complaining because it’s too loud, and that’s the way *DRUMMER* ends. It just was fitting for me.”

The sixth album by Bombay Bicycle Club feels like a glorious culmination of everything the North London quartet have done across their entire career. Since emerging, as teens, in 2007 with debut EP *The Boy I Used to Be*, their music has explored anthemic indie rock, propulsive electronica, jerky ’80s pop, plaintive folk, world music grooves, and back again. Here, they take all directions at once to produce their most cohesive record yet. Vocalist Jack Steadman says that the guest-heavy effort—*My Big Day* features turns from Damon Albarn, Chaka Khan, Holly Humberstone, Jay Som, and Nilüfer Yanya—was fueled by the notion that bands should keep trying to cover fresh ground. “It gets harder the more albums you make to keep surprising yourself and your fans and do exciting things,” Steadman tells Apple Music. “Feeling like we’re taking risks is important.” The collaborative nature of *My Big Day* was inspired by the approach Steadman has taken with his solo project, Mr Jukes, working with an array of different artists. “Doing Mr Jukes and having all these different features—I had so much fun that I thought, ‘Why don’t bands do that?’” he says. “You don’t see bands do it very often.” It’s also the first Bombay Bicycle Club record produced by Steadman himself. “On this record, we learned that you have to toughen up a bit and get thick-skinned, speak your mind,” he says. “From the band’s point of view: tell me if they think a song is shit. It’s the only way we’re going to make a good record.” The album, he adds, is a snapshot of where the band—Steadman, guitarist Jamie MacColl, bassist Ed Nash, and drummer Suren de Saram—are in their lives right now: “You can hear it’s quite a happy and optimistic record, we’re less self-conscious and more confident in ourselves. As a band we’ve never been closer and I think that’s reflected in the music.” *My Big Day* is a glorious statement from one of the UK’s most imaginative guitar bands. Steadman guides us through it, track by track. **“Just a Little More Time”** “This is a good indication of where our mindset was with the record. A few albums ago, we would’ve been quite hesitant to put it on. I would’ve sent it \[to the band\] and I think the response would’ve probably been, ‘Look, I really like it, but it’s just not a Bombay Bicycle Club song.’ If I wasn’t singing on it and you heard it on the radio, I’m not sure we would be the first name that sprang to mind. Our ethos for this album was, ‘Let’s not worry so much about whether it’s a guitar-y band song—as long as we’re all digging it, let’s put it on the record.’ It’s my favorite song.” **“I Want to Be Your Only Pet”** “This was the first song \[we wrote\] and the song that kick-started the whole album. It made us all think that we were ready to do this again. It’s quite heavy but it’s all being restrained, the drums are actually quite soft and jazzy. In a sense, it’s that feeling of something pushing against something but not being able to fully get out. The lyrics are a complete stream of consciousness. I was singing gobbledygook to try and finish the demo and Jamie heard it and was like, ‘Oh, keep doing stuff like that, it’s quite surreal.’ It’s quite abstract, almost like a dream sequence, which is a first for us. They’re usually quite heart-on-sleeve.” **“Sleepless” (with Jay Som)** “This started off in a cowriting session that I was doing with beabadoobee. I was making a beat on my sampler and it sampled this old Japanese movie soundtrack from the ’70s or ’80s. We made this song, but they ended up choosing another song that we wrote. I brought it to the band and it had this complete transformation from a quite hip-hop-y, Japanese-sample beat to putting in psychedelic guitars. We got in touch with \[LA singer-songwriter\] Jay Som, who’s the singer on it, and she added all these little bits and actually did lots of production on it, which was really cool. She’s an amazing producer.” **“My Big Day”** “This is maybe the most unique-sounding song on the album, even though whatever you do to the production, however you dress up a song, it still needs to have a pop song underneath it. We thought, ‘Let’s make a statement by coming back with something that’s quite bold.’ When it was first made, it was this sample that made it sound a bit like Eminem’s ‘My Name Is.’ We called it ‘Eminem Meets Smash Mouth,’ it’s almost got this ’90s American pop-punk thing. It’s quite a celebratory title, even though the song itself is about subverting the idea of celebrating a big day. It’s about closing the curtains and turning your phone off and being like, ‘Everybody fuck off!’ But the words ‘My Big Day’, to us, summed up the album, coming back after the pandemic and celebrating and being optimistic and joyful and a bit silly.” **“Turn the World On”** “This was the last song to be written. I was sat on the sofa playing the guitar and Jamie noticed what I was doing and started secretly filming me—because he knows that I’m not organized enough to remember anything or to make voice notes. The amount of times I’ve done something and thought, ‘Oh, that was cool, I’ll remember it’ and then the next day I’ve completely forgot it. I think it’s probably the most heart-on-sleeve and earnest song on the record. It’s about my son and how, since having him, it’s made me think about when I was a kid and also about my dad when he was my age, the new perspective on these things that you get.” **“Meditate” (with Nilüfer Yanya)** “There’s always one song on our albums that’s from old stuff that I used to do before the band. When I was at school, I would make loads of albums on the family computer. We found a song on one of those and developed the bassline a bit. We thought there was something missing because, musically, it had a fuck-you character to it, quite Queens of the Stone Age, but the way I was singing it wasn’t really doing the same thing. I’m not a very fuck-you kind of singer! We’d just played a show with Nilüfer, we’re huge fans of her, and we thought, ‘Oh, that’s completely her vibe vocally.’ She’s got this amazing attitude to her vocals. She came in and the whole song at that point made sense.” **“Rural Radio Predicts the Rapture”** “This is another one where we just thought, ‘Fuck it.’ So many people have been like, ‘Wow, that’s a bit of a weird departure.’ I see this and ‘Just a Little More Time’ as very linked. It’s a sample of \[music from the ballet\] *La Péri* by a French composer called \[Paul\] Dukas. I took that sample—this is in the Mr Jukes era—and put the beat over it. For a long time, Jamie was like, ‘We need to make this into a song,’ but I kept procrastinating and not wanting to do it. Finally, we all got together and finished it. I don’t think we could have made that song if we hadn’t produced it ourselves. It was very much like a surgical procedure to get every bit. I don’t know how I would’ve done that with someone else.” **“Heaven” (with Damon Albarn)** “I’d made a demo of this and we basically said, ‘Either we shelve this or we go completely maximalist with it, there’s no in-between.’ We were imagining strings and brass and we kept referencing ‘A Day in the Life’ by The Beatles, all that ’60s production where you’d get all these players to come in. I played it to Damon \[Albarn\] because I’d been at his studio, wanting to hear what he thought of the record. This was a song where, instead of giving any notes, he was just like, ‘Give me a microphone,’ and started improvising over it, started writing over it. The hard part was getting him to then finish the song, once I’d left, trying to get in touch with him. I think he wrote the lyrics on the way to Coachella in a car \[driving\] across the Californian desert. He managed to find some time!” **“Tekken 2” (with Chaka Khan)** “I played this to Damon and said, ‘Hey, do you hear I’m doing that impression of an old disco thing at the end? Can you think of anyone that would be good on it?’ He was like, ‘Chaka Khan?’ I think I burst out laughing in his face, like, ‘Shut up, maybe you can do that, but don’t rub it in that I can’t.’ But then I walked away and thought, ‘We’ve got nothing to lose.’ Amazingly, she was the most straightforward of all the features to organize, just like, ‘Yeah, let’s do it. I love the track. Here’s how much it costs. Come to LA and we’ll do it.’ I flew to LA on the way to mixing the album, so it was the last day that we could do it. She wanted to do it in this massive fancy LA studio with all the bells and whistles, but I just turned up with my little crappy Windows laptop and put it on the mixing desk and just plugged into that. I felt a bit silly. She was totally cool. She was very down-to-earth.” **“Diving” (feat. Holly Humberstone)** “‘Diving’ is another good example of the theme of this album, thinking not only about your future and getting older, but also looking back to when you were young. It’s quite an innocent song, a lot of imagery about those summers you’d have as a kid where the world seems so exciting and anything’s possible. We thought that the way I was singing it, trying to sing in a high voice, wasn’t quite delivering the emotion of it enough. I’d already worked with Holly \[Humberstone\] on a few other things and we knew that she was a fan of the band, so we just got in touch. After she recorded her part, it all clicked and fell into place, the delivery and the emotion of it.” **“Onward”** “When it ends, it’s just two guitars, bass, and drums, very heavy; it almost felt like a way of saying, ‘We’ve been on this crazy journey, but we’re still Bombay Bicycle Club.’ Thematically, it made a lot of sense to put it at the end. It’s saying even after all this, there’s still more to come, after six albums, there’s still loads of ideas to come, and we’re still going to keep making music. It’s a very forward-thinking, optimistic song and it felt right to put that at the very end.”

