The Forty-Five's Albums of the Year 2023

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.

Lana Del Rey has mastered the art of carefully constructed, high-concept alt-pop records that bask in—and steadily amplify—her own mythology; with each album we become more enamored by, and yet less sure of, who she is. This is, of course, part of her magic and the source of much of her artistic power. Her records bid you to worry less about parsing fact from fiction and, instead, free-fall into her theatrical aesthetic—a mix of gloomy Americana, Laurel Canyon nostalgia, and Hollywood noir that was once dismissed as calculation and is now revered as performance art. Up until now, these slippery, surrealist albums have made it difficult to separate artist from art. But on her introspective ninth album, something seems to shift: She appears to let us in a little. She appears to let down her guard. The opening track is called “The Grants”—a nod to her actual family name. Through unusually revealing, stream-of-conscious songs that feel like the most poetic voice notes you’ve ever heard, she chastises her siblings, wonders about marriage, and imagines what might come with motherhood and midlife. “Do you want children?/Do you wanna marry me?” she sings on “Sweet.” “Do you wanna run marathons in Long Beach by the sea?” This is relatively new lyrical territory for Del Rey, who has generally tended to steer around personal details, and the songs themselves feel looser and more off-the-cuff (they were mostly produced with longtime collaborator Jack Antonoff). It could be that Lana has finally decided to start peeling back a few layers, but for an artist whose entire catalog is rooted in clever imagery, it’s best to leave room for imagination. The only clue might be in the album’s single piece of promo, a now-infamous billboard in Tulsa, Oklahoma, her ex-boyfriend’s hometown. She settled the point fairly quickly on Instagram. “It’s personal,” she wrote.

As Olivia Rodrigo set out to write her second album, she froze. “I couldn\'t sit at the piano without thinking about what other people were going to think about what I was playing,” she tells Apple Music. “I would sing anything and I\'d just be like, ‘Oh, but will people say this and that, will people speculate about whatever?’” Given the outsized reception to 2021’s *SOUR*—which rightly earned her three Grammys and three Apple Music Awards that year, including Top Album and Breakthrough Artist—and the chatter that followed its devastating, extremely viral first single, “drivers license,” you can understand her anxiety. She’d written much of that record in her bedroom, free of expectation, having never played a show. The week before it was finally released, the then-18-year-old singer-songwriter would get to perform for the first time, only to televised audiences in the millions, at the BRIT Awards in London and on *SNL* in New York. Some artists debut—Rodrigo *arrived*. But looking past the hype and the hoo-ha and the pressures of a famously sold-out first tour (during a pandemic, no less), trying to write as anticipated a follow-up album as there’s been in a very long time, she had a realization: “All I have to do is make music that I would like to hear on the radio, that I would add to my playlist,” she says. “That\'s my sole job as an artist making music; everything else is out of my control. Once I started really believing that, things became a lot easier.” Written alongside trusted producer Dan Nigro, *GUTS* is both natural progression and highly confident next step. Boasting bigger and sleeker arrangements, the high-stakes piano ballads here feel high-stakes-ier (“vampire”), and the pop-punk even punkier (“all-american bitch,” which somehow splits the difference between Hole and Cat Stevens’ “Here Comes My Baby”). If *SOUR* was, in part, the sound of Rodrigo picking up the pieces post-heartbreak, *GUTS* finds her fully healed and wholly liberated—laughing at herself (“love is embarrassing”), playing chicken with disaster (the Go-Go’s-y “bad idea right?”), not so much seeking vengeance as delighting in it (“get him back!”). This is Anthem Country, joyride music, a set of smart and immediately satisfying pop songs informed by time spent onstage, figuring out what translates when you’re face-to-face with a crowd. “Something that can resonate on a recording maybe doesn\'t always resonate in a room full of people,” she says. “I think I wrote this album with the tour in mind.” And yet there are still moments of real vulnerability, the sort of intimate and sharply rendered emotional terrain that made Rodrigo so relatable from the start. She’s straining to keep it together on “making the bed,” bereft of good answers on “logical,” in search of hope and herself on gargantuan closer “teenage dream.” Alone at a piano again, she tries to make sense of a betrayal on “the grudge,” gathering speed and altitude as she goes, each note heavier than the last, “drivers license”-style. But then she offers an admission that doesn’t come easy if you’re sweating a reaction: “It takes strength to forgive, but I don’t feel strong.” In hindsight, she says, this album is “about the confusion that comes with becoming a young adult and figuring out your place in this world and figuring out who you want to be. I think that that\'s probably an experience that everyone has had in their life before, just rising from that disillusionment.” Read on as Rodrigo takes us inside a few songs from *GUTS*. **“all-american bitch”** “It\'s one of my favorite songs I\'ve ever written. I really love the lyrics of it and I think it expresses something that I\'ve been trying to express since I was 15 years old—this repressed anger and feeling of confusion, or trying to be put into a box as a girl.” **“vampire”** “I wrote the song on the piano, super chill, in December of \[2022\]. And Dan and I finished writing it in January. I\'ve just always been really obsessed with songs that are very dynamic. My favorite songs are high and low, and reel you in and spit you back out. And so we wanted to do a song where it just crescendoed the entire time and it reflects the pent-up anger that you have for a situation.” **“get him back!”** “Dan and I were at Electric Lady Studios in New York and we were writing all day. We wrote a song that I didn\'t like and I had a total breakdown. I was like, ‘God, I can\'t write songs. I\'m so bad at this. I don\'t want to.’ Being really negative. Then we took a break and we came back and we wrote ‘get him back!’ Just goes to show you: Never give up.” **“teenage dream”** “Ironically, that\'s actually the first song we wrote for the record. The last line is a line that I really love and it ends the album on a question mark: ‘They all say that it gets better/It gets better the more you grow/They all say that it gets better/What if I don\'t?’ I like that it’s like an ending, but it\'s also a question mark and it\'s leaving it up in the air what this next chapter is going to be. It\'s still confused, but it feels like a final note to that confusion, a final question.”

The nearly six-year period Kelela Mizanekristos took between 2017’s *Take Me Apart* and 2023’s *Raven* wasn’t just a break; it was a reckoning. Like a lot of Black Americans, she’d watched the protests following George Floyd’s murder with outrage and cautious curiosity as to whether the winds of social change might actually shift. She read, she watched, she researched; she digested the pressures of creative perfectionism and tireless productivity not as correlatives of an artistic mind but of capitalism and white supremacy, whose consecration of the risk-free bottom line suddenly felt like the arbitrary and invasive force it is. And suddenly, she realized she wasn’t alone. “Internally, I’ve always wished the world would change around me,” Kelela tells Apple Music. “I felt during the uprising and the \[protests of the early 2020s\] that there’s been an *external* shift. We all have more permission to say, ‘I don’t like that.’” Executive-produced by longtime collaborator Asmara (Asma Maroof of Nguzunguzu), 2023’s *Raven* is both an extension of her earlier work and an expansion of it. The hybrids of progressive dance and ’90s-style R&B that made *Take Me Apart* and *Cut 4 Me* compelling are still there (“Contact,” “Missed Call,” both co-produced by LSDXOXO and Bambii), as is her gift for making the ethereal feel embodied and deeply physical (“Enough for Love”). And for all her respect for the modalities of Black American pop music, you can hear the musical curiosity and experiential outliers—as someone who grew up singing jazz standards and played in a punk band—that led her to stretch the paradigms of it, too. But the album’s heart lies in songs like “Holier” and “Raven,” whose narratives of redemption and self-sufficiency jump the track from personal reflections to metaphors for the struggle with patriarchy and racism more broadly. “I’ve been pretty comfortable to talk about the nitty-gritty of relationships,” she says. “But this album contains a few songs that are overtly political, that feel more literally like *no, you will not*.” Oppression comes in many forms, but they all work the same way; *Raven* imagines a flight out.

“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.”

“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.

Few rock bands this side of Y2K have committed themselves to forward motion quite like Paramore. But in order to summon the aggression of their sixth full-length, the Tennessee outfit needed to look back—to draw on some of the same urgency that defined them early on, when they were teenaged upstarts slinging pop punk on the Warped Tour. “I think that\'s why this was a hard record to make,” Hayley Williams tells Apple Music of *This Is Why*. “Because how do you do that without putting the car in reverse completely?” In the neon wake of 2017’s *After Laughter*—an unabashed pop record—guitarist Taylor York says he found himself “really craving rock.” Add to that a combination of global pandemic, social unrest, apocalyptic weather, and war, and you have what feels like a suitable backdrop (if not cause) for music with edges. “I think figuring out a smarter way to make something aggressive isn\'t just turning up the distortion,” York says. “That’s where there was a lot of tension, us trying to collectively figure out what that looks like and can all three of us really get behind it and feel represented. It was really difficult sometimes, but when we listened back at the end, we were like, ‘Sick.’” What that looks like is a set of spiky but highly listenable (and often danceable) post-punk that draws influence from early-2000s revivalists like Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Bloc Party, The Rapture, Franz Ferdinand, and Hot Hot Heat. Throughout, Williams offers relatable glimpses of what it’s been like to live through the last few years, whether it’s feelings of anxiety (the title cut), outrage (“The News”), or atrophy (“C’est Comme Ça”). “I got to yell a lot on this record, and I was afraid of that, because I’ve been treating my voice so kindly and now I’m fucking smashing it to bits,” she says. “We finished the first day in the studio and listened back to the music and we were like, ‘Who is this?’ It simultaneously sounds like everything we\'ve ever loved and nothing that we\'ve ever done before ourselves. To me, that\'s always a great sign, because there\'s not many posts along the way that tell you where to go. You\'re just raw-dogging it. Into the abyss.”

Conforming to the expected has never been Amaarae’s strong suit. And it should come as no surprise that the Ghanaian American artist would create a sonic otherworld where the trappings of R&B, hip-hop, Afropop, punk, and alternative rock mesh with globe-trotting instrumentation and exist harmoniously without question on her album *Fountain Baby*. The result? A culmination of what a transnational pop star is in 2023—boundless. *Fountain Baby* lends its credence to Amaarae’s continued quest for growth and mastery, but not in a contrived way. There are pockets of carefully crafted yet carefree melodies like the dreamy “Angels in Tibet” and sultry “Reckless & Sweet.” On “Counterfeit,” the singer-songwriter swiftly glides with confidence on production by KZ Didit that’s reminiscent of an early-2000s movie soundtrack. “Wasted Eyes” opens with a quick koto solo and progresses as Amaarae soliloquizes about a wounded romance. The 14-track solo project pushes the ante of its 2020 predecessor, *The Angel You Don’t Know*, towards newer heights.

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.