A Wednesday song is a quilt. A short story collection, a half-memory, a patchwork of portraits of the American south, disparate moments that somehow make sense as a whole. Karly Hartzman, the songwriter/vocalist/guitarist at the helm of the project, is a story collector as much as she is a storyteller: a scholar of people and one-liners. Rat Saw God, the Asheville quintet’s new and best record, is ekphrastic but autobiographical and above all, deeply empathetic. Across the album’s ten tracks Hartzman, guitarist MJ Lenderman, bassist Margo Shultz, drummer Alan Miller, and lap/pedal steel player Xandy Chelmis build a shrine to minutiae. Half-funny, half-tragic dispatches from North Carolina unfurling somewhere between the wailing skuzz of Nineties shoegaze and classic country twang, that distorted lap steel and Hartzman’s voice slicing through the din. Rat Saw God is an album about riding a bike down a suburban stretch in Greensboro while listening to My Bloody Valentine for the first time on an iPod Nano, past a creek that runs through the neighborhood riddled with broken glass bottles and condoms, a front yard filled with broken and rusted car parts, a lonely and dilapidated house reclaimed by kudzu. Four Lokos and rodeo clowns and a kid who burns down a corn field. Roadside monuments, church marquees, poppers and vodka in a plastic water bottle, the shit you get away with at Jewish summer camp, strange sentimental family heirlooms at the thrift stores. The way the South hums alive all night in the summers and into fall, the sound of high school football games, the halo effect from the lights polluting the darkness. It’s not really bright enough to see in front of you, but in that stretch of inky void – somehow – you see everything. Rat Saw God was written in the months immediately following Twin Plagues’ completion, and recorded in a week at Asheville’s Drop of Sun studio. While Twin Plagues was a breakthrough release critically for Wednesday, it was also a creative and personal breakthrough for Hartzman. The lauded record charts feeling really fucked up, trauma, dropping acid. It had Hartzman thinking about the listener, about her mom hearing those songs, about how it feels to really spill your guts. And in the end, it felt okay. “I really jumped that hurdle with Twin Plagues where I was not worrying at all really about being vulnerable – I was finally comfortable with it, and I really wanna stay in that zone.” The album opener, “Hot Rotten Grass Smell,” happens in a flash: an explosive and wailing wall-of-sound dissonance that’d sound at home on any ‘90s shoegaze album, then peters out into a chirping chorus of peepers, a nighttime sound. And then into the previously-released eight-and-half-minute sprawling, heavy single, “Bull Believer.” Other tracks, like the creeping “What’s So Funny” or “Turkey Vultures,” interrogate Hartzman’s interiority - intimate portraits of coping, of helplessness. “Chosen to Deserve” is a true-blue love song complete with ripping guitar riffs, skewing classic country. “Bath County” recounts a trip Hartzman and her partner took to Dollywood, and time spent in the actual Bath County, Virginia, where she wrote the song while visiting, sitting on a front porch. And Rat Saw God closer “TV in the Gas Pump” is a proper traveling road song, written from one long ongoing iPhone note Hartzman kept while in the van, its final moments of audio a wink toward Twin Plagues. The reference-heavy stand-out “Quarry” is maybe the most obvious example of the way Hartzman seamlessly weaves together all these throughlines. It draws from imagery in Lynda Barry’s Cruddy; a collection of stories from Hartzman’s family (her dad burned down that cornfield); her current neighbors; and the West Virginia street from where her grandma lived, right next to a rock quarry, where the explosions would occasionally rock the neighborhood and everyone would just go on as normal. The songs on Rat Saw God don’t recount epics, just the everyday. They’re true, they’re real life, blurry and chaotic and strange – which is in-line with Hartzman’s own ethos: “Everyone’s story is worthy,” she says, plainly. “Literally every life story is worth writing down, because people are so fascinating.” But the thing about Rat Saw God - and about any Wednesday song, really - is you don’t necessarily even need all the references to get it, the weirdly specific elation of a song that really hits. Yeah, it’s all in the details – how fucked up you got or get, how you break a heart, how you fall in love, how you make yourself and others feel seen – but it’s mostly the way those tiny moments add up into a song or album or a person.

“As I got older I learned I’m a drinker/Sometimes a drink feels like family,” Mitski confides with disarming honesty on “Bug Like an Angel,” the strummy, slow-build opening salvo from her seventh studio album that also serves as its lead single. Moments later, the song breaks open into its expansive chorus: a convergence of cooed harmonies and acoustic guitar. There’s more cracked-heart vulnerability and sonic contradiction where that came from—no surprise considering that Mitski has become one of the finest practitioners of confessional, deeply textured indie rock. Recorded between studios in Los Angeles and her recently adopted home city of Nashville, *The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We* mostly leaves behind the giddy synth-pop experiments of her last release, 2022’s *Laurel Hell*, for something more intimate and dreamlike: “Buffalo Replaced” dabbles in a domestic poetry of mosquitoes, moonlight, and “fireflies zooming through the yard like highway cars”; the swooning lullaby “Heaven,” drenched in fluttering strings and slide guitar, revels in the heady pleasures of new love. The similarly swaying “I Don’t Like My Mind” pithily explores the daily anxiety of being alive (sometimes you have to eat a whole cake just to get by). The pretty syncopations of “The Deal” build to a thrilling clatter of drums and vocals, while “When Memories Snow” ropes an entire cacophonous orchestra—French horn, woodwinds, cello—into its vivid winter metaphors, and the languid balladry of “My Love Mine All Mine” makes romantic possessiveness sound like a gift. The album’s fuzzed-up closer, “I Love Me After You,” paints a different kind of picture, either postcoital or defiantly post-relationship: “Stride through the house naked/Don’t even care that the curtains are open/Let the darkness see me… How I love me after you.” Mitski has seen the darkness, and on *The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We*, she stares right back into the void.

“I set myself certain parameters,” Joshua Mainnie, aka Barry Can’t Swim, tells Apple Music about his approach to creating his debut album. “I don’t like albums which are too long so it had to be around 10 tracks. And every track needed to flow and blend nicely with the one before. But I had an idea of what I wanted it to sound like before I began and it actually ended up being something completely different.” Building a reputation for creating deeply emotive dance music which pulls at the heartstrings as much as it moves the feet, the Edinburgh-born, London-based producer might have set out with self-imposed limits but his debut pushes further at the boundaries of his sound. Taking influence from everything from Pink Floyd’s *The Dark Side of the Moon* to Dev Hynes’ drum sounds, *When Will We Land?* moves effortlessly from the cinematic title track to the Sébastien Tellier-esque balladry of “Woman” via the joyous piano house of “Sunsleeper.” “Releasing a debut album is the pinnacle of things so far for me,” says Mainnie. “You only ever get to do it once so you really have to put yourself into it. There’s loads of voice recordings of my family and friends in there and I hope it works as the perfect snapshot of me as an artist right now.” Here, he takes us through that portrait, track by track. **“When Will We Land?”** “This started with me wanting to write a tune in an odd time signature. I was inspired by Pink Floyd’s *The Dark Side of the Moon* on the album and there’s a lot of odd time signatures on that. Most dance music is in 4/4 but this track’s in 7/4. There’s also little nods to space and interstellar stuff on the samples in there.” **“Deadbeat Gospel” (feat. somedeadbeat)** “This has quite a mad story. I was playing a show in Dublin and a friend from uni, who I hadn’t seen for a few years, came along. After the show, we were sitting by the canal having a wee drink and he just started reciting this poem about our time going clubbing during uni. I was like, ‘Wait, stop!’ I got my phone out and recorded it straightaway thinking it would be brilliant to use as a sample. I chopped it up and put it over this beat which is a bit more upbeat than the opening track. I was inspired quite a lot by the Arab Strap track ‘The First Big Weekend’ and I think both songs are about how your early clubbing experiences can be quite religious.” **“Sonder”** “‘Sonder’ is on my *More Content* EP from 2022 and it’s probably my favorite tune I’ve made so I really wanted it on the album. It’s a really emotive track and one people seem to get quite emotionally attached to. I didn’t want to fill the record with loads of music that had already been released but I felt this really needed to be on there.” **“How It Feels”** “This track was originally intended to be a short interlude but when I played it to the record company, they felt it was one of the strongest tracks and asked me to flesh it out. It came together effortlessly. I started it and it was finished in two hours, and there’s a certain magic when a track comes together that easily and just clicks.” **“Sunsleeper”** “‘Sunsleeper’ is the first single from the album and I feel like it’s the one people want to hear when they come and see me play. It gets a massive reaction. I went into it with the intention of making a big, bouncy, piano house tune—and that’s exactly what I ended up with.” **“Woman”** “I started this track with a vocal sample but it became difficult to clear. So I got in touch with Låpsley and she recorded this amazing vocal which sounds 10 times better than the original sample. It’s quite downtempo and chilled and I’d been listening to a lot of late-’90s electronic music. I think an album needs these more chilled, reflective moments to break things up.” **“I Won’t Let You Down” (feat. Falle Nioke & Blackboxx)** “This is another track where I wanted to incorporate elements of my friends into it. I sampled a good friend of mine called Blackboxx, who I studied music with at uni. He had this tune with a really beautiful opening section and I sampled it and put some breakbeat in there and ’90s-style drums. I’d been listening to things like Moby and The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Then Blackboxx pulled the sample so we could feature him on the track instead. I’d been sent some a cappellas from an artist called Falle Nioke who’s from \[Republic of\] Guinea in Africa but lives in Margate \[on England’s Southeast coast\] now. I chopped one of them up and it just worked beautifully over the beat.” **“Always Get Through to You”** “Originally, this track was going to feature a sample of ‘Nobody Knows’ by Pastor T.L. Barrett \[& The Youth for Christ Choir\]. I’d been sitting on the sample for four years and by complete coincidence, on the day I sent the track to Ninja Tune, Loyle Carner released his track ‘Nobody Knows (Ladas Road),’ which features the exact same sample! Obviously, I couldn’t use it after that or everyone’s going to think I’m just copying him so I recorded something similar with a choir and reworked the whole track. Originally, I was going to use a rapper on the track but once I’d recorded with the choir, we ended up with this amazing lead vocal instead.” **“Tell Me What You Need” (feat. just lil)** “This tune started during a session with Biig Piig. I came in to write some music for her and we wrote this tune together. By the time it came to think about releasing it, she’d already done a lot of collaborations so it didn’t quite work out, but I reached out to \[UK artist\] just lil, who did a brilliant job of rerecording the vocals. Stylistically, the track’s quite influenced by Dev Hynes. I’d been listening a lot to ‘Everything is Embarrassing,’ the track he did with Sky Ferreira. He does an amazing job of sampling these old drum loops from the ’80s, but then layering them with effects and textures, so they have this amazing modern sound that harks back to music from an earlier era.” **“Dance of the Crab”** “This track samples a song called ‘A Gira’ by a Brazilian group called Trio Ternura. I’ve been a fan for ages and played it in my sets loads. Originally, I just wanted to sample it and make a track to play in my DJ sets but it turned out really well. My manager \[tracked\] down the writer’s granddaughter on Facebook and we managed to get in touch with him to clear it through that. It’s amazing because they’re all guys in their eighties in a tiny village in Brazil somewhere, but now they know their song has this other life. I was listening to a lot of amapiano at the time too, which fed into the track stylistically.” **“Define Dancing”** “This is the first track I wrote for the album and indicates what I originally intended the album to be. In the end, it generally went in a different direction but I wanted it to be a bit psychedelic but also have this really emotive, floaty darkness underpinning everything. *The Dark Side of the Moon* and *In Colour* by Jamie xx were key touchpoints for this track. I put this as the final track as it feels like a really rewarding, emotive moment and ends the journey really nicely if you’ve come all the way to the end.”

Nas’ career boasts so many peaks that it’s futile even trying to spot valleys. Even so, the Queensbridge-bred rap luminary’s run with producer Hit-Boy in the 2020s rivals, if not outright tops, many of those prior high points. Timed to release on his 50th birthday—and in hip-hop’s 50th anniversary year, no less—*Magic 3* seeks to close out this particular chapter in his vast and storied rhyme book. Though one naturally hopes these two artists will one day reunite, the sixth project from this fan-friendly team-up makes for one thrilling finale. From the emboldened opening bars of “Fever” to the closing victory lap “1-800-Nas&Hit,” Hit-Boy provides Nas with a supreme soundtrack for the cinematic sonic franchise, with standouts like “I Love This Feeling” and “Superhero Status” exemplifying the potency of their fortuitous collaboration. As a lyricist and performer, Nas remains righteously in the GOAT debate, a fact reinforced by several of these 15 tracks via showing more than telling. That knack for compelling, street-level storytelling continues on the two-part “Based on True Events,” while the ironically titled “Speechless, Pt. 2” confirms his effortlessly ruthless approach to rapping for the love of rapping. On the lighter side, he’s still out here playing the field, as “Pretty Young Girl” romantically lays out a mature proposal befitting his status and refined interests. Given the luxe flexes he exhibits on “Blue Bentley,” it’s an offer definitely worth considering. Though he has nothing left to prove, Nas insists on setting the record straight for anyone unclear or misinformed. On “TSK,” he scolds disingenuous critics and keyboard warriors while staking his rightful claim to hip-hop’s living history. On the aforementioned “I Love This Feeling,” he casually mentions that he’s quietly retired from the game more than once, making *Magic 3* an even more auspicious affair. And though Nas could’ve invited just about anyone to this wrap party, the sole credited feature belongs to Lil Wayne, who brings his own cocksure, veteran flows to “Never Die.”

There are rock bands and then there are Rock Bands—groups who embody a particular and baldly mythological definition of the term so completely that it’s difficult to imagine them doing normal things like taking the garbage out or wearing shorts. (This is why people have spent years marveling at a photo of Glenn Danzig buying cat litter.) And few bands have embodied this ideal more than The Hives have across three decades. Which is why the most shocking moment on the Swedish garage-punk traditionalists’ first album in over 11 years is on “Rigor Mortis Radio,” when Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist sneers, “I got your emails, yeah/Delete, delete.” With their matching custom suits and quasi-supervillain alter egos—bassist Dr. Matt Destruction is no longer in the band, but that name is forever—the whole idea of The Hives is rooted in timelessness, and breaking character feels like a record scratch. “It’s very much on purpose,” Almqvist tells Apple Music. “It\'s been 11 years, but in The Hives\' world, it\'s the same.” While so many of the bands they were lumped in with during the great Rock Is Back! bonanza of the early 2000s are gone or diminished, The Hives have doubled down on their Hivesness, right down to the title referencing the demise of their mysterious Svengali and mentor (who may not have been alive to begin with). “We\'re five individuals who are in the band, but The Hives are something different than that. It\'s not a sum of its parts at all,” Almqvist says. “We wanted to invent our favorite band and then become that band. We have too much respect for what we do onstage to treat it like it\'s a fucking living room. We\'re like The Last Samurai or something.” Below, Howlin\' Pelle talks through each of the songs on his favorite band\'s comeback album. **“Bogus Operandi”** “I think it was always a favorite of ours when we were rehearsing. And even in the demo stage, it always felt like a thing; the riffs felt great. It had a bunch of different verse things, or a bunch of different choruses at some point, but we decided to use them all. We have a lot of songs where we\'re not even in agreement on what is the chorus. That\'s also a thing The Misfits and ABBA have in common, where you think this is where the chorus ends and then there\'s another fucking chorus.” **“Trapdoor Solution”** “We always have those songs that are really, really fast and really, really short. It\'s like to put a shot of adrenaline into the record. And we love playing that stuff live, where it\'s like, \'Oh, it\'s a cool song. Oh, it ended. Okay, well, play it twice.\' We\'ve always loved that type of song, and most of our records have one or two of them. It seems like a thing that some of our favorite bands were doing a long time ago, but I don\'t think anyone\'s really doing that anymore.\" **“Countdown to Shutdown”** “It was actually two songs from the beginning; we took the chorus from one and the verse from one and just like, ‘Oh, this sits together really well.’ It all just fell together in an afternoon. So I think it\'s the one we spent the least amount of time on. But it\'s also one of the best ones, I think.” **“Rigor Mortis Radio”** “Amy Winehouse did this thing where the music\'s super retro and old-soul, it sounds like it could be the ’40s or something, but she\'s singing about getting Slick Rick tickets. And it\'s such a cool mood, we wanted to use that. Because otherwise in song lyrics it ends at \'magazine\' and \'telephone.\' Nobody sings about anything more modern than that. But it\'s so fun to go just like, \'I\'m going to delete your email.\' It\'s such a lame burn.” **“Stick Up”** “To me, it sounds very traditional, like a blues thing almost, like a crooner. There\'s probably an early YouTube recording of it from maybe 2015. The demo is all piano and voice, but we wanted to play it live so much that we made that version. We even had a weird version of it where it was a soft version in one headphone and the energetic version through one headphone. It was so bizarre to listen to them at the same time.” **“Smoke & Mirrors”** “It\'s way more pop in structure, chords, melodies, and that kind of thing. It\'s not riff-based. And usually there\'s some fight in putting some of those songs on the record. It\'s a great change of pace, I think. It reminds me of Ramones or power-pop or something.” **“Crash Into the Weekend”** “Even though the music\'s at times pretty extreme, we still want there to be a tune somewhere in there. But \'Crash Into the Weekend\' was also like, \'Oh, this weekend\'s going to be fun, but it\'s also getting kind of weird.\' It wasn\'t just a fun weekend, there was also something scary about it. The Damned, The Cramps, and The Misfits were some of the first bands we really loved together and we always thought that aesthetic was kind of cool. I guess it just kind of came out more on this album and the title. And that\'s as dark as we\'ve been.” **“Two Kinds of Trouble”** “It\'s one of the oldest songs of the record, but it\'s also kind of a style. It feels like it belongs more on like \[2004\'s\] *Tyrannosaurus Hives*—really robotic, almost like we were trying to play synth music or program music on instruments, which we did a lot of on that album. So it was cool to put it after \'Crash Into the Weekend.\' It\'s like a juxtaposition, if you would.” **“That’s the Way the Story Goes”** “It always sounded good in our heads, but it was hard to get it to sound that way when we recorded it. I guess that riff was kind of inspired by Ty Segall or something like that. At first it was kind of really rocking, and it was kind of all over the place. There was a version that sounded a lot like Saul Williams’ ‘List of Demands (Reparations),’ where it was just kind of the beat and a bass. And then we went back to the rocking thing, and put a lot of reverb on it, and then we liked it again.” **“The Bomb”** “It\'s a dumb idea and then we did it. But we spent years trying to make that what it is. In the beginning it was, \'What do you want to do? Party. What do you not want to do? Not party.\' It\'s one of the ones we put the most effort into, but most bands wouldn\'t even have put it on the record. It\'s kind of self-referencing a little bit—it\'s what the Ramones did and Motörhead did, like, *Grow some confidence, man*.” **“What Did I Ever Do to You?”** “When we were making that, we were not sure that The Hives were going to do anything. We weren\'t getting anything to float and it just kind of felt boring. And we stopped rehearsing and stopped trying for a bit, to see if something came out of that. I bought this thing on Swedish Craigslist, an organ connected to a guitar, connected to a microphone, connected to a drum machine. Some guy built this one-man-band machine, and he sold it to me for 300 bucks with the patent. This was the first thing we wrote when we got that. It\'s almost not meant for The Hives, but the album needed a palate cleanser.” **“Step Out of the Way”** “We always had a fast short blast at the beginning of the record, at the top of the record. What was the last song? ‘What Did I Ever Do to You,’ right? So that one feels like it\'s the end of the record, but then it was cool to just, like, \'Oh no, we got another one.\'”