By her own admission, Olivia Dean is an “extreme perfectionist.” But, one day while making her debut album, the London singer-songwriter found herself mumbling the word “messy” over and over again while playing her guitar—and unlocked something lighter within herself. “I just loved the idea of flipping ‘messy’ from being a negative word into this beautiful thing,” she tells Apple Music. “I applied that to finishing the album and it was like, ‘We’re going to keep me laughing in there’ or, ‘The piano doesn’t have to exactly be in time on that part.’ I think in an age where everybody is pretending that their life is amazing, it’s really refreshing to be like, ‘My life’s a mess. And your life’s probably a mess too.’ But that’s fine: That’s the spice of life.” The aptly titled *Messy* is a sublime debut—that “messy approach” lending it a warm, immediate feeling that often makes listening feel like you’re right inside it. The album houses the soulful, jazz-inflected, old-soul songwriting and made-for-summer-days pop that Dean has built her name on: “In the studio I’d say, ‘Can you do this one a bit more like you just had the best day of your life, but suddenly the sun is setting?’” she says. There are sculptural, string-laden ballads (“No Man”), loose instrumental moments (such as on “Ladies Room” and “Getting There”), and intimate confessionals on her mental health (“Everybody’s Crazy”) or watching an ex thrive without her (“Dangerously Easy”). It’s all anchored by Dean’s effortless vocals, and the album presents as an irresistible series of vignettes set everywhere from the girls’ bathroom at a pub to her imaginary flower shop in South London (“I Could Be a Florist”) and home, on the exquisite “Carmen”—a jubilant tribute to her grandmother who came to the UK as part of the Windrush generation. Here, Dean takes us inside *Messy*, one track at a time. **“UFO”** “I thought it was the perfect opener because it’s like, ‘Hello, everyone. You’re about to go on a journey with this shy alien who is trying to find a place to land herself. Come along.’ This was one of the earliest songs we wrote for the record—it started out as a joke, as a lot of our songs tend to. \[Producer\] Matt \[Hales\] and I were having a cup of tea, and I said, ‘It’s a bit of a sexy problem.’ He thought it was hilarious. We went back to the studio, and I was talking about Nick Drake and how I liked the guitar style of his songs. The song was written really quickly and I listened to it 20 times that evening, like, ‘This is it.’” **“Dive”** “I love the drama, and my karaoke song is ‘I Will Survive’ by Gloria Gaynor so I knew I wanted to have \[an intro like that\] on my record. I wrote this on a really sunny day in London and was talking about how I was ready to fall in love again and feeling open to it. We were thinking about Aretha Franklin and Carole King and all the chords that they use to make your heart feel like you’re flying on a cloud. This one took the longest to finish—because I knew it was good, that it could be an important song, that it was special. It might sound carefree but a lot of work went into it. I was working on it for a year.” **“Ladies Room”** “I was in my local pub in the girls’ bathroom and this lady said something like, ‘Girls, never go out with a man 20 years your senior.’ Then he called her and she was like, ‘I don’t want to go home but I’ve got to leave.’ I thought that was a brilliant start to a song because I’ve had that before. When I was a little younger and not as independent as I am now, \[I\] was in, to put it frankly, more toxic relationships. I would have gone home if my boyfriend was like, ‘Stay in with me,’ so I needed to write a song that was like, ‘Do whatever you want to do.’ The rest of it was inspired by Marvin Gaye’s ‘Got to Give It Up’ and how that party sound goes throughout it.” **“No Man”** “Originally this had loads of instrumentation. It was dense, with crazy drums, and I realized I wasn’t doing justice to what I was singing about, which was quite sad and vulnerable. I wanted it to feel quite \[James\] Bond-y, but I was also listening to a lot of Mac Miller’s *Circles*. I don’t want to talk about the subject matter too intensely—I feel people can get the vibe of what it’s about.” **“Dangerously Easy”** “This one is about seeing somebody you loved doing really well without you and feeling like, ‘How are they making it look so easy? Why are you so fine without me?’ But it’s not an angry song—it’s very amicable. Some of my favorite lyrics on this record are in this song. It’s got this kind of ‘Redbone’-y bassline in the bridge and I love it. The one feels quite old school to me.” **“Getting There (Interlude)”** “This was always just on the end of ‘Dangerously Easy,’ but I thought, ‘She’s got legs. She can be her own song.’ When we were recording the last bits to the album, I said to the band \[Dean made the record with her live band\], ‘When we get to the end, just go for it.’ It was the first take of what we did.” **“Danger”** “At first I thought, ‘I can’t have two songs on the same album with “danger” in. That’s not allowed.’ And then I was like, ‘Anything’s allowed.’ I had been wanting to write something fun because I’d been writing a lot of sad music. I had this complex of, ‘If something’s fun and simple then it can’t be good.’ Actually, yes, it can. I think of some songs as Tangfastics—they’re just fun sweeties that you love. And other songs are like sad muesli. You’ve got to have it, it’s good for you, but it’s not the most exciting. I definitely wanted to play with lovers rock and bossa nova, because I grew up listening to a lot of that stuff. It’s also just a classic Olivia Dean song: I will fall in love with you, but not quite.” **“The Hardest Part”** “She’s an oldie but she had to be on the album because I think this song has been very defining for me. It was written at a time when I was very sad and was trying to process letting go of a relationship that I thought was it for me—as you do when you’re young and in love. I was so invested, but had this epiphany: ‘You are not a good person for me, and I’ve changed so much, and you are not able to love the person that I’ve changed into.’ Accepting that, that’s the hardest part. I’m so proud of the lyric: ‘I was only 18/You should’ve known that I was always gonna change.’ That concept of people telling you that you’ve changed like it’s a bad thing. It’s like, ‘Yes, I have and that’s fantastic.’” **“I Could Be a Florist”** “I went to the studio and was supposed to be finishing ‘Dive,’ but I was having a little bit of an existential moment—I felt I couldn’t turn off from music. I was fantasizing about how wonderful it would be to be a florist. You could make lovely bouquets for people and bring people joy and look at flowers all day and then put the closed sign on the shop door. It came super quickly—I left the demo how it was. Now, obviously when I listen to it, \[I realize\] it’s a love song and it’s about wanting to bring flowers to people as a metaphor for love.” **“Messy”** “The last track I wrote for the album. I had this guitar part that I kept playing over and I just kept saying the word ‘messy.’ I thought, ‘What is this song about? What am I trying to say?’ Maybe it was about a relationship being messy, but I had one of those epiphany moments, like, ‘No. It’s a song to myself. I’m writing a song to tell myself I’m allowed to be messy. Your album doesn’t have to be perfect. It has to be you.’” **“Everybody’s Crazy”** “I love this song, but it does also terrify me. It really puts me out there. As in, my heart on the line. But you have got to be brave. It’s all well and good for me to have songs like ‘Ladies Room’ where I’m like, ‘I’m an independent lady, you can’t tell me what to do,’ but obviously I go home and cry into my pillow sometimes. Let’s be real. For me, this song is a warm hug, a bowl of tomato soup, but then at the end it’s like you’re on mushrooms and suddenly the world’s opening up.” **“Carmen”** “Out of everything I’ve made, this felt like the thing I made most for me. It feels so specific to my life. I knew that I wanted to immortalize my grandmother forever, even when I’m gone and my great-grandkids are gone. That’s what music can do for someone. It was something that was very private at the beginning. It’s a song about her coming to the UK from Guyana as part of the Windrush generation. She got on a plane in 1963 and came over with her baby sister and completely changed her life. Then she had four kids, and they had kids and one of them is me. “I wanted this to feel like a celebration because, at the time and now, there is a lot of negativity around Windrush. I thought, ‘They need a celebration.’ The way that people from that generation loved the Queen—they needed the love back and the lyric ‘Never got a jubilee’ was me giving her that. When I was writing this song, I pictured my granny sitting on a throne, steel pans are playing and everybody’s just having a great time and eating mac and cheese at her diamond jubilee. I cried when we had the steel pan player come in and record because I just think it’s the most beautiful sound in the world—for me, it’s nostalgic for a place I’ve actually never even been to, but to have that on the record was so important. I’m so proud of this song. My granny knows it exists, but she hasn’t heard it yet. I guess I’m just nervous.”