“I wrote *Songs to Break up To* when I thought that my world was falling apart because of a relationship, like we all do,” Regan Mathews, aka Ta-ku, said of his 2013 album. “After I got over that heartbreak and realized that everything’s OK, I wrote \[2015’s\] *Songs to Make up To*.” The third and final part in the Perth electronic producer’s unplanned trilogy, 2023’s *Songs to Come Home To* is also his debut studio album. Across 20 tracks featuring an array of collaborators including Milan Ring, Questlove, and Touch Sensitive, the Mãori Filipino producer and musician has given himself ample space to explore the lightest side of being for the first time. “I really wanted to wrap this series up and there were a lot of suggestions from fans on what I should do,” he says. “Some were worse than others, but I was like, ‘Where am I at in life right now?’ And over the last six, seven years I met the love of my life, got married. That’s where *Songs to Come Home To* came from.” Read on for Mathews’ insights on 10 of the album’s most impactful tracks. **“THE END” (feat. Thrupence, Will Paquin & rum.gold)** “I have a complex relationship with my father. I love my mum, she’s my hero, but my father—I mean, what else is new? All my life I’ve been dealing with that issue. Only recently I was like, ‘I’ve got to treat him right.’ Even though it might not be reciprocated, I’ve just got to get on with my life and make sure that those feelings don’t affect my other relationships. That’s what this song is. It’s the end of feeling sorry for yourself. Whether it’s an issue that you’ve been dealing with for a long time or not, there’s a point where you’ve just got to put an end to \[what is\] dragging you down.” **“HOME (Kenny’s Interlude)” (feat. Joekenneth)** “Joekenneth’s a good mate of mine. He’s in New York. He’s a writer and a poet, as well as a bunch of other things. It’s always been a bucket list to do something with him. He can rap too, but I think his poetry is really beautiful, and I really wanted him to set the tone of ‘Home can mean so many things.’ It really depends on who you are, where you grew up. It isn’t a place, as he says in the spoken word part. I just wanted that after ‘THE END’; just this reminder that this is truly subjective and truly interpretive. Home can mean whatever you want it to mean.” **“SMILE” (feat. Xavier Omär, DAISY WORLD & ROMderful)** “If there was one song I had to pick that felt like the album, it was ‘SMILE.’ It just has this overwhelming sense of optimism and, sonically, this is the kind of song I’ve always wanted to make. It plays back to my love of Pharrell Williams, who I’ve always been obsessed with. Xavier Omär and DAISY WORLD are amazing vocalists, amazing singer-songwriters. It just seemed like the track that I really wanted to lead with because of how it felt. There’s a brightness and hope that I really wanted to launch the record with. It is one of my favorite songs on the album for that reason.” **“WAY OUT” (feat. Milan Ring, matt mcwaters & Questlove)** “Milan Ring is one of those creators that feels like a chameleon, because she just weaves in and out of sonics and expressions. I mean, she raps on this track and then flows into more traditional R&B singing. Then she goes into crooning and wailing as she’s shredding on the guitar. That’s all her! She’s the real deal. I’m a huge fan. She’s from Sydney, and one thing I love about her is her sound. She sounds so rounded and international for a Sydney girl. Then this obviously has Questlove on it, and I just needed to let the world know that I did a song with Questlove. So that’s why this was single number two.” **“CALL MY NAME” (feat. JMSN)** “JMSN and I have collaborated a bunch in the past and I just had to have him on the album. He’s been someone that has really encouraged me throughout my career—not just musically, but also vocally. He’s always wanting me to use my voice, which I’ve tried to do more on this album and tried to contribute more as a singer-songwriter. When we wrote this, we really wanted to slow it down and take a breath, have a reset moment, or a palate cleanser. It’s a sexy song. I wanted it to come across, sonically, as this really deep moment on the record. This one’s probably the most relationship-focused as well. It’s that connection with your soulmate or your partner.” **“THROUGH AND FALLING” (feat. matt mcwaters & kerri)** “This is a big shout-out to matt mcwaters, who’s become my writing partner. He co-executive produced the whole album with me. There’s probably eight vocalists on this thing. We had a bunch of people, myself, and matt sing over it, and then we had a bunch of friends just add all these layers to create this texture that is kind of this haunting, ethereal moment. We wanted to feel like that moment of ‘You are falling. You are giving yourself up to yourself.’ That was the vibe. It’s just totally letting go and letting whatever you need to happen happen.” **“THE SCORE” (feat. Panama)** “Panama is a genius. We’ve done a couple of tracks together, but he sent over this demo and wow. It’s about faithfulness in relationships and figuring out who you can trust in your life, but we just had to add that greasy bassline and let it run. Just run that rhythm. I love those kinds of songs that are about love or heartbreak, and automatically you think it’s going to be this kind of floaty, ethereal thing or this downtrodden, strung-out piece. But we’re like, ‘Let’s turn this into a real deep groove.’ And that juxtaposition, I think, is one of my favorite things to do.” **“RUNAWAY” (feat. RINI & Touch Sensitive)** “I wrote this quite a while ago in a studio session in New York with a bunch of really cool people, and it kind of just sat there for a long time. Then me and matt mcwaters picked it up again and just filtered it out. That outro at the end is an example of how matt really helped me take things to the next level. I always wanted to work with RINI, too. He’s a fellow Filipino Australian artist that I admire. He’s doing amazing things and he’s definitely got that slick R&B voice. Touch Sensitive is also on the bass. He’s a legend.” **“THINKING OF YOU”** “It’s the only song that doesn’t have any guests on it. It’s just me. It’s the first song I wrote when I was like, ‘I want to make an album.’ I wrote this with Melbourne-based Thrupence, another amazing musician, and it kind of set the tone for me wanting to write a longer project because I’d started this creative project called 823—which is something I used to text my wife a lot, which means ‘thinking of you.’ It’s the numerical representation of it. When we got married, I was like, ‘Yeah, this is really where I want to base the inspiration for my album—through my wife and becoming my own man and starting a family.’” **“TAKE ON ME” (feat. Noé)** “I’ve always been an artist that never really wants my audience to say, ‘Oh, this is Ta-ku,’ or ‘This is what he’s going to be doing for the next record or for the next five years.’ For anyone that supports me, I’m always super grateful, but I’ve always kind of set the tone that I want to do things that might seem weird or out of left field. We had this song and I was like, ‘Let’s just put it at the end to say, “There are no rules.”’ I didn’t want to create some album that’s completely textbook and this ends with the message that whatever happens next could be anything.”

Nakhane’s last album, 2018’s *You Will Not Die*, was a deeply introspective chronicle of trauma the South African artist encountered during their formative years. “*You Will Not Die* was all about closing old chapters,” Nakhane tells Apple Music. “When I finished writing it, there was this complete sea change in my life. I no longer believed in certain things that I believed in. I asked myself, ‘What do *you* think? Not what your mom told you, or your church, or school.’ I performed the album for about two years, but there came a point where I needed to fill my tank, and I wanted to make music that made me happy. The sound had to make me dance while I was making it.” The result is *Bastard Jargon*, a sonically buoyant yet thematically raw 10 tracks that seek to define what follows a pivot out of survival mode. Written over 18 months, the album finds Nakhane at perhaps their most outspoken, against a backdrop of pulsing beats and gritty, intimate vocals. It’s an idea of reconstruction captured by the project’s title, born from a term Nakhane encountered while studying linguistics. “Before a language is standardized, before it becomes a pidgin or even a creole, it’s called a bastard jargon, because it’s neither here nor there, it belongs to no one,” Nakhane explains. “What I loved about that was A, I’m a bastard. And B, that it was talking about starting again. I’m much more interested in being a beginner than I am in somebody who is a virtuoso. And I think because I knew that on this album I would be much more involved in production \[alongside co-executive producer, Chic legend Nile Rodgers\], there’s the sense of newness. It’s to \[challenge\] this idea that people can have about an artist—‘*This* is who you are’—but then let’s just start afresh.” Here, Nakhane talks us through key tracks from the album. **“The Caring”** “The title is sarcastic. ‘I’m so glad, I’m so glad to be sharing the world with the caring.’ It’s all about this idea that human beings are all so shocked by things that they know. For a long time, people thought racism was normal. Men thought that it was normal for women to be subjugated. For LGBTQI+ people, it was normal for them to be in hiding, and that’s why people are so angry right now when they see a film with representation. It’s always existed—but it was illegal. Human beings having to hide who they are. For so long, things were subtle. But I am at a point right now where I can’t deal with subtlety. Too many things are at stake.” **“Tell Me Your Politik” (feat. Moonchild Sanelly & Nile Rodgers)** “The first two tracks are tone-setting and world-building: ‘You can opt up now or you can stay.’ The Western world is becoming so fascist. Audre Lorde said, ‘Your subtlety is not going to save you now.’ Things are too hot. Nuance is very important, but I can’t deal with it now. No, I have to save myself. And one of the reasons the album is so hard and so brutalist in its sound is that lack of subtlety and an aesthetic decision not to be subtle, to be rude, to tell you, ‘Fuck you.’ It goes beyond sexuality. I’m talking about race, I’m talking about immigration, I’m talking about all of the minutiae of life. I’m talking about family.” **“Hold Me Down”** “‘Hold Me Down’ is where you realize that sometimes you’re not the best judge of what you need. I mean it literally: ‘Hold me down. I will ask you to let me go. I will ask you to let me go because all I know is leaving. But now, I’m staying. I’ve chosen you. And in that choosing, I don’t want you to ever doubt it, even when I doubt it.’ And there’s such incredible work there. The bass is actually by Raphael Saadiq. It’s simple, but it travels, it walks, it walks around the melody, which he’s so good at \[doing\].” **“Hear Me Moan”** “This was such a mixture of influences. The opening part, which is so instrumental, was me pulling from Zim Ngqawana and Herbie Hancock. I didn’t want to sing; I wanted to say the thing; I wanted to speak. It’s all about sex, obviously. It directly references kwaito. I wanted to have that sensibility because I missed home, and that was the first type of rhythmic ‘dance’ music that I knew.” **“Do You Well” (feat. Perfume Genius)** “I thought there was too much of the sour—you need something that’s just going to be so much fun. The joke is that it’s \[about\] a nightclub: The lighting is a little bit dark, and everyone is so sexy, and they’re a little bit drunk. And then you go outside or it’s time to go home, and they switch on the lights, and you go, ‘Awww.’ It’s also a self-reference to ‘We Dance Again’ \[their 2015 collab with Black Coffee\]. That song was about being pulled out of depression, and in this one, I’m actually enjoying being in this moment. I’m not using it to get out of something darker—I’m just in it. I’m having such a good time.” **“My Ma Was Good”** “It means exactly what it says: ‘My Ma was good. Pa misunderstood.’ He took that goodness for granted. ‘Why should I be good?’ Why can’t I fuck someone over?’ Because it’s a shitty thing to do. But it’s that thing of, whose standard am I being held to—and pulling away from \[that standard\]. I don’t want to be well-behaved because the person that I love the most in the world was so well-behaved—and she got fucked over, so why should I do it? ‘My Ma Was Good’ is one of the songs that deals with family trauma, and how it impacts us in our lives, and the decisions that we make, and the partners we choose, and what we allow them to do to us, and what we do to them.” **“Standing in Our Way”** “‘The problem, the problem, the problem is me.’ But on the other hand, I’m sweetly saying, ‘But I’ll have another day.’ So softly. It was so important for me to layer that moment. My therapist said, ‘You would never accept someone else speaking to you the way that you speak to yourself.’ When you start looking at yourself and being mindful of how you speak to yourself, you think, ‘What the fuck \[am I doing\]?’ And I wanted that in my album. I wanted that sense of, ‘Oh, you’re a piece of shit,’ almost like I was treating it like a novel and having the \[narrative\] arc—but the arc is not neat. I wanted the arc to happen, but with complication, almost in real time as it does in the world in our lives.” **“If You Were to Complain”** “Here, I’m done explaining \[things\]. It’s a thing of speaking to oppressive powers but going, ‘I’m not going to be explaining this again.’ Oppressed people have been told over and over again, ‘Don’t live just for your pleasure \[now\]; live for the next life.’ But we want it now. I want my pleasure now. And I just wanted to put that there and just close the door.”

Incubated at producer David Holmes’ Belfast studio, where pre-written songs were banned and music grew spontaneously from listening to records and jamming out ideas, High Flying Birds’ third album *Who Built the Moon?* provided an epiphany for Noel Gallagher. “A creative bomb’s gone off…David directed me to places I wouldn’t ordinarily go,” he told Apple Music on its 2017 release. Naturally then, he planned to make this follow-up in the same intrepid way—until his new horizons suddenly collapsed. “The pandemic happened,” Gallagher tells Apple Music, “and all hell broke loose.” Familiar to us all, it was an uncertain hell of “weird days, endless days.” Penned in at home, he returned to more traditional ways of working, sketching out ideas alone in a room on his acoustic guitar. The songs eventually coalesced into *Council Skies*, recorded and co-produced by Gallagher in London at the Lone Star Studios he built during lockdown. Despite the claustrophobia of the time, his sense of adventure remained strong. “Pretty Boy” is Johnny Marr-assisted krautrock, while the title track sets council-estate romance to bossa nova rhythms played out on digital gongs. But there’s also a yearning, midtempo anthem that matches Oasis at their heart-swelling best (“Easy Now”), and “Dead to the World” is a delicate ballad whose melancholy carbon-dates its conception. “\[The pandemic\] affected the mood and the color of the record,” says Gallagher. “It added to the reflective nature, thinking about what had happened and where we were going. I guess that’s got a dual meaning because you could use that about relationships.” At times, Gallagher found himself writing more candidly than ever. “Like most people, my life going into the pandemic was not the same as it was coming out of it,” he says. “I wouldn’t have written ‘Dead to the World’ and ‘Think of a Number’ had it not been for what was happening on a personal level. I learned that when I’m going through a turbulent period in life, not to be afraid to write about it. Not only does it help yourself, it helps other people because they are going through the same things. Go there, say it.” Here, he talks us through the tracks on *Council Skies*. **“I’m Not Giving Up Tonight”** “‘I’m Not Giving Up Tonight’ started as a track on *Who Built the Moon?* called ‘Daisies’ that never went anywhere. It was a bit more electronic and French, but I always liked that chord progression. I hammered away at that song for months and months and months and nothing happened. Then one afternoon, I picked up the guitar at home and out came this song. I can’t tell you where these things come from, they just fall out of the sky. It’s a song of defiance, which is why I thought it would be a good opening track. There is absolutely no chance on God’s green Earth that I’m ever going to play it live because it is a fucking bastard to sing. I needed at least 20 takes to do it.” **“Pretty Boy”** “It was the first demo that I did and first song that I completed, so \[making it the first single\] seemed like the right thing to do. I won’t lie, I perversely thought, ‘Well, when people hear that it’s yet another drum machine, I shall bathe in their tears.’ Although I don’t go out of my way to challenge my audience, I do like to engage with them. So it keeps them on their toes a little bit. And you are in a pretty good spot if you’ve been making music for 30 years and you’re still dancing on the edge of ‘Is this acceptable or not?’ I haven’t fallen into a rut of trying to rewrite ‘Little by Little’ endlessly, I’m still pushing it a little bit.” **“Dead to the World”** “I happened to be in the studio one very, very quiet evening, and I hit those two chords that I’d never played before. They set the mood immediately. It’s very melancholy. It’s a personal song, and I don’t do many of those. Well, at least I don’t admit to doing many of those. But it speaks for itself. I always stay in the same hotel \[in Argentina\] and the fans are outside 24 hours a day, singing Oasis tunes. They’re always getting the words wrong. One night, I could hear them and that line just came to me. The original lyric said, ‘You can *learn* all the words, but you’ll still get them wrong.’ But when I did it here, for some reason, I sang ‘change.’ Those kids in Argentina, that’s for them.” **“Open the Door, See What You Find”** “If people can get as far as the chorus, they’ll love it. Even when I was writing it, I was a bit like, ‘Yeah, the strings are great, that’s going to fit. The verses are a bit…whatever.’ But when you get to the chorus, it’s like a burst of sunshine. If it’s about anything, it’s about looking in the mirror and accepting who you are. There’s a saying that once you get into your fifties and you look in the mirror, you see all that you are and all that you’re ever going to be. That’s where the line ‘I see all that I will ever know’ comes from. It’s about saying, ‘I see all that I am and all that I’m ever going to be. And you know what? It’s all right.’” **“Trying to Find a World That’s Been and Gone Pt. 1”** “Just, again, in lockdown, wondering what the fuck it was going to be like on the other side of this thing, when we were all allowed to mix together. There were weird days, endless days at home in the silence, homeschooling the kids, the conspiracy theories, and all this bullshit that was going on. \[The song\] also has a dual meaning because it could be about a loved one or the breakup of a relationship. It’s ‘Pt. 1’ because it had this second part to it where the drums came in and the big production, but I had a moment of clarity in the studio and went back to the original demo. When it was cut down to this two-minute thing, it said more to me.” **“Easy Now”** “I had the longest phone call with \[Pink Floyd’s\] Dave Gilmour. I said, ‘I’ve got this tune and it’s very reminiscent of the mighty Floyd, and I was just thinking, if you could do one of your uplifting guitar solos…’ He was like, ‘Well, look, I love the song, but I don’t think I can do that kind of thing anymore.’ Honestly, I begged him on the phone and, fair play to him, he was not for turning. It was in the middle of the pandemic and everybody was isolated, and it was going to be a ball ache anyway. I said to my co-producer \[Paul ‘Strangeboy’ Stacey\], who’s a brilliant guitarist, ‘You’re going to have to mimic Dave Gilmour.’ And that’s what he did.” **“Council Skies”** “I was in Ibiza and maybe that’s where the feeling, the rhythm of it, came from. I had the melody, but I didn’t have any of the words. I always tend to write from the chorus backwards, so if I can get the chorus, the verses will fall into place. Back in England, that book \[Sheffield painter Pete McKee’s *Council Skies*\] happened to be on a shelf underneath the coffee table. There it was: *Council Skies*. That set off a chain of events where it’s like, ‘Right, underneath the council skies…’ The song is about trying to find young love on a council estate, trying to find beauty in the big, bad city. \[The intro\] is me playing some digital tuned gongs. Tuned gongs—it doesn’t get any more prog than that, right? I’ve got no other life outside of music, so I buy musical instruments, any old shit, that’s what I do. It was just like a digital percussion thing—I didn’t even know there was tuned gongs in it.” **“There She Blows!”** “I have no idea why I would write a song about some nautical bullshit. So I’m in LA working on another project with \[producer\] Dave Sardy, and in the hotel, one of the books on the bookshelf is Hemingway’s *The Old Man and the Sea*. Not that I would ever read it, but I can only surmise that it might have something to do with that. When the *Get Back* documentary came out, I was so glad that it captured the haphazard, winging-it kind of way that The Beatles were writing. George is going, ‘Oh, I’m stuck on this one.’ They’re saying, ‘Just make it up. Write the first thing that comes into your head when you get up in the morning.’ I’m like, ‘That’s what I fucking do!’ I think I’ve met everyone apart from Bob Dylan, and you realize they’re all just like you, with varying degrees of talent. It’s like they’re all shitkickers trying to make it, and nobody’s better than the other. We’re all blagging it. Nine times out of 10, you’re just throwing enough shit at the wall and seeing what sticks—and then trying to make it rhyme.” **“Love Is a Rich Man”** “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I actually wrote that while I was riding a bike. I’ve got a place out in the country, and I was just riding a bike down the country lane. It’s very kind of ’80s-period Bowie. And it’s got a marimba on it, for fuck’s sake. It’s a funny old song. I do like it though. I love the backing vocals and the chorus bit is great, and the guitars on it are brilliant.” **“Think of a Number”** “It’s quite a personal song and it’s quite bleak, which is why I thought, ‘Can it open the album?’ And really, in hindsight, it should have done. I love the words, and it’s quite epic. There’s three solo breaks—a piano solo, a guitar solo, another instrumental break. There’s a couple of drop-downs. That’s me playing bass, funnily enough. I was doing it in here with \[drummer\] Chris Sharrock, saying, ‘Look, it’ll be like a bit like XTC or Bowie or that kind of New Wave thing.’ He came up with the drum beat, I had the bassline, and it went from there.” **“We’re Gonna Get There in the End”** “I wrote that in lockdown and put it out on YouTube, just as a gift to fans. And wouldn’t you know it, everybody went apeshit for it. So when I was doing this record, my people were saying, ‘Is that not going to be on the album? Everybody loves that song.’ I was like, ‘Sadly, the one person in the world who doesn’t love it is me. I’m not having a jaunty Britpop song in the middle of this reflective, kind of melancholic record.’ However, I recorded it and it sounded great. I thought, ‘Well, I’m going to play it live, so I’ll just stick it on as a bonus track.’ And as no one does B-sides anymore, you can assume this is one of the great B-sides of my career.”