Irish singer-songwriter CMAT had a very clear idea of what her second record was going to be about when she started making it, but somewhere along the line, it morphed into something else. “It’s about the breakup and the fallout of a breakup,” Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson tells Apple Music. “I was in a relationship with someone who’s much older than me, and it was about trying to look at that as objectively as possible, and give time and space to my feelings about it.” CMAT set out to write what she describes as “a record of forgiveness,” but as she put that into practice, she discovered it wasn’t the album she needed to make. “As I was making the record, I realized I’m actually just still really fucking angry about everything that happened, and I became more \[so\] as I went on and went through it. So it’s not really an album about forgiveness, it’s an album about the fact that shit happens, these things happen, and it doesn’t make any sense and there’s no point to it.” The end result is *Crazymad, for Me*, a second record that builds on the country-pop sway of her debut with lush strings, ’70s grooves, melodious hooks, uplifting harmonies (a glorious duet with John Grant on “Where Are Your Kids Tonight?” will have you shimmying your way to the dance floor), and an Americana twang. Somewhere inside these songs of anger, sadness, and contemplation, CMAT started to make sense of everything. “Nothing good comes from suffering,” she says. “But it has to happen and you just have to learn how to move on with it.” These things happen, but at least they’ve got a great soundtrack. Read on as CMAT guides us through *Crazymad, for Me*, track by track. **“California”** “Every time I started on the topic and every time I started writing about it, I had this voice in the back of my head that was like, ‘Everybody that was there is going to know that you’re exaggerating and everybody is going to think you’re so sad. Him, and all of his friends, and everyone that knows you is going to think you’re such a pathetic loser for even talking about this in the first place.’ I probably should have made this album before my first record. I’ve wanted to make this record for six or seven years, but it really took a lot of pep-talking—and this song is me going through all of that and trying to be like, ‘I need to do it anyway.’” **“Phone Me”** “This is about the paranoia of feeling like you’re being cheated on, but the other person isn’t admitting to it. I was making up really weird images in my head, like, ‘What lengths would I have gone to to figure out if this person’s cheating on me?’ One of them was raising a Greek goddess from the dead, Cassandra, the goddess of prophecy. Her curse was that she was always going to tell the truth and know the truth and know what was coming before it happened, but nobody was ever going to believe her. I also make reference to the Rebekah Vardy incident, where Coleen Rooney had to remove everyone off her \[Instagram\] stories except for Rebekah Vardy, and plant fake stories to figure out if she was the person leaking her stories. I liked taking those two things and matching them together. In my head, there is a conference of girls all standing around trying to figure out the truth about something, and it’s me, Coleen Rooney, and Cassandra, the Greek goddess of prophecy.” **“Vincent Kompany”** “This is about the fact that I tend to have a relationship with myself and my own mental illnesses, where time is a very important thing. I like to tell stories about terrible, scary, maybe worrying things that I did when I was very mentally ill, but only if they happened three years ago, so that I can be, ‘I was crazy back then, but I’d never do that now.’ As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that I’m always doing something insane, and it’s only time and foresight and whatever else that makes me realize that I was always the crazy person. There’s a line in it where I say, ‘Cut all my hair off trying to look like Vincent Kompany.’ I wrote this song with my friend Declan McKenna and we spent maybe two hours going through a list of bald celebrities that I could use in the simile. Eventually, he was like, ‘\[Burnley FC manager\] Vincent Kompany!’ I was like, ‘Oh, if he’s a dodgy bastard, I don’t really want to put him in a song,’ so I had to research him very thoroughly. Turns out, lovely man. Family guy.” **“Such a Miranda”** “When I first really started a relationship with this person, I was 18 and I’d moved to Denmark. I moved back to Ireland to be in a relationship with him and I also stopped watching *Sex and the City*; I stopped doing all of these things that were for me and that I was supposed to be doing for me. I look back on that time with a lot of regret. It’s not a very profound \[or\] logical song, or anything, it’s just literally me talking about how much I regret doing that.” **“Rent”** “This song is kind of the second part to ‘Such a Miranda’ in the sense that it fast-forwards into the middle of the relationship and is me telling the story of being in it. It’s probably the saddest song I’ve ever written. It’s about being in a relationship with someone and realizing you’ve dedicated your whole life to someone who doesn’t even know you, and you don’t even know them, and how isolating and awful that feeling is, and how chaotic it is as well; how your life looks a bit different every day because you don’t know who you’re getting.” **“Where Are Your Kids Tonight?” (feat. John Grant)** “This is a song about realizing that I’ve turned into my mother. For me, there are three scenes on the record. The first sequence of songs is a bit angry, the second sequence of songs \[where this one sits\] is very reflective and ‘Maybe I’ve done something wrong,’ and then the third sequence is trying to make peace and move on. ‘Where Are Your Kids Tonight?’ is a song about the passing of time and how quickly it’s gone, because I feel like people often get to their mid to late twenties and they’re like, ‘Fuck, I was 12 two weeks ago. What the fuck happened?!’” **“Can’t Make up My Mind”** “I wanted to really capture that fuzzy-headedness of indecisiveness and lack of commitment, because I’m definitely a commitment-phobe in life. I don’t know how people buy houses, I don’t know how people get married. That concept to me is very confusing. I don’t even know how people decide where they’re going to live for the rest of their life. I have specifically chosen a path where I move around all the time, and that suits me perfectly well, because I need to be constantly stimulated, like a toddler with an iPad. I need to be constantly scrolling or something. And I can’t make up my mind.” **“Whatever’s Inconvenient”** “This one is about being bad at romance and human relationships. I’m definitely a bit of a Madame Bovary about things. I always think something could be a bit better and a bit more romantic and a bit more crazy and a bit more wild, and that will fuck me up and put me into terrible, terrible positions. I’m definitely guilty of going for the craziest or the most rebellious, wild option, even into my adulthood, and it just runs a train through your life. You have to just not be a narcissist, and take people for what they are and enjoy them and commit to them and see the best in them—instead of always picking the worst option possible to live on the edge.” **“I…Hate Who I Am When I’m Horny”** “I wanted to put this feeling into a song because I had never heard anyone else ever talk about it in a poetic sense. I have so many friends that have been very hurt and confused by their own feelings towards someone they love. They’ll love this person and be so committed to this person, but after a while, the sexual attraction completely leaves them and they find anything new attractive. Quite a lot of my friends who are gay men suffered a lot in their early to mid twenties or thirties with this exact same feeling, where they’ve found someone and they love them, but they just want to have sex with anyone else. I think there’s a lot of shame associated with this feeling, and there’s a lot of shame associated with sex in general. But if I was to add a positive note, I would say there are other solutions to the problem rather than hating yourself. As a very famous drag queen, Trixie Mattel, once said, ‘If having sex with someone who isn’t my husband is illegal, then lock me up and throw away the key.’” **“Torn Apart”** “This is going back to the Cassandra prophecy thing, but it’s the other end of the prophecy here, where shit has hit the fan and everything has gone wrong, and you’re at the end of the relationship and there’s always a feeling of, ‘Well, I knew it was always going to happen, so why did I even bother?’ It’s about running through the past and looking for signs that it was always going to end. But if you look for that in anything, you’ll find it.” **“Stay for Something”** “‘Stay for Something’ is also about running back through the minutiae of a relationship that you’ve exited and looking to make sense out of it. I think this is also a very important song in the record for me because it really sums up that super-chaotic feeling of something terrible has happened, so I have to find reasoning for it, and I have to make sense out of it and it has to be a chapter that factors into the story of my life overall. I can’t have suffered for nothing, I can’t have stayed for nothing, I can’t have just stayed in this terrible relationship and not benefited from it in some way, but the truth is that I did and I think, in general, people do. There’s no reason for suffering, there’s no point to it, and these things don’t really make sense.” **“Have Fun!”** “I think the minute that it was written, I remember thinking it sounds like the last song on an album. It sounds like the exit song from a sitcom or something, it’s quite a jovial, jaunty number. I liked the idea of ending on something uplifting when I knew so much of the record was going to be so dramatic. Thematically, it makes sense as well because it’s the closest thing to a forgiveness song on the record. It’s not even really about forgiving and forgetting, but it’s more just about being like, ‘Well, that happened and now it’s not happening anymore, so I’m going to go have some fun,’ because that was what was missing for the last five years or whatever it was. I think it’s nice to end on a hopeful note.”

“Almost everyone that I love has been abused, and I am included,” declares Arlo Parks with arresting honesty in the first lines of her second album *My Soft Machine*. Then, almost in the same breath, she adds, “The person I love is patient with me/She’s feeding me cheese and I’m happy.” It’s an apt introduction to an album that both basks in the light—as Parks celebrates the affirming joy of falling deeply in love—and delves into darkness. “The core concept of the project is that this is reality and memory through my eyes, experienced within this body,” Parks tells Apple Music. “From the loss of innocence to the reliving of trauma to the endless nights bursting through Koreatown to first kisses in dimly lit dive bars, this is about my life.” It’s all told, of course, with the poetic, diary-entry lyricism that made *Collapsed in Sunbeams* so special—and which catapulted Parks to voice-of-a-generation status. Here, Parks also allows her indie-pop sound to unfurl, with embraces of synths, scuzzy guitars (see “Devotion,” the album’s most electrifying and unexpected moment), jazz, gorgeous harmonies (on the sweet, Phoebe Bridgers-guested “Pegasus”), electronic music, and more. That came, she says, in part from the team she assembled for the album, who allowed her to be more “fluid” (*My Soft Machine* was worked on with names including BROCKHAMPTON producer Romil Hemnani, the prolific US songwriter/producer Ariel Rechtshaid, and Frank Ocean collaborator Baird). “The community that organically formed around the album is one of my favorite things about it,” says Parks. “I think there is a confidence to the work. There is a looseness and an energy. There was a sense of sculpting that went beyond the more instinctive and immediate process of making album one. I am very proud of this.” Read on for the singer-songwriter’s track-by-track guide to *My Soft Machine*. **“Bruiseless”** “This song is about childhood abandon and the growing pains. It was inspired by a conversation I had with \[American poet\] Ocean Vuong where he said he was constantly trying to capture the unadulterated joy of cycling up to a friend’s house and abandoning the bike on the grass, wheels spinning, whilst you race up to their door—the softness and purity of that moment.” **“Impurities”** “I wrote this song the first time I met my dear friend Romil from BROCKHAMPTON. My friends and I were party-hopping and every time we called an Uber it was a Cadillac Escalade, which we thought was hilarious at the time. This is a song that is simply about being happy and feeling truly accepted.” **“Devotion”** “Romil, Baird and I were driving to a coffee shop called Maru in the Arts District of LA in Baird’s Suzuki Vitara that I nicknamed the ‘Red Rocket.’ We were blasting ‘17 Days’ by Prince. The three of us decided two things during that 15-minute round trip: that we had to fully commit to drama and that we were a rock band for the day.” **“Blades”** “The reference to the aquarium scene in Baz Luhrmann’s *Romeo + Juliet* refers to the idea of looking at a person you once knew so intimately and something indescribable has changed—as if you’re looking at each other through ocean water or obscure glass.” **“Purple Phase”** “The guitars you hear on this song are Paul \[Epworth, the British producer who also worked on *Collapsed in Sunbeams*\] and I just improvising. It was the last day of a long working week, we were feeling free and connected and our heads were cleared by exhaustion—we didn’t even have the capacity to overthink. This song has one of my favorite lines I’ve ever written: ‘I just want to see you iridescent charming cats down from trees/Mugler aviators hiding eyes that laugh when concealed.’” **“Weightless”** “Making ‘Weightless’ was a defining moment in the album process. I felt completely unchained from *Collapsed in Sunbeams*. Anything was possible, Paul \[Epworth\] and I were just chaos-dancing around the room and giggling. This one is very special to me and gave me so much creative confidence.” **“Pegasus (feat. Phoebe Bridgers)”** “Of course ‘Pegasus’ features lovely Phoebe \[Bridgers\]. The inspirations for the sparseness melting into the light, dancy beat were ‘White Ferrari’ by Frank Ocean, ‘Talk Down’ by Dijon, and ‘Grieve Not the Spirit’ by AIR. This is the first song I’ve written being so candid about how tricky it can be to accept someone being unbelievably kind.” **“Dog Rose”** “The original demo for this song was recorded in a hotel room in Toronto. I had the idea for the riff in the chorus and I was lying wide awake at 3 am just letting it drive me insane. Then I got up and ran about 15 blocks, through parks and across bridges, to get my guitar from the bus and get the idea down. It was very dramatic.” **“Puppy”** “I had always wanted to capture that half-spoken, half-melodic cadence—kind of like Frank Ocean in ‘In My Room’—and I was so pleased when I achieved it. The fuzzed-out guitar-sounding instrument is actually this little synth that \[producer\] Buddy \[Ross\] has. We were trying to recreate the energy of \[my bloody valentine’s\] *Loveless*.” **“I’m Sorry”** “Garrett Ray from Vampire Weekend’s touring band is on drums and David Longstreth \[the lead singer and guitarist\] from Dirty Projectors is on guitar for this one. Sculpting the right sonic treatment for this song took what felt like years, but it’s definitely my favorite song on the record from a textural and feel point of view.” **“Room (Red Wings)”** “‘Red Wings’ is a reference to the book *Autobiography of Red* by Anne Carson. The main character has distinctive red wings; his home life is tumultuous and he finds comfort in photography and falls deeply in love with a man called Herakles. The fragility and heart-rending nature of this book mirrors the broken quality of the song.” **“Ghost”** “This is the oldest song on the record. I demoed it in the winter of 2020 in my childhood bedroom. At the core of the song is a sense of embracing help, embracing human touch, learning not to suffer in solitude, learning to let people in.”