In an interview just after the release of 2020’s *Reunions*, Jason Isbell said the difference between a good songwriter and a great one was whether or not you could write about a subject beyond yourself without making it feel vague. Ten years out from the confessional rawness of *Southeastern*, not only are Isbell’s lyrics ever closer to his ideal, but he’s got a sense of musical nuance to match. *Reunions* and 2017’s *The Nashville Sound* all blend anecdotes and memories from Isbell’s past with fiction, but *Weathervanes* tells a broader story with these vignettes, one with a message that became painfully clear to him throughout the pandemic: You can’t fully appreciate and acknowledge the good in your life without experiencing, and holding space for, the bad. “When I went into writing these songs, it started sort of at the tail end of the lockdown period and continued through our reentry into society; it kind of feels like a new world, for better or worse,” Isbell tells Apple Music. “A lot of these stories came from that, because when you start adding up the things that you\'re grateful for as somebody who tells stories, then automatically I think your mind goes to the counterpoint of that or the inverse of that. And you start thinking, \'Well, where could I be if I hadn\'t made the choices that led me to here?\'” This led to a fundamental shift in his approach to songwriting. “The more specific and the more intense something is, the more likely I am to come at that through a character,” he tells Apple Music. “If I\'m writing about love or death or having kids, I will go from the first person and it\'ll be me. But if I\'m writing about something like a school shooting, it feels like I have to say, \'Okay, this is how this affects me, and this is how this makes me feel.\' The only way I can be honest with that stuff is come at it from a character\'s perspective when it\'s a very specific topic like that.” Sometimes, that means creating these characters—or even reflecting on a younger version of himself in a difficult situation, as he does in “White Beretta”—and trusting them to lead the song down the path it needs. “So many times I didn\'t know what I was talking about until I got to halfway through the song, and I like it best when it happens that way,” he says. “I\'ll just get started and I\'ll say to myself, \'If I make a real person here and actually watch them with an honest eye, then after a couple of verses, they\'ll tell me what I\'m writing about.\'” Below, Isbell tells the stories behind the songs of *Weathervanes*. **“Death Wish”** “This is the kind of song that I have wanted to write for a long time. It\'s expansive from the production, but also you can tell from Jack White doing the acoustic cover that he did, it still feels like a broad, expansive sort of thing. That\'s a modern type of songwriting that I\'m really drawn to, but it\'s also antithetical to the roots-music ideal. And after \'Death Wish\' is over, I feel like, you\'ve hung in there with me through this sort of experimental thing. Now I can give you something that is a little bit more comfortable for your palate, something you\'re a little more used to from me.” **“King of Oklahoma”** “I was out there filming in Bartlesville, Oklahoma. There was a project that I had been asked to be a part of with Darius Rucker, Sheryl Crow, and I think Mike Mills, and a couple of other people. For a minute there, I was like, ‘Well, if I can get home in time to record with you all, that sounds like a really fun time. So I will do that.’ But I was never home in time because they kept changing my filming schedule, so I just missed it. But I wrote that song thinking, ‘Well, maybe I need some songs for this; I don\'t know if this is going to work for them or not.’ Eventually I thought this should be just a song of my own.” **“Strawberry Woman”** “This one\'s probably the closest I come to nostalgia on this record, I think, because there are a lot of moments here that are things that Amanda \[Shires, Isbell\'s wife and frequent collaborator\] and I shared together early on in the relationship. There\'s an undercurrent of the beginning of a relationship when you really need each other in ways that, if everybody\'s progressing like they\'re supposed to, you might not wind up needing each other in the same way 10 years down the road. And there\'s loss in that. It\'s a beautiful thing to grow as a human being, and both of us have, I think a lot, but then all of a sudden, at the end of that, you start trying to figure out what you still have in common. Even though you might not have the codependent nature that the relationship had early on, it\'s still something worth doing and worth working on, worth fighting for. You have to adjust your expectations from each other.” **“Middle of the Morning”** “After the experience of *Reunions*, Amanda and I took a little bit of a break from doing that stuff together. For the most part, I just sat and worked on my own until I got all these done. ‘Middle of the Morning,’ I don\'t know if she likes that song or not, maybe she does. That one\'s very personal as far as the perspective goes. That was a tough one to write and a tough one to sing, because I know there\'s some assumptions in there, and there\'s this sort of feeling of living in under the same roof through the pandemic and feeling so disconnected from each other.” **“Save the World”** “It was right after the Uvalde school shooting, but I didn\'t know that that\'s what I was writing about when I started. When I started, I was writing about leaving my wallet behind, and then I was writing about a phone conversation, and then all of a sudden I was writing about a school shooting. Once I realized that\'s what I was writing about, I thought, \'Oh, shit. Now I\'ve got to do this and handle it correctly.\' It took a lot of work. I finished that song and played it for Amanda, and she was like, \'I think you should write this again. You\'re not saying what you want to say. And at this point, it doesn\'t have enough meat, doesn\'t have enough detail.\' And I was like, \'Yeah, but that\'s going to be really fucking hard. How do you write about this without it seeming exploitative?\' And so it took more than one stab.” **“If You Insist”** “This song is from the perspective of a woman, and I wrote it for a movie—I don\'t remember the name of the movie, and I wound up not using it for the movie. They had given me my own song \[\'Chaos and Clothes\' off *The Nashville Sound*\] as a reference, and so I wrote something very similar to that in feel. I just really liked the song, and whoever we were negotiating with for the situation with the movie, they didn\'t want us to own the master, but I said, \'Well, I\'ll just keep it.\' And so we just kept it and I put it on the record.” **“Cast Iron Skillet”** “I think for a lot of songwriters that are writing whatever ‘Southern song’ or outlaw country they feel like they\'re writing is to go into this idea of, \'This is all the stuff that my granddad told me, and it\'s this down-home wisdom.\' What I wanted to say was, \'There is an evil undercurrent to all these things that our granddads told us, and there is darkness in those woods.\' I don\'t mean to sound like I\'m better at it than anybody else. Sometimes people are aiming for a different target, but I get bored with songs that do the same thing over and over. I wanted to turn that on its head and say, \'Let\'s frame this with this nostalgic idea of our romanticized Southern childhoods—and then let\'s talk about a couple of things that really happened.\'” **“When We Were Close”** “This is about a friendship between two musicians, and a lot of people ask me who it\'s about, but that\'s not the point. It\'s about me and a whole fucking bunch of people, but it\'s fairly specific. I had a friend who I made a lot of music with and spent a lot of time with, and we had a falling-out, and it never got right. It was so severe, and then he was gone, and that was the end of that. There was no closure. I remember when John Prine died, I was very sad, but I was also very grateful that the grief that I felt for John was not complicated. You don\'t have to be angry and you don\'t have to feel like there are things left unsaid or unresolved. This story was really the inverse of that, because it was like, yes, I am grateful for a lot of the things that we did together and that person showed me and a lot of the kindnesses, but at the same time, it was complicated. I have to be able to hold those two things in my head at the same time. You could call that the theme of this whole album, honestly.” **“Volunteer”** “The connection that I have to my home is complicated, because I am critical of the place where I grew up, and also, I\'m very, very fortunate that I grew up there. But my heart breaks for small towns in Alabama, and those small Alabama towns are scattered all over America and all over the world. I go play music in a lot of them, and I feel welcome, but not entirely. I also feel like an interloper. This story is a narrative based on a character that is fictional, but it came from that idea of like the Steve Earle song, \'nothing brings you down like your hometown,\' that same thing. It\'s like, why can\'t I really feel like I have a strong emotional connection to this place where I grew up? And also, why can\'t they get it together? The older I get, the more I think I feel comfortable discussing that and discussing the place.” **“Vestavia Hills”** “It started as me writing about somebody else, but the joke was on me. I got about halfway through the song and I was like, ‘I see what I\'m doing. You asshole.’ Then I thought about, man, what would it be like to be an artist\'s crew member? Let\'s make our character the crew guy, the sound guy who has been doing this for a long time and really believes in the work and really cares about the artist, but he has had enough. Basically, this is him turning in his two-week notice and saying, \'I\'m going to do one last tour with you, and then I\'m going home, because my wife makes a lot of money. We have a nice house in a nice neighborhood and I don\'t have to put up with this shit anymore.\'” **“White Beretta”** “At this song’s heart there\'s this regret, and it\'s not shame, because I love the concept of extracting helpful emotions from shame. I feel like shame is kind of to protect you from really looking at what actually happened. I can look back and say, \'Well, yeah, it wasn\'t all my fault, because I was raised a certain way to believe a certain set of things.\' I didn\'t say, \'Don\'t do this.\' I didn\'t say, \'I don\'t want you to terminate this pregnancy.\' I was just kind of on the fence. But I was a teenager; I didn\'t know what to do, and I had been raised in a very conservative place, and there was a lot of conflicting emotions going on. A song like that is hard because you have to make an admission about yourself. You have to say, \'I haven\'t always been cool in this way.\' I don\'t think you can give an example to people of growing if you don\'t give an example of what you\'re growing from.” **“This Ain’t It”** “This is sort of post-Southern-rock, because it sounds very Southern rock, but the dad in this song is somebody who would completely, unironically love the Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd. The perspective is he\'s basically trying to sneak back into his daughter\'s life at a very inopportune time. It\'s another one of those where the advice might not be very good, but he certainly believes it, and it\'s coming from his heart. I\'ve proven what I need to prove about my tastes and about serving the song, and sometimes the song just needs to have a bunch of guitar on it and rock, and maybe even some fucking congas.” **“Miles”** “I kept trying to shape it into something that was more like a four-minute Jason Isbell song, and then at one point I thought, ‘No. I think we could just play the way that I\'ve written it here.’ I would have a verse on one page and then that refrain written out on a different page, and I had to go back through the notebook and figure out what belonged to that song. The approach was kind of like if Neil Young was fronting Wings. It was like a McCartney song where it\'s got all these different segments and then it comes back around on itself at the end, but also sort of with Neil\'s guitar and backbeat. It felt like I had a little bit of a breakthrough in what I would allow myself to do, because I\'ve always loved songs like this, and I\'ve always sort of thought, \'Well, you need to stop.\' When Lennon was out of the picture, McCartney was making \'Band on the Run\' and all this stuff. It\'s just one big crazy song all tied together with little threads.”

Slowdive’s self-titled 2017 comeback album—their first since 1995’s *Pygmalion*—had been propelled by the sense of momentum generated by the band’s live reunion, which began at 2014’s Primavera Sound festival in Spain. But when it was time to make a follow-up, it felt very much like starting all over again for the shoegazing pioneers who formed in Reading in England’s Thames Valley during the late ’80s. “With this one, it was more like, ‘Well, do we want to do a record? Do we need to do a record?’” singer and guitarist Neil Halstead tells Apple Music. “We had to get the momentum going again and figure out what kind of record we wanted to make. The last one was a bit more instinctive. Part of the process on this one was trying to remain just the five of us and be in the moment with it and make something that we were all into. It took a while to get to that point.” Pieced together from a foundation of electronic demos that Halstead had in 2019 sent to his bandmates—co-vocalist and guitarist Rachel Goswell, guitarist Christian Savill, bassist Nick Chaplin, and drummer Simon Scott—*everything is alive* feels both expansive and intimate at once, with chiming indie pop intertwining with hazy dream-pop ballads and atmospheric soundscapes. “It showcases some of the different sides to Slowdive,” says Halstead. “It’s very much like the first few EPs we put out, which would always have what we thought of as a pop song on the A-side and a much more experimental or instrumental track on the B-side, the two points between which the band operated.” Exploring themes of getting older, looking both back and forward, and relationships, *everything is alive* is a mesmeric listen. Read on for Halstead’s track-by-track guide. **“shanty”** “This is probably one of the first tunes we worked on. I sent a bunch of electronic music through and this was one of them. There was a eureka moment with this track, where I was trying to keep it very electronic and then we ended up just putting some very noisy guitars on and it was a bit like, ‘Oh, OK, that works.’ I remember Rachel saying when I sent her the demo that she was listening to it a lot, and she said she was getting really excited about going in and recording with the band again. It was the first tune in terms of thinking about getting into the studio and recording again.” **“prayer remembered”** “I wrote this three days after my son Albert was born. I came home from the hospital one night and sat down at a keyboard and started playing this thing. I ended up bringing it into the Slowdive sessions quite late on just because there was something I felt we needed on the record. I had Nick and Christian and Simon play along with my original synth part, and then I took the synth out of the equation altogether. We pulled it out of the mix and added a few more bits to what was left.” **“alife”** “This started off as a very krautrock, very electronic thing. We did a version with the band and I was playing it around the house and Ingrid, my partner, started singing along to part of the song and I was like, ‘Oh, that’s really good. We should record that.’ The first demo has Ingrid singing the part that Rachel sings now. She has a writing credit on this—it’s the only Slowdive song where someone outside the band has a writing credit. I always thought of it as like a proper pop song—as much as Slowdive ever do pop songs. We sent it to Shawn Everett to mix and basically said, ‘Look, if you could make this sound like a cross between The Smiths and Fleetwood Mac, that would be amazing.’ I don’t know if we got there, but he was really excited about that direction.” **“andalucia plays”** “I’d written this as an acoustic tune that I was going to put on a solo record back in 2012. It’s talking about a relationship and thinking about the things that were important in that first year of that relationship. I came back to it while we were working on the Slowdive record and replayed it on an organ and then we worked on it from that point. It has an element of The Cure about it with the keyboards. Rachel didn’t want to sing on it; she was like, ‘It’s too intimate, I feel like this is a real personal song.’ I had to ask her a few times. The vocals are treated slightly different on the recording than we would normally do, they’re much closer-sounding. I think it’s nice to have it as part of a Slowdive record.” **“kisses”** “I demoed this and shied away from it for a long time because it seemed very poppy and maybe not in our world. It was, again, much more electronic. It almost sounded like a Kraftwerk song. It had the lyric ‘kisses’ in it, the only recognizable lyric. Every time I tried to sit down and write lyrics for the song, I couldn’t get away from the ‘kisses’ part. I was thinking it was a bit too light, too frivolous, but the tune just stuck around. We did so many different versions of it that didn’t quite work, and in the end we did this version. We all ended up thinking it’s a really nice addition to the record. It’s got a shiny, pop, kind of New Order-y thing happening, which we don’t do very often.” **“skin in the game”** “This is kind of a Frankenstein. It’s got a bit of another song in there and then there’s another song welded onto it, so it was a few different ideas thrown together. I liked the lyric ‘Skin in the game.’ I don’t know where I read it, I was probably reading something about investing or something stupid. I like the slightly wobbly feel to this tune, which I think is partly because some of it was taken from a very badly recorded demo on a proper four-track tape machine. Old school. It gives it a nice wobbly character.” **“chained to a cloud”** “This was called ‘Chimey One’ for three years and was one that we struggled to make sense of for a long time. I think at some point we were like, ‘Let’s forget about the verse and just work on the chorus.’ It’s a really simple idea, this song, but it hangs together around this arpeggiating keyboard riff that I think is inspired by ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat. It always reminded me of that.” **“the slab”** “This was always quite heavy and dense and it took a while for us to figure out how to mix it, and I think in the end Shawn did a really good job with it. Again, it’s got almost a Cure-type vibe to it. The drums came from a different song and it was originally just a big slab of keyboards, hence the title. It remains true to its roots; it’s still got that big slab-ish kind of feel to it. I always thought the record would open with ‘shanty’ and I always thought it would end with ‘the slab.’ They felt like good bookends for the rest of the tracks.”