“I never learned to superstar from a textbook,” Doja Cat snarls towards the end of “Attention,” a song that’s all at once a boom-bap showcase, an R&B slow-burner, and a canny summary of her against-the-odds success. Those who remember Doja’s breakthrough (a viral 2018 joke song, “Mooo!”, whose DIY video had her shoving french fries in her nose in front of a homemade green screen) probably wouldn’t have predicted that a few years later, the girl in the cow suit would be a household name. But for Doja, being an internet goofball and a multiplatinum pop star aren’t just compatible, they’re complementary—a duality attuned to her audience’s craving for realness. With her fourth album, *Scarlet*, the maverick adds “formidable rapper” to her growing list of distinctions. In since-deleted tweets from April 2023, Doja made a pledge: “no more pop,” she wrote, following up with a vow to prove wrong the naysayers doubting her rap skills. *Scarlet* makes good on that promise, particularly its first half, a far cry from the sugary bops on 2021’s star-making *Planet Her*. Instead she hops between hard-edged beats that evoke NYC in ’94 or Chicago in 2012, crowing over the spoils of her mainstream success while playfully rejecting its terms. “I’m a puppet, I’m a sheep, I’m a cash cow/I’m the fastest-growing bitch on all your apps now,” she deadpans on “Demons,” thumbing her nose at anyone who conflates glowing up with selling out. And on “97,” the album’s best pure rap performance, she embraces the troll’s mantra that all clicks are good clicks, spitting, “That’s a comment, that’s a view, and that’s a rating/That’s some hating, and that’s engagement I could use.” Behind the provocations, though, is an artist with the idiosyncratic chops to back them up. That’s as true in *Scarlet*’s lusty midsection as it is on its gulliest rap tracks: No one else would interrupt a dreamy love song (“Agora Hills”) to giggle in Valley Girl vocal fry, “Sorry, just taking a sip of my root beer!” (No one, that is, but Nicki Minaj, Doja’s clearest influence, who paved the way for women who juggle art-pop with hip-hop bona fides.) As catchy as it is contrarian, *Scarlet* offers a suggestion: Maybe it’s Doja’s willingness to reject the premise of being a pop star that makes her such a compelling one. On the album’s sweetest track, “Love Life,” she takes in her view from the top—still the weirdo her fans met in a cow suit but more confident in her contradictions. “They love when I embrace my flaws/I love it when they doin’ the same,” she raps softly. “I love it when my fans love change/That’s how we change the game.”

Brimming with astrological fervor and unbridled emotionality, *Red Moon in Venus* finds the Colombian American sensation zeroing in on love. From the proud promises behind “Endlessly” to the sweet little profundities of “Love Between...,” the album plays with genre without losing cohesion or connection. On the guest front, Don Toliver matches her R&B potency amid the polyrhythmic blur of “Fantasy,” while Omar Apollo brings his own certain charm to the sumptuous duet “Worth the Wait.” Yet most of the album keeps the spotlight rightfully on her, leading to breathtaking moments like “I Wish You Roses” and the Sade-esque “Blue.” And while *Red Moon in Venus* returns the artist to a primarily English-language mode, she hasn’t dispatched entirely with the approach taken on 2020’s *Sin Miedo (del Amor y Otros Demonios) ∞*. She brings bilingual lyricism alongside orchestral accents for “Como Te Quiero Yo” and retro grooves for “Hasta Cuando.”

LA-based, Dallas-raised artist Liv.e, announces her sophomore album 'Girl In The Half Pearl' due February 10th via In Real Life. 'Girl In The Half Pearl' seizes on both the creative and personal liberation Liv.e has experienced in the time since her 2020 debut album 'Couldn't Wait To Tell You...'. The album's 17 tracks are a document of self-examination, as she works through realizations prompted by grief and grapples with the dynamics of her role in the relationships in her life. Building upon the foundation she laid with CWTTY, 'Girl In The Half Pearl' bares her process of growth, forgiveness and reclamation of her sense of womanhood across an immersive soundscape. The album's artistic shifts developed during her time experimenting with live performance in London earlier this year while under residency at London's Laylow. The 24-year-old artist first garnered attention with her 2017 EP, FRANK, and 2018's Hoopdreams EP. Over the past year, Liv.e shared the standalone Mndsgn-produced single "Bout It," along with a COLORS performance and released 'CWTTY+', the deluxe version of her 2020 critically-acclaimed debut album. She's since performed alongside Earl Sweatshirt and Ravyn Lenae. Liv.e's unique sensibilities have also caught the eye of the fashion world, marked by an appearance in a Miu Miu ad campaign photographed by Tyrone Lebon. Most recently, she was featured on the new Mount Kimbie single titled "a deities encore."

With A Hammer is the debut studio album by New York singer-songwriter Yaeji. “With A Hammer” was composed across a two-year period in New York, Seoul, and London, begun shortly after the release of “What We Drew” and during the lockdowns of the Coronavirus pandemic. It is a diaristic ode to self-exploration; the feeling of confronting one’s own emotions, and the transformation that is possible when we’re brave enough to do so. In this case, Yaeji examines her relationship to anger. It is a departure from her previous work, blending elements of trip-hop and rock with her familiar house-influenced style, and dealing with darker, more self-reflective lyrical themes, both in English and Korean. Yaeji also utilizes live instrumentation for the first time on this album—weaving in a patchwork ensemble of live musicians, and incorporating her own guitar playing. “With A Hammer” features electronic producers and close collaborators K Wata and Enayet, and guest vocals from London’s Loraine James and Baltimore’s Nourished by Time.

'soft like steel’ is documenting a personal process; one of understanding, cleansing, re-learning and ultimate re-birth into a version of myself with renewed perceptions, ideas, and an openness to the new. LVRA represents an idealised version of myself - one that I feel like I can almost touch, but in reality is difficult to achieve. It follows my journey in understanding how my morality, principles and opinions have been shaped by the world and people around me - sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worse. This on-going conversation with myself is a conversation that I hope other people have with themselves too; stepping through the mystical doors of perception, coming into a this unknown universe with me, is choosing the hard way - it is choosing to destroy the comforts of what is familiar, to seek new experiences that allow for greater empathy and understanding of the world and others. Only then do I believe the world can be a more accepting place for all kinds of individuality and differences, and I hope people find safety and acceptance in the music.

“I feel like I have a better sense of boundaries,” Tkay Maidza tells Apple Music. “I know what I do want to do and what I don\'t want to do. I stand up for myself a lot more, and when I go into the studio, I’m not questioning anything. I lost the sense of embarrassment.” The Zimbabwean Australian artist’s second LP comes seven years after her debut, *Tkay*, and two years after the final installment of her *Last Year Was Weird* EP trilogy. In those past couple years in particular, she recognized that she’d been giving too much attention to people who were holding her back. “Before I started making the album, I had this overarching feeling of being embarrassed or not doing the right thing all the time,” she says. Maidza struggled with motivation and faith in herself for a long period, until a series of co-writing sessions in LA in September 2022 saw her hit the accelerator. She found the confidence to listen to herself, to stop second-guessing, to take the high road. “It all just happened really quickly after a year and a half of being confused,” she says. “And I felt like I shouldn\'t question anything because it\'s been a while since I\'ve been on a hot streak like that. I\'m more confident in myself now. I\'m less scared. And even when I do question myself, it’s different now. It’s not because I\'m surrounded by people who constantly criticize me.” *Sweet Justice* is the sum total of that growth. It flows between hip-hop, house, and ’90s-inspired R&B, and features production from KAYTRANADA (“Our Way,” “Ghost!”) and Flume (“Silent Assassin,” which he also co-wrote). There are representations of the stages of grief Maidza encountered as she cleared her life of those holding her back—particularly anger and acceptance. Ultimately, though, it’s a proud acknowledgment of hard-won self-assurance; a wink and a middle finger up at everything and everyone quickly fading away in her rearview mirror. Below, she talks through key tracks on the album. **“Silent Assassin”** “I was letting go of a lot of people and while I was trying to separate myself from them, a lot of them were being really nosy, like, ‘You\'re not doing what you\'re supposed to be doing. What are you doing? You\'re supposed to be working.’ And little did they realize that I was working, it just didn\'t involve them. So this is basically me describing what I\'m actually up to and what they don\'t understand. I’m continuing my life without them, basically.” **“Ring-A-Ling”** “This was one of the first songs where I had a sense of finally healing, I was coming from an empowered place. Before, I was trying to figure out how to finish the song. I was sleeping a lot, I was procrastinating a lot, and the song was almost like my spirit saying, ‘Wake up, babes, it\'s time to get the money. There\'s business calling you.’ It’s my inner cheerleader telling me to wake up and get it, because time keeps moving with or without you, and the more you keep moving, the more you get results.” **“WUACV”** “I was letting go of the old people in my life and there was a sense of sadness, but then there came this feeling of anger. I remember a lot of people on Twitter were writing, \'Woke up and chose violence.’ That was such a meme, and I wrote it down as a song title. Then I heard this beat and it sounded like a riot. I wanted to make something that you could mosh to at a show, but it was kind of sneaky and smart in a way, like, be patient. You’re holding in the anger and then you let it go and that can contain it. It\'s like, ‘I\'m dangerous, don\'t try me. I could unleash, but I\'m choosing not to.’ And I think the healthiest way for me to channel that was in the music. Otherwise, I\'ll just be doing unproductive things.” **“Out of Luck”** “One of my focuses was to make smooth songs that also hit hard. You can listen to it in your lounge room or you can go to a party and it\'s banging. When I heard the instrumental for ‘Out of Luck,’ the energy just really embodied that mood board for what a Tkay album should sound like. I was in this powerful stage coming through grievance and acceptance where I almost felt sorry for everyone. I\'m like, ‘Damn, I\'m really about to start flying off. I\'m literally gone.’ And instead of thinking that I lost something, I think it\'s more powerful for girls to be like, ‘It was their loss.’” **“Won One”** “This one was really fun to do. I’m such a big fan of Aaliyah and Timbaland. So the mood board was around that inspiration, and also doubling down on the early-2000s idea by kind of interpolating USHER’s ‘U Remind Me,’ but flipping it to be from a girl\'s perspective. I really wanted to make songs that were about overcoming and reflecting, but not from a sad point of view. I think the lyrics are really honest—and I often feel that if you\'re able to speak about something, you\'ve moved on from it. So the fact that I could actually express how I felt in a way that I haven\'t before was a new sense of maturity and growth in terms of accepting my past and being okay with it.” **“What Ya Know”** “One of the things I really wanted to do on this album was to build on the universe of house music. I wanted to make at least three house songs. The other goal for this one was to create almost a girl group. It sounds like there\'s three people on the song. And to embody this empowering feeling, like you\'re walking through a club and everyone\'s looking at you, and they just don\'t know what it is that keeps them looking at you. You can tell they\'re kind of confused, and you’re okay with that. It\'s like, ‘I\'ve got a secret that you don\'t know about.’” **“Walking on Air”** “I really wanted a song that felt like that indie blog era, where they\'d pitch up vocals. The concept was about almost wanting to be in this state of blissful ignorance and being okay with it. I feel like I walk through life that way, with blind optimism, and I wanted to capture it in a song. And it kind of wraps the whole album up in a way—nothing really matters as long as I\'m sitting in this ‘ignorance is bliss’ state of mind and just being okay with not knowing what\'s going to happen.”

Post-humanism was a passion and a coping mechanism on yeule’s breakthrough album, 2022’s *Glitch Princess*, art-pop that escaped into the simulation and drew raw emotion from its artifice. Their third full-length finds the shape-shifting musician regaining their bearings as a human being, and trading short-circuiting electronica for the fuzzy sounds of shoegaze and ‘90s alt-rock. The effect is that of an AI yearning to be flesh and blood: “If only I could be/Real enough to love,” they sing over downcast guitar chords on “ghosts” as their voice glitches into decay. On the bleakly gorgeous “software update,” yeule fantasizes about a lover downloading their mind after their body is gone, over a swelling, reverberating wall of sound. There’s a tactile quality to the album’s digital processing reminiscent of ‘90s Warp Records staples like Boards of Canada or Aphex Twin, shot through with the melancholy that accompanies nostalgia for a time that’s long gone and barely remembered.

For every crossover smash in Tinashe’s catalog (like 2014’s massive “2 On”), there’s a dozen slinky experiments that are way too weird for pop airwaves. In the decade since her breakthrough mixtape, 2013’s murky *Black Water*, the former teen actor and girl-group member has resisted the path to rote R&B stardom and opted for the road less traveled, dabbling in moody downtempo or twitchy breakbeats when she pleases. On *BB/ANG3L*, her third release since going independent in 2019, the singer counters the fun, flirty “Needs” (as in, those things that turn humans into simps) with left-field tracks like “Tightrope,” which could be a long-lost deep cut from Janet Jackson’s *The Velvet Rope*.

Five years after her critically acclaimed studio debut *Lost & Found*, Jorja Smith returns more self-assured than ever. On *falling or flying*, the UK singer-songwriter stays true to her roots, her lush tone draping over jazzy, futuristic production, while cuts like “GO GO GO” give listeners access to Smith’s more lighthearted side as she dips into indie rock territory. While *Lost & Found* exuded the energy of an exploratory coming-of-age for the then-19-year-old, *falling or flying* is a brutally honest expression of all the artist has learned. In her return to the musical spotlight, Smith also found her way back to her hometown of Walsall after spending a handful of years in London, during which time she worked on her sophomore album. *falling or flying* represents the singer’s blossoming sense of self amidst relentless public opinion, once again proving her intricate capabilities as a storyteller through both lyricism and vocal prowess.

One of Icelandic singer-songwriter-pianist Laufey’s primary concerns beyond just making her style of vocal jazz is to bring jazz, in general, to a younger audience. Hosting live sessions on TikTok and Instagram and getting co-signs from Billie Eilish and WILLOW are a couple ways she’s managed to connect to her peers, but it is the music—and, more specifically, the lyrics—that really does the heavy lifting. Laufey (pronounced *LAY-vay*) is a traditionalist at heart, and her influences (think Billie Holiday and Chet Baker) shine through in the melancholic torch songs that make up her second album. (She also regularly covers the standards, and includes a version of Erroll Garner and Johnny Burke’s “Misty” here.) But it’s in the decidedly modern words she sings where she makes new breakthroughs. A tune like “While You Were Sleeping” could be a lost Songbook addition, but its lyrics—“I\'m dancing down streets/Smiling to strangers/Idiotic things/I trace it all back/3:30 am”—draw a solid line between today and the past. Yet still, her voice’s richness and her phrasing are as spellbinding as those of many of her icons. Her songs can be inventive and playful, forlorn and wrenching, and she sings of love and lack thereof with a depth beyond her 24 years. But it’s in those unexpected, fanciful twists where Laufey really impresses. In “Letter to My 13 Year Old Self,” she sings about the awkwardness of teenage years with a sensitivity and frankness that’s very much a product of the present day.

Rooms feature everywhere on Holly Humberstone’s debut album—including in its title, *Paint My Bedroom Black*. That wasn’t a conscious move, says the British singer-songwriter, but it’s reflective of when the record was made, on tour in 2022. “I’d say I spent 90 percent of the year on the road, which I loved,” she tells Apple Music. “My favorite times were last year. But it’s also such an emotional roller coaster: traveling, being in different cities. I started to feel like I was living this weird double life and was struggling to connect with the people back home. I lost sense of who I was a little bit.” *Paint My Bedroom Black*—written in “grounding” sessions between tour dates—captures Humberstone’s yearning for those people back home and her guilt at not being around enough (see the self-castigating “Antichrist”), but also tentative new love (album standout “Kissing in Swimming Pools”), the simple joy of reuniting with someone you’ve missed (“Room Service,” which recalls José González’s “Heartbeats”), and realizing you see the same sky as the people you’re miles away from (the d4vd-featuring “Superbloodmoon”). And here, Humberstone embraces the brooding alt-pop that earmarked her as one of the UK’s most promising young singer-songwriters, but expands it too, with touches of country and Americana (she credits her love of Kacey Musgraves and Springsteen for this), skittering electro-pop (“Flatlining”), plenty of vocoder, and even ’90s breakbeats (“Lauren”). All of which, to Humberstone, feels like “chaos.” “There’s so much going on, every track is a different story and something new that I’m trying to figure out,” she says. But when the album was finished, she realized it also captured two distinct parts of herself. “I didn’t do it on purpose, but to me, the album is split in two. There’s one side that’s my extrovert self, reclaiming my love for everybody back home and reaching out,” she says. “And then the other side, which is just wanting to shut everything out.” Read on as Humberstone lets us in on her debut record—and both of those sides—one track at a time. **“Paint My Bedroom Black”** “This was such a release to write. I had a couple of days off and my producer Rob \[Milton\] flew over to join me in New York. We got a little studio and it was the biggest relief after such a long time. To me this feels like a really intimate track—like I’m wanting to shut everything out. I didn’t write it about anybody. It just came from things that I was feeling about myself and about the world that I was finding myself in. It was just reclaiming myself a little bit. But there’s something positive about it, it feels like the start of something.” **“Into Your Room”** “I didn’t realize until I finished the record, but rooms come up in nearly every song. This time we were in LA and Rob flew over again and we went in with Ethan Gruska \[boygenius, Phoebe Bridgers, Ryan Beatty\]. A theme of this album is feeling like I was neglecting people at home and not being there for the people I wanted to be there for—and I wanted to turn those things into something that felt positive. It’s a love song about wanting to be close to someone. We were trying to get across an embrace of somebody after not having seen them for such a long time—\[I was\] proclaiming my love for people back home. The production is really upbeat and sparkly and shiny.” **“Cocoon”** “I got off tour and was trying to navigate picking things up at home after being away for so long. It’s really hard getting back home and being jet-lagged, and then that rolling into not wanting to get out of bed \[or\] face the fact that I’ve returned to normal life. Mental health and feeling depressed isn’t an easy thing to write about but it felt really important to do that. An angsty, guitar-heavy song was fun and really healing to write.” **“Kissing in Swimming Pools”** “We wrote and recorded it in a day and didn’t change much. It’s about the start of a relationship. I’d gotten home and been able to see this person a little bit more, and it was just a really positive thing that was going on in my life alongside the stresses of trying to write an album, being on tour, and being away. I just wanted to write a love song for this person, that was all there was to it. Everything felt live and washy and reverbing, because that’s how those feelings are.” **“Ghost Me”** “One of my strengths and downfalls is that I form really strong attachments to people and then become dependent on them—I cling onto people a lot. When everything else is changing, I find it really comforting to know that the people back home are still there and that they’re kind of a constant. I think that this song especially is me wanting to literally clutch on for dear life to these people. The voice note at the end is my friend Lauren. She had sent it to me earlier that day and I just thought it was hilarious. We put it in, thinking that it was a joke and that we were probably going to take it out at a later date. But it just never ended up coming out.” **“Superbloodmoon” (feat. d4vd)** “I’d been a fan of d4vd’s for a while and knew he was in London, so reached out. I’d had the title ‘Superbloodmoon’ in my notes and something like ‘The Superbloodmoon, can you see it from where you are?’ He was able to relate to me quite a lot with the touring and being away from home and wanting that one thing that would connect you back to the people you were longing to see. I’m so grateful to d4vd for being so down to be part of it.” **“Antichrist”** “This is about the end of my first proper relationship where I just couldn’t be enough for them. And just feeling like a bit of a letdown, I guess. Obviously I’m over-exaggerating \[in the song\]—I’m not actually a terrible person! I feel like you hear a lot of breakup songs and being brokenhearted and somebody hurting you, but I’d never really heard many songs about being on the other side of it and how that can also break your heart a little bit, about who you thought you were. It’s kind of an apology song.” **“Lauren”** “This was another with Rob and Ethan. We’d been in a new space in London for a good few days and I’d not been able to make any progress with writing. The studio had this old-fashioned drum machine and it was about building something that felt cool from that to try and spark some sort of inspiration. Ethan built this weird drum loop and then I jumped on the Wurlitzer and started playing some kind of darker chords underneath. And that’s where the song came from.” **“Baby Blues”** “There’s the voice note from Lauren and there’s the song ‘Lauren’ about her obviously. I wrote quite a lot of songs about her. I wrote this about her coming to visit—she’d come to visit me and then she’d left. I wanted to write about seeing her getting off the train and being across the zebra crossing from me and just getting to see somebody that I loved again. It was so simple. I got addicted to the demo—I thought it was perfect, this little snippet. A little breath.” **“Flatlining”** “The person I wrote ‘Antichrist’ about moved literally down the road from me, with a friend. When you have the same friends, your lives are kind of intwined and at some point you’re going to run into each other. It’s that fear of being ambushed by old feelings that I really just want to bury and not think about. But it ended up being totally fine and, after I wrote this, I felt like we were friends again, which is weird because the chorus is, ‘We just can’t be friends anymore.’ But I think I have a tendency to blow things out of proportion! We introduced the little heart monitor sounds and I think you can hear the anxiety in the percussion—the feeling of not knowing where your head is at or how things are going to play out. It’s an anxiety-inducing song, for sure.” **“Elvis Impersonators”** “I wanted to write about my sister being away—she lives in Tokyo and she must have such a different life that I have nothing to do with, which is really hard to grasp. I really don’t know the person that she is over there. We’d been to visit her before the pandemic and we had this really hilarious night out where there were all of these Michael Jackson and Elvis impersonators. It was just really bizarre but funny, and I wanted to put it into a song. But this is really about missing a sister.” **“Girl”** “It’s yearning for a deeper connection. I think when you’re away, you meet so many people and so many things that seem superficial and surface level. I think the yearning in my voice in this song represents what it’s about.” **“Room Service”** “I’m sure a lot of people are a lot busier than me and have a lot more on their plate than me and have to travel a lot more than I do. But for me, I’m still learning to navigate this side of my life and being away from home more than I’m used to. This song was about wanting to go somewhere really cool and then just shut ourselves in our room, order room service, and catch up: This is the only place that I want to be, the only thing that really matters. Which is how I feel about my friends and everybody I wrote this album about. It felt like the closing track because it sums everything up to me in a really nice way. It feels like the closing of the chapter.”

Chappell Roan is not afraid to tell you—or, really, sing at you—about how she\'s feeling, in vivid detail. On her debut album, the Missouri-born upstart, who has been making waves since the 2017 release of her intense debut single “Good Hurt,” collects tales of debauchery and despair as it chronicles her realization of being queer and coming into her own. *The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess* opens with Roan singing mournfully about a dastardly ex-boyfriend over trembling pianos and starlit choirs; an insistent beat rises up gradually at first, then overtakes the song as she realizes she needs to be part of a “Femininomenon” that demands pleasure and respect from anyone lucky enough to be in her orbit. Left turns like that abound over the next 13 songs. Take the synth-pop “Casual,” which dissects a friends-with-benefits relationship in brutally specific detail, or the euphoric club cut “Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl,” an insouciant dismissal of “hyper mega bummer boys” that opens with a sardonic mini-monologue and closes with a triumphant sing-along. Roan still traffics in ballads, too: “California” grapples with homesickness and frustration, Roan dipping down into her voice\'s low reaches, while the plush “Coffee” examines the idea of fully closing the loop with an ex, with the reality of its impossibility closing in as the music swells. There\'s a hunger that drives Roan\'s music, even in its more introspective moments. It isn\'t just sexual, although songs like the smirking poison-pen letter “My Kink Is Karma” and the flirty electro-psych come-on “Red Wine Supernova” show off how Roan\'s erotic awakening has helped her whole outlook on life come into sharp relief. Her willingness to take pop in unexpected directions, combined with her frankness about the tangled feelings that arise even when good things seem to be happening, make her debut compulsively listenable.

It was the hypnotic club groove of her 2022 single “Kerosene” that set Biig Piig on the path to making *Bubblegum*. There was something about the song that told Irish-born, Spanish-raised singer-producer Jess Smyth that it shouldn’t be a stand-alone single. “It felt like something that was going to branch out into a whole project,” she tells Apple Music. “It didn’t feel fully formed—it felt like a sentence rather than a paragraph. Initially, there was no idea for a mixtape, but the more I kept writing, I pieced it together slowly.” Recorded in New York, Los Angeles, and London and exploring the blossoming and breaking of a relationship, *Bubblegum* is an imaginative leap forward for Smyth, pairing confessional pop with techno soundscapes, garage beats, airy hooks, and cut-up samples across its seven tracks. For Smyth, it was a reminder of what her relationship with music is. “It doesn’t matter where you are in the world or what state you’re in, music will still find you. When I feel like a track hits is when it can take you out of your experience and transport you into \[the song\].” Let Smyth guide you through *Bubblegum*, track by track. **“Only One”** “This song felt quite innocent to me, the first hurdle of a relationship where you’re a bit like, ‘I’ll give you everything. I’ll be everything for you.’ There’s that thing where you’re almost besotted with someone and you’re like, ‘Oh yeah, there’s nothing else for me,’ and getting that across in a way that felt so childlike. I had it for ages and I loved it but I didn’t know I had a mixtape until the end of the process where I was looking back and was like, ‘Actually all of these belong together.’ In that context, it was obvious that this was the start.” **“Liquorice”** “This is a lot sweeter, a lot less like, ‘Oh, I’ve done something wrong’ and more like a love letter to the nostalgia of early love. It’s weird thinking about it in order lyrically, where you already started blaming yourself at the start of the relationship. This second track is almost an obsessive thing over someone. I was working with \[US producer\] Hazey Eyes in New York and I wanted something that felt a little bit more in a dance world. He started bringing out this garage-y beat with it and I was like, ‘Sick.’ Sometimes with choruses, you want to pack it out with stuff and make it really busy but, for this track, I was like, ‘Actually, the space is nice.’ It’s a dream-like, spacey track.” **“Kerosene”** “This was made in London with \[UK producer\] Zach Nahome and Maverick Sabre. We went in and we were playing around with some different stuff and then we came across some melody and chopped that up. When we started to build on the production of it, the first thing that came to mind was the Spanish track \[Daddy Yankee’s\] ‘Gasolina.’ I was like, ‘That’s the energy I felt the track has and if there’s a way to get that across…’ So I was thinking, ‘What’s similar to gasoline but is not gasoline? Maybe kerosene…’ I went off the back of that and it was summer and I was desperate to get that energy on it.” **“This Is What They Meant”** “This was made with \[US producer\] Andrew Wells in LA. I was writing about a time really recent to that when I was with Hazey Eyes in New York. I caught up with a friend out there and was maybe in a state of just wanting to feel loved. I was like, ‘I wonder what it would be like if we were together,’ and then I kind of went through this delusional thing where I convinced myself I was in love with him for five days. I came back and we wrote that track and then got it out of my system and I was fine!” **“Ghosting”** “I did this with \[US producer\] Aaron Shadrow in LA. This is where things kind of take a turn a little bit, where it’s like, ‘Oh, right. I can’t get the feeling from a person and I can indulge all I want and the thought of someone or build them up in my head. Or I can escape into other people for so long and then it’s never resolved and it\'ll never satisfy the thing that I’ve actually been looking for, which is just to escape.’ With ‘Ghosting,’ it\'s the first time that comes into the project.” **“Picking Up” (feat. Deb Never)** “This is about going out and trying to follow the adrenaline, the anxiety that comes with just being on a bit of a run and being scared to stop—stuck in this headspace angry at the world and at the person that you were with as well as everything around it, but also being almost self-indulgent. It’s a song about getting fucked up and not being able to stop, then getting in a loop with it because it feels better than having to face reality where being alone is scary because you don’t know how to be with yourself. It’s that kind of journey in the track. It was written with Deb Never as well, who I love. She’s the best.” **“In the Dark”** “This is kind of the eclipse of the whole project where you’re at a very different place to the beginning of it. You started off at this very innocent relationship where you’re like, ‘I can change, I’ll be different,’ and then you get to the very end. I had the image in my head when you’re the last man standing or you’re on a night out on your own, just dancing and closing your eyes and being stuck on a loop of that. That encapsulated the feeling of this track.”

It was the hypnotic club groove of her 2022 single “Kerosene” that set Biig Piig on the path to making Bubblegum. There was something about the song that told Irish-born, Spanish-raised singer-producer Jess Smyth that it shouldn’t be a stand-alone single. “It felt like something that was going to branch out into a whole project,” she tells “It didn’t feel fully formed—it felt like a sentence rather than a paragraph. Initially, there was no idea for a mixtape, but the more I kept writing, I pieced it together slowly.” Recorded in New York, Los Angeles, and London and exploring the blossoming and breaking of a relationship, Bubblegum is an imaginative leap forward for Smyth, pairing confessional pop with techno soundscapes, garage beats, airy hooks, and cut-up samples across its seven tracks. For Smyth, it was a reminder of what her relationship with music is. “It doesn’t matter where you are in the world or what state you’re in, music will still find you. When I feel like a track hits is when it can take you out of your experience and transport you into [the song].” Let Smyth guide you through Bubblegum, track by track. “Only One” “This song felt quite innocent to me, the first hurdle of a relationship where you’re a bit like, ‘I’ll give you everything. I’ll be everything for you.’ There’s that thing where you’re almost besotted with someone and you’re like, ‘Oh yeah, there’s nothing else for me,’ and getting that across in a way that felt so childlike. I had it for ages and I loved it but I didn’t know I had a mixtape until the end of the process where I was looking back and was like, ‘Actually all of these belong together.’ In that context, it was obvious that this was the start.” “Liquorice” “This is a lot sweeter, a lot less like, ‘Oh, I’ve done something wrong’ and more like a love letter to the nostalgia of early love. It’s weird thinking about it in order lyrically, where you already started blaming yourself at the start of the relationship. This second track is almost an obsessive thing over someone. I was working with [US producer] Hazey Eyes in New York and I wanted something that felt a little bit more in a dance world. He started bringing out this garage-y beat with it and I was like, ‘Sick.’ Sometimes with choruses, you want to pack it out with stuff and make it really busy but, for this track, I was like, ‘Actually, the space is nice.’ It’s a dream-like, spacey track.” “Kerosene” “This was made in London with [UK producer] Zach Nahome and Maverick Sabre. We went in and we were playing around with some different stuff and then we came across some melody and chopped that up. When we started to build on the production of it, the first thing that came to mind was the Spanish track [Daddy Yankee’s] ‘Gasolina.’ I was like, ‘That’s the energy I felt the track has and if there’s a way to get that across…’ So I was thinking, ‘What’s similar to gasoline but is not gasoline? Maybe kerosene…’ I went off the back of that and it was summer and I was desperate to get that energy on it.” “This Is What They Meant” “This was made with [US producer] Andrew Wells in LA. I was writing about a time really recent to that when I was with Hazey Eyes in New York. I caught up with a friend out there and was maybe in a state of just wanting to feel loved. I was like, ‘I wonder what it would be like if we were together,’ and then I kind of went through this delusional thing where I convinced myself I was in love with him for five days. I came back and we wrote that track and then got it out of my system and I was fine!” “Ghosting” “I did this with [US producer] Aaron Shadrow in LA. This is where things kind of take a turn a little bit, where it’s like, ‘Oh, right. I can’t get the feeling from a person and I can indulge all I want and the thought of someone or build them up in my head. Or I can escape into other people for so long and then it’s never resolved and it'll never satisfy the thing that I’ve actually been looking for, which is just to escape.’ With ‘Ghosting,’ it's the first time that comes into the project.” “Picking Up” (feat. Deb Never) “This is about going out and trying to follow the adrenaline, the anxiety that comes with just being on a bit of a run and being scared to stop—stuck in this headspace angry at the world and at the person that you were with as well as everything around it, but also being almost self-indulgent. It’s a song about getting fucked up and not being able to stop, then getting in a loop with it because it feels better than having to face reality where being alone is scary because you don’t know how to be with yourself. It’s that kind of journey in the track. It was written with Deb Never as well, who I love. She’s the best.” “In the Dark” “This is kind of the eclipse of the whole project where you’re at a very different place to the beginning of it. You started off at this very innocent relationship where you’re like, ‘I can change, I’ll be different,’ and then you get to the very end. I had the image in my head when you’re the last man standing or you’re on a night out on your own, just dancing and closing your eyes and being stuck on a loop of that. That encapsulated the feeling of this track.”

“This is about me telling the stories I want to tell, in the order I want to tell them, through the sonic landscape I want to tell them,” RAYE tells Apple Music of her debut album, *My 21st Century Blues*. The South London singer-songwriter, born Rachel Keen, had to wait longer than most to do that. In June 2021, she claimed on social media that she hadn’t been “allowed” to release a debut LP, despite having signed a four-album deal seven years earlier, and that she was “sick of being slept on.” (She left her label shortly after and released this LP as an independent artist.) “There really did have to be quite a lot of soul searching and therapy and forgiveness and reflection,” says RAYE of the aftermath. “I wanted to go back to the songs that I was passionate about.” Those were tracks that RAYE had written years earlier, and which, revisited and reworked, make up half of *My 21st Century Blues*. Most of the others were written fresh, after she escaped to a cabin in Utah with producer and friend Mike Sabath, armed with a laundry list of topics to dig into (reflected in some of the album’s meatier song titles, such as “Body Dysmorphia.” and “Environmental Anxiety.”). *My 21st Century Blues* can sometimes be a difficult listen: RAYE unflinchingly processes traumatic experiences including sexual violence, substance abuse, disordered eating, and the suffocation she has felt as a woman in music, with embraces of everything from trip-hop to hypnotic dance, dancehall, cinematic pop, gospel, blues, and more. Getting to this point, she says, feels like “the most beautiful validation,” as well as something close to healing. “Everything for me on this is so medicinal,” she says. “I’m so excited for the artist now I get to become. This has set the tone for me, knowing how much potential there is in what I can say and what stories I can tell.” Read on as RAYE talks us through every track on her long-awaited debut. **“Introduction.”** “Before synths and electronic stuff, it was just a show. It was a real band. The singer would come on and sing for you in a nice dress or a nice suit. I really wanted listeners to feel like they’re in this little blues club or a jazz club, taking in all the songs as they go on a wild tangent far away from that.” **“Oscar Winning Tears.”** “The version you hear now has really taken on its own form since the original demo. When the situation with the spiking happened \[RAYE’s drink was spiked by a man she knew and trusted\], the man was just crying tears in my face. He was the victim. I was like, ‘Wow, I have a song for this.’ It was liberating. And when we finished it, I knew this had to be the start. I think the initial concept and then the story ended up just merging so perfectly into just a beautiful piece of medicine for me.” **“Hard Out Here.”** “When the story or feeling is burning at my chest, it has to force its way out. It was just rage and pain flowing out. For the line about CEOs and white privilege \[‘All the white men CEOs, fuck your privilege/Get your pink chubby hands off my mouth/Fuck you think this is?’\], my engineer turned and looked at me, but I was like, ‘Yeah, we’re going there!’ This song was me promising myself that I will bounce back. It’s hard to put the story of what I’ve been through into words because it’s so much over so long. In my opinion, I really did such a good job of holding it down and in. Some of the things that were said and the way I was emotionally manipulated, it’s so dark. Coming out the other side of it, I just needed to remind myself that I will bounce back.” **“Black Mascara.”** “I’d just come back from where these assaults took place and was very much not good. It was just after ‘BED’ \[RAYE’s 2021 hit with Joel Corry and David Guetta\] came out, so I was having to sell the pop-girl image. At that time, I had the green light to do an album before they changed their mind for the last time. I played some chords, and they were very vampire-y and medieval. I had the phrase ‘Once you see my black mascara/Run from you’ on the way there, and so I was just building the lyrics. We had a session the next day, but I canceled it—I just wasn’t there—and didn’t listen to the song until maybe three weeks after I was sent it. I pressed play, and it sounds like what you hear now. I put it on repeat.” **“Escapism.” \[with 070 Shake\]** “I think when I was on my way out of the darker chapters in my life, I needed this song. It gives me hope. Mike played me this beat in the car, and I was rapping all this aggressive stuff. I knew exactly what story I wanted to tell on this. When we got to Utah, I went into the toilet and said a little prayer: ‘Dear God, help me find the best lyrics for the song.’ Then I got on the mic, and it came together so quickly—maybe in an hour and a half. I’m still processing the success of this song because I just did not expect it at all. I’m not doing this to gun for mainstream success. I’m not doing this to have the biggest chart records. These songs aren’t about that.” **“Mary Jane.”** “I’m an all-or-nothing person in every aspect of my life. So, when something dangerous is introduced \[substances\], it can get really bad—really, really bad. The lyrics in this song are dark, but substance abuse can really, really take you there. It’s a love song married with a slightly uneasy feeling behind the music. I wanted it to feel uncomfortable.” **“The Thrill Is Gone.”** “This song existed for years but was completely different in the beginning. I always wanted to take it back in time. We recorded it on tape and made it in the Valentine Studio in LA. It’s all carpeted walls, and it felt like a real taste of how music used to be created. Recording it was a beautiful experience. The story feels so classical, but the picture in my head is so distorted and modern and weird. I really love where we took it.” **“Ice Cream Man.”** “This is the hardest song on the album for me. There are so many layers of what’s taken and what’s affected and changed after trauma and sexual violence. So much is stolen. You battle so many minefields of, ‘Is this my fault? Did I put myself in the wrong position? Am I blowing something out of proportion?’ It just becomes this ugly thing that I’m having to deal with for the rest of my life because of someone else’s stupid, disgusting actions. And I think that, at the very least, this is me proclaiming what I am and that these things shouldn’t be allowed to define what we become. It’s as much for me as whoever might be listening who needs to hear it. I wanted it to just feel super intimate, with that hum that comes in at the beginning and these filtered drums. And at the end, you get this moment to feel beautiful with your tears, to stand up and walk out the room and continue with your day.” **“Flip a Switch.”** “I did this with Stephen McGregor \[aka producer Di Genius\], who’s a dancehall legend. He produced so many of the songs I grew up listening to, so he really brought his flair and flavors to the sound. I was in a budding relationship, and I had just decided to let my walls down. I felt it was safe, and then it was like, *bang*. I would have been fine if \[he\] hadn’t given me all this false hope. I was so angry, and it was like, ‘You know what! This song is going to be about you now. Let’s get all the drama out.’ It was very empowering and me saying all the things that I would love to say to his face. But instead, I just put it in the song and proceeded to listen to it all week.” **“Body Dysmorphia.”** “I’d been putting this one off for a while. It was the last day in Utah, and I felt I had to do it. I wanted it to feel sexy, in a weird way. So, we started with these scratchy, really uncomfortable strings, and then you have these smooth drums, which—if you were ignoring the lyrics—you’d probably have a little slow vibe to. It was a stream of consciousness. \[The things I talked about in this song\] can manifest in such ugly ways and hold really intense power over you. I think half of the power of this song is just saying them out loud.” **“Environmental Anxiety.”** “I’m a musician, but we know the state of the world, and you can see so clearly that things are just evidently flipping wrong. But \[the climate crisis\] is out of the control of an average citizen. It requires governments to pull their flipping pants up and put laws in place to better impact the climate. Banning plastic forks is all well and good, but you lot \[politicians\] are doing real serious damage. I thought I’d make a song about it, and I wanted to take the piss because that’s what the government does out of us. I wanted this eerie, childlike energy that brings you in, but also a punky, weird drum thing.” **“Five Star Hotels.” (feat. Mahalia)** “This song existed for a long time, and I always loved it. It was just a way of feeling sexy. We sent it to Mahalia, and when she sent me her verse, it was like, ‘Yes!’ We’re two girls who have dreams and have worked really hard from young ages. She just felt like the right person. Creating music to feel \[sexy\] has been empowering for me.” **“Worth It.”** “I wanted to release this a long time ago. Sometimes there are moments where it’s like, ‘Here comes someone—let’s make all of the shit things feel really cool. And all this work that I’m supposed to be doing on myself, I might pause for a section and start putting some work into this other thing because it feels really nice.’ I wanted to have this near the end of the album—a warm hug as you are leaving some of those darker earlier things. The irony is in putting it just before ‘Buss It Down.’ because it didn’t fucking work out!” **“Buss It Down.”** “It’s the juxtaposition between gospel feelings and a song about getting down. The choice to be single is empowering, and I think this is something for the single girls. It’s all right to be single and be joyous about it. It can be a good thing.” **“Fin.”** “I wanted to have the audience cheer at the end of ‘Buss It Down.’, and I want this thank-you moment. It’s a personal closing—I’m so proud of this album, I’m so grateful that people will even listen to this outro. I’m a human who’s put some stories together, and I’m excited for next time. It’s taken me a long time to get to this point, but we’re here. And the joy of being able to share this moment is really exciting. It’s been a long time coming.”

For many months before its musical creation, Ashnikko had been crafting the worldscape of their debut album in words and images, lusting after the kind of multimedia realization which might accurately reflect their love of fairy folklore, conceptual songwriting and dystopian sci-fi. “We approached the record kind of scoring a film—I had just seen *Dune* and went into the studio with my executive producer like, ‘We have to Hans Zimmer this bitch,’” they tell Apple Music. “Me and my best friend, we scrapbooked for a month, making mood boards of all of our favorite things: Japanese anime like *Angel’s Egg* and *Princess Mononoke*, the video game *Elden Ring*, Neil Gaiman books, Margaret Atwood’s MaddAddam trilogy, old Björk music videos…Regardless of what I was saying lyrically, I’ve created this sonic space that keeps you in the headspace of this post-apocalyptic wasteland.” Anchoring their surrealism in timely social message, *WEEDKILLER* is the sound of an artist overflowing with creative inspiration. Equal parts sinister and celebratory, the vulnerabilities of the singer born Ashton Casey mingle with the album’s fictional lead character, Aster, battling against a beast that is trying to destroy her home. The insatiable tale of the Weedkiller becomes a metaphor for the decaying state of society under deforestation, rampant consumerism, and draconian reproductive rights, but also the places we look to for reprieve; dancing, being at one with nature, the sheer joy of unbridled queer expression, and celestial sex. “A lot of this record is about the reclamation of autonomy,” says Ashnikko. “I really feel like this album was a journey of me stepping into who I am, reclaiming what’s mine and just telling myself that I have value beyond beauty and whatever the male gaze forces me to participate in.” Here is their guide through their multifaceted manifesto, track by track. **“World Eater”** “I was listening to a lot of old M.I.A. tracks when I wrote this song. M.I.A. is one of the main reasons why I make music. Lyrically, the World Eater is another name for the Weedkiller, this guzzling, lifeblood-sucker who just keeps eating and consuming. I was watching a lot of *LOVE DEATH + ROBOTS* and I really wanted to set this post-apocalyptic scene with my main heroine, Aster. She’s covered in blood, rising from the ashes, on this quest to exact revenge. There’s no other emotion than rage in this scene; it’s just white-hot, seeing red. The Weedkiller has a moment of regret for what it’s done to the fae forest: it sees Aster dying on the ground and gives her new wings. But by saving her, the new wings are made of Weedkiller parts, and she becomes half of what she hates. It’s about the battle between the natural world and the artificial one, and part of that is me lamenting how I have to engage in the modern world to make a living. Just screaming every time I have to post on fucking TikTok and get people to use my sound. Honestly, I never want to ever do that ever again. When I’m old, I’m just going to disappear into the forest and forage. I’m going to become an ornamental hermit.” **“You Make Me Sick!”** “Sonically, this song felt like it bridged the old brat pop with the new post-apocalyptic sound. I feel like there’s only one person that I’ve dated that made me feel like I wasted time. Every other person has at least been a learning lesson, but this person was just like, there was so much I could have done instead of being with you. A lot of men that I’ve dated have been so unbelievably intimidated by me having a career, and have been very manipulative in trying to get me to not prioritize that. ‘You Make Me Sick!’ was like a nail in the coffin. I will never, ever accept that in my life ever again. And it feels good to scream—I always find that telling stories about violence helps me to not be a violent person.” **“Worms”** “‘Worms’ is the poppiest one on the record. I was a little hesitant about putting it on, but it brought so much joy to the people who I made it with that I was like, you know what, a little pop song never hurt anyone. I think of it as the more upbeat, slightly deranged sister of ‘World Eater,’ really trying to paint this post-apocalyptic showdown of guns blazing, glowing sword coming out of my back, wielding it and screaming. Just smiling like a little demon as I slice heads off, laughing and dancing and splashing around in the motor oil of the Weedkillers.” **“Super Soaker” (feat Daniela Lalita)** “Daniela is a total ethereal being. I think it was really important to have the people that I was obsessed with at the time of writing this record on the record. I said at the beginning that my main character, Aster, has their forest, their home, their family, their lover destroyed, completely wiped off the face of their planet. In this song, she’s almost having a flashback, walking to the forest and stumbling upon a fairy circle. A fairy queen takes her by the hand, immediately enchanted. She\'s dancing with her, writhing together like snakes. The trees are watching, there are eyes everywhere. She is just basically fucking in the forest with this fairy queen. I really like to write queer, erotic music—the indie space of very heart-wrenching queer love songs, that’s already well covered. I’m here to write about writhing and licking each other.” **“Don’t Look at It”** “‘Tony Hawk, I’m doing tricks until my tongue hurt,’ ‘I can’t help that I want to be titty-smothered.’ Those two lines…Honestly, I wrote them and I just had to go for a walk like, ‘Wow, I really can’t top myself on this one.’ I remember playing it to my mom and she was just blushing so hard like, ‘How did we get here?’ I wasn’t really raised in a musical household—my mom took me to musical theater rehearsals and that was about it, but now I’m writing about being titty-smothered. There are a lot of themes on this album that are very serious, but then there’s also this silly erotic song. Amidst all the grieving and the raging, I think there has to be space for being silly and lighthearted and sexy.” **“Cheerleader”** “I used to be a cheerleader and a gymnast—hyper-feminine but also incredibly grueling and painful sports. \[You\] put in hours and hours in training and hone your body to be this backflipping wonder of the world, but then there’s still this element of needing to be beautiful and cute in little shorts. I thought that the cheerleader was an interesting character to tell this story, this cult-like squad who are worshipping this beast that demands they sacrifice their blood, sweat, tears, and bodies. In a patriarchal society, isn’t it such a tragedy that we feel like our worth diminishes as we lose that social currency of eternal youth and beauty and fuckability, whereas cis men just get to have value forever? I want women and femmes to feel that they can have a hundred different evolutions in their life and that the possibilities are endless.” **“Moonlight Magic”** “‘Moonlight Magic’ was really inspired by Y2K pop music. I just wanted to write a little joyful, sexy song about someone being a moon and pulling the tides of my body, feeling almost humiliated by how much you like someone. Having a crush on someone is so embarrassing! This is another song that I’m singing to my fairy lover, this gorgeous kind of cold, very mysterious force in my life. I feel like a stupid mortal around her, and she’s this ethereal being just commanding my body, and I love it. There are a lot of chugging guitars in here, which I think felt right to balance out the pop. But yeah, it definitely is an ode to Miss Britney.” **“Miss Nectarine”** “This is a song I have been wanting to write for years. I had my canon event of falling in love with a best friend who would make out with me as practice for boys and didn’t actually like me that way. I was just this little child, struggling with these feelings, and I remember my mom being really confused as to why I was so mad at my friend for dating boys. We were from rural North Carolina where there were no out queer people, so she just didn’t even know what that looked like. And neither did I. Representation is super important, especially for people who live in smaller towns and don’t have access to seeing queer people living happy lives and having happy endings. When I think of nectarines, I think of summer—biting into fruit and having juice running down my face. It’s uncomfortable and sticky and sweet, but with this hard pit that breaks your heart. There are no hard feelings against her; obviously: not returning someone’s love is completely fine. But this is just me talking about how heartbreaking that was for me and how there were loads of religious parents involved in shaming me for how I felt.” **“Chokehold Cherry Python”** “This song is a kind of a continuation of my song \[2020 single\] ‘Daisy.’ It’s just this vigilante hunting through the wasteland, overcome with rage, not being able to see clearly through her blood-tinted glasses. It’s like a Harley Quinn, Tank Girl, Jinx, bad-bitch mashup, and it felt really good to write. I feel like I’m really setting the scene of this very sinister, smiling character from ‘Worms,’ where the character has become so wicked that everything is just hilarious. Even their own pain is hilarious as they hunt down the Weedkillers to destroy them.” **“WEEDKILLER”** “I wrote the short story for ‘WEEDKILLER’ and then immediately went into the studio the next day and told Slinger, my executive producer, like, ‘We’ve got it. This is it.’ It all kind of exploded out. Before that, we had been doing writing camps, loads of sessions, and nothing felt right—there wasn’t a thread to hold onto. But writing this was like, OK, everything that I write will be a cousin or a sibling of this song. It was a real lightning-in-a-bottle moment.” **“Want It All”** “I was listening to a lot of Rihanna when I wrote this. It’s about this psychedelic trip where the flowers are speaking to me and asking me to follow them deeper and deeper into the garden. It’s almost this love letter to being alive and wanting to experience everything that the world has to offer. I want to be heartbroken. I want to scream. I want to bleed. I want someone to crash into me like a train. I want to lay in a field of flowers. I want to become an expert on mushroom foraging. I want to write a book, I want to write a play, I want to fuck someone in a tree. I want mediocrity, the highs and the lows. I want to feel it all.” **“Possession of a Weapon”** “This was written in the immediate aftermath of the *Roe vs. Wade* ruling. I think the line for me that is the most important in this song is, ‘How dare I have private desires?’ It’s insane to me how I do not have autonomy over my own uterus. Sometimes it feels like we’re building this new world out of papier-mâché. As soon as the powers that be want to, they just come and rain on you and turn everything to mush. It truly felt like any control that AFAB people were starting to have over themselves, their bodies and their futures, was built out of our papier-mâché, because it was so easily taken away from us. Daniela Lalita helped produce this song too, and it felt right for it to be mournful. I think with anything that involves changing the course of history and fighting for people to have basic human rights, you go through waves of hope and hopelessness. When I was writing this, I felt so heartbroken, so sad for the communities that this will affect the most. It’s just so overwhelming to feel like your body is being used as a pawn in some game.” **“Dying Star (feat. Ethel Cain)”** “Having Ethel Cain on this song was super special. She’s an incredible songwriter and instrumentalist, and she loves a world build. Putting ‘Possession of a Weapon’ right before ‘Dying Star’ was intentional, because I wanted to end the record with something very hopeful. The very last line is, ‘I want something soft.’ The people who have been unkind to me have made me unkind, but, ultimately, I just want a soft place to land. That’s exactly what this song is about, pulling those thorns of the Weedkiller out one by one and looking for someone to take me in. It’s definitely a love song. Existing in a very patriarchal world, especially in the South, under the dark cloud of religion, I’ve had to build myself back up and tell myself that actually I do deserve something kind. Being with someone who is soft and kind to me, I think, was quite shocking, because being hurt is the default setting. I like to think of this person as this new sentient planet, reaching out and catching me softly in her baseball mitt. Something so simple, but something that everyone should have the ability to do in their lifetimes. I wish everyone that—a safe space to exist and be themselves.”

Amber Bain—the East London-based singer-songwriter who goes by The Japanese House—took her time with her second album (four years, to be precise, passed between her 2019 debut *Good at Falling* and the arrival of *In the End It Always Does*). “It was this weird, really expansive time where I was like, ‘I can’t think of anything to say,’” Bain tells Apple Music. “I’d write the odd song here and there, but I’d moved out of London, gone to \[English coastal town\] Margate and was living this slowed-down version of life, both because of lockdown and because I was out of the city.” Then, Bain broke up with her girlfriend and moved back to the capital—events which finally provided the catalyst for her second record. “It felt like my life was kind of restarting simultaneously with the ending \[of the relationship\],” she says. “It’s a very inspiring place to be, when you’re on the edge. It’s really easy to engage with ideas and your core emotions and wants when you’re not in a very stable place.” *In the End It Always Does* is an album—as its cover art suggests—about circularity (it’s not lost on Bain that its predecessor was also about a breakup), how distance can grow to become an uncrossable void in a relationship, and endings, whether that’s a split or the gradual fade of the pain you feel after one, something Bain found herself just as devastated by. All of which is set against “classic sounds: really nice guitars, really nice strings, really nice pianos” and, often, an embrace of Bain’s poppier side. Stepping away from her computer, she says, was creatively liberating. As was the cast of people she surrounded herself with, including long-term friend and collaborator George Daniel of The 1975, and producer Chloe Kraemer (who’s worked with Rina Sawayama, LAVA LA RUE, and more). “Working with a queer woman really opened up the emotion,” says Bain of working with Kraemer. “The conversations Chloe and I had during this record I wouldn’t have had with anyone else, because no one really gets it the same as she does. I just do think that communication between two women is different. And queer people—there’s a level of understanding there that you can\'t get really otherwise.” Below, Bain takes us inside her raw, honest, and beautiful second album, one track at a time. **“Spot Dog”** “As soon as I wrote the piano introduction to this, I knew it would start the album. My ex and I loved the film *One Hundred and One Dalmatians* and it’s a direct ode to a song called ‘A Beautiful Spring Day’ by George Bruns from the \[1961\] film’s soundtrack. I was using the song as an experiment: What do I want to be in my record? Do I want pianos and strings? Do I want synths? Do I want guitar-y bits? And this covers all bases on the album. I was really using the song as a palette to throw everything at in the beginning and see where I landed.” **“Touching Yourself”** “I’ll often write half a song when I’m in one place and then, when I try and finish it, I’ll be in a completely different place. So it ends up taking on a whole new meaning. For the first half of this, I was in the throes of romance and thought it was fun to write a song about sexting. It ended up being about someone being far away from you. Obviously, at the beginning I was far away from this person a lot—I was always touring. And then suddenly I was close to them all the time because it was lockdown, yet felt so far away from them. I feel like I’m really embracing a more poppy side of myself—often I hold myself back on that front. Originally, I was trying to write a chorus around this weird time signature, and in the end I gave up and was like, ‘I’m just going to write a really fun, simple pop chorus.’ It was a good lesson—the most simple songs are often my favorites.” **“Sad to Breathe”** “I wrote this when Marika \[Hackman, Bain’s ex, who *Good at Falling* is about\] and I broke up. We’re really good friends now and have sorted everything out—we’re very close. When I think about how completely depressed and destroyed I was from that breakup, I almost find it cute and funny. I think that’s why I decided to make the rest of that song euphoric and in double time. I guess in some ways it’s me looking back positively on this really sad time, and telling my former self that it’s going to be OK.” **“Over There”** “This is about when I was living in a throuple and one of them left. Then, in lockdown, she’d found another partner and ended up going to live with them. I felt really sad about that. The song is talking about how something beautiful so nearly happened, and how that feels such a loss