Frenzal Rhomb’s surprisingly articulate, frequently disarming, punky slices of Australian life are so culturally specific that they almost have no right to be so accessible—and enduring. In less incisive hands, a similar band wouldn’t be on its 10th album, though it’s easy to wonder if the hampering years since 2017’s *Hi-Vis High Tea* reshaped the Sydney quartet’s approach. Opener and lead single “Where Drug Dealers Take Their Kids,” from its title through to its hysterical whiplash breakdown of what *should* be troubling subject matter, sets a familiar pace that doesn’t let up: All 19 tracks are ticklingly frenetic, cleverly absurd and rooted in cringing realness. To wit: “You act like a c\*\*t but my love never ends,” croons “The Wreckage,” cheerfully detailing a toxic relationship. “Instant Coffee” could be one of the most whimsical odes to poverty ever written, too, but there’s nothing cheap about this record. Opting for a strontium-plated production that elevates every little ditty to unlikely radio-readiness, 19 tracks might seem like a lot—but each one finds its own excesses are nurtured best by, well, an excess of brevity. The longest song, “I Think My Neighbour Is Planning to Kill Me,” clocks in at 2:33. That’s more than enough time for its itchy domestic paranoia to leap into the dietary concerns of “Horse Meat” before landing on highlight “How to Make Gravox”—a NOFX-level shambles doing the unthinkable to Australian singer-songwriter Paul Kelly’s beloved, unofficial national Christmas anthem, “How to Make Gravy.” Like Frenzal Rhomb’s oeuvre at large, *The Cup of Pestilence* timelessly delights when it’s sketching pot-shot caricatures of whatever strange individual has obsessed vocalist and societal court jester Jason Whalley. Ably backlit by Gordon Forman’s energetic drumming and new bassist Michael Dallinger’s (this is his recorded debut) refreshingly present, jangly basslines, “Laneway Dave,” “Deathbed Darren,” and “Old Mate Neck Tattoo” ensure that, while it’s bizarrely easy to enjoy Frenzal Rhomb’s ever-colloquial 10th record from start to finish whether you’re Australian or not, you might not want to actually meet them—lest your most disfiguring personal qualities end up in (admittedly great) song on the next one.

“I needed my audience to see that Killer Mike is something that this nine-year-old kid created to be fierce and badass and protect him from any ill,” the artist born Michael Render tells Apple Music’s Zane Lowe. “This is my come-home moment musically. It is gospel, it is soul, it is funk, it is hip-hop. And from a moral standpoint, I was taught morality through the Black Southern Christian church, which gave us the civil rights movement, the abolitionist movement, which gave us some of the most beautiful music ever. And I feel like I\'m honoring that and I finally figured out my place.” Released 10 years after Run The Jewels transformed Killer Mike from a workaday regional rapper to the kind of guy holding public court with national politicians, *MICHAEL* is, on some level, a celebration of just how far he has come. But it’s also an exploration of the complex personality that got him there: the son of a drug dealer who needs to mourn his childhood but struggles to let his guard down (“MOTHERLESS”), the community leader trying to elevate youth while snapping back at the perceived narrowness of their politics (“TALK’N THAT SHIT!”), the middle-aged man finally reckoning with the collateral PTSD of Black life in America (“RUN”). “My mother and grandmother left me,” he says. “‘MOTHERLESS’ is about that and about the emptiness you feel, and as a human I feel like I\'ve lost something. But if all the electricity left tomorrow, there\'d still be trees moving, there\'d still be wind grooving, and that\'s all we return to. When you close your eyes, you listen to this record, this device ain\'t how you are hearing this song. These vibrations are how you\'re hearing this song.” There’s also “SCIENTISTS & ENGINEERS,” which features fellow Atlanta legends Future and André 3000. “Artists love and respect one another,” he says. “The what, who\'s done what, it\'s literally the style. You just waiting to hear your partner\'s next style.” And on a production level, the sustained mix of slow-and-steady trap beats with gospel choirs and soaking-wet organs evokes both the humidity of his Atlanta summers and the blend of sacred and profane that has characterized Black pop from Sam Cooke to Kanye West. If he weren’t so smart and soulful, you might call him a crank. But he’s both.

“No, I\'m not the same/I think I done changed,” Janelle Monáe raps with a swagger on “Float,” the opener for her fourth LP, *The Age of Pleasure*. Over powerful brass—courtesy of Seun Kuti and Egypt 80—and heavy-lidded 808s, the singer-songwriter introduces listeners to another side of herself where she embraces the present. “Those lyrics for \'Float,\' I was like, I have to put this out now,” she tells Apple Music. “This is exactly, how do I honor how I\'m feeling and who I am now. I\'m not thinking about the future, but right now, because this is all we have right now.” Where Monáe\'s previous records were character-driven—set in a complex futuristic world filled with androids—and explored themes about power, race, and humanity, *The Age of Pleasure* highlights a new era of liberation that sheds her Afrofuturist persona in favor of an unmasked exploration of her own sensuality and deservedness to feel good above all else. Monáe creates a safe space within the album\'s 14 tracks where people can relax into themselves and express their queer identities, sexuality, and unapologetic Blackness. “We had an Everyday People Wondaland party, and I was like, *Oh, this is who I want to make music for*,” she says. “This moment right here, I want to make the soundtrack to this lifestyle. They get it. This is what we fight to protect. All of my work that centers around protecting my communities that I\'m a part of, from the LGBTQIA+ communities to being Black to all of that.” *The Age of Pleasure* is a love letter to the Pan-African diaspora. Monáe trades in her previous albums\' New Wave indie-electronic beats for an effortless fusion of jazz, dancehall, reggae, trap, and Afrobeats. The first half features tightly produced jazz- and funk-inspired tempos and rhythms over which she flexes her accomplishments (“Champagne Shit”) and proudly celebrates herself (“Float,” “Phenomenal,” “Haute”). The album\'s second half switches gears with midtempo, reggae-influenced sounds and Monáe indulging her carnal desires. “I like lipstick on my neck/Hands around my waist so you know what\'s coming next/I wanna feel your lips on mine/I just wanna feel/A little tongue, we don\'t have a long time,” she sings on “Lipstick Lover,” a seductive, summery groove that is a joyous celebration of queer Black sexual liberation. She uses water metaphors to underscore her euphoric pleasure-seeking on “The Rush” and “Water Slide,” while “Only Have Eyes 42” is an ode to polyamory, with more than one lover at the center of Monáe\'s affections. Ultimately, on *The Age of Pleasure*, Monáe taps into her “free-ass motherfucking spirit,” as she calls it, and delivers an album that honors the space that she\'s currently in—unabashed and proud of who she is. “My friends have gotten an opportunity to see a different side of me that nobody gets to see, and this album, this moment that I\'m having, I\'m allowing myself to show that version of Janelle that friends get to see all the time,” she says. “I want to own all of me and be all of me.”

No band could ever prepare for what the Foo Fighters went through after the death of longtime drummer Taylor Hawkins in March 2022, but in a way, it’s hard to imagine a band that could handle it better. From the beginning, their music captured a sense of perseverance that felt superheroic without losing the workaday quality that made them so approachable and appealing. These were guys you could imagine clocking into the studio with lunchpails and thermoses in hand—a post-grunge AC/DC who grew into rock-pantheon standard-bearers, treating their art not as rarified personal expression but the potential for a universal good time. The mere existence of *But Here We Are*, arriving with relatively little fanfare a mere 15 months after Hawkins’ death, tells you what you need to know: Foo Fighters are a rock band, rock bands make records. That’s just what rock bands do. And while this steadiness has been key to Dave Grohl’s identity and longevity, there is a fire beneath it here that he surely would have preferred to find some other way. Grief presents here in every form—the shock of opening track “Rescued” (“Is this happening now?!”), the melancholy of “Show Me How” (on which Grohl duets with his daughter Violet), the anger of 10-minute centerpiece “The Teacher,” and the fragile acceptance of the almost slowcore finale “Rest.” “Under You” processes all the stages in defiantly jubilant style. And after more than 20 years as one of the most polished arena-rock bands in the world, they play with a rawness that borders on ugly. Just listen to the discord of “The Teacher” or the frayed vocals of the title track or the sweet-and-sour chorus of “Nothing at All,” which sound more like Hüsker Dü or Fugazi than “Learn to Fly.” The temptation is to suggest that trauma forced them back to basics. The reality is that they sound like a band with a lot of life behind them trying to pave the road ahead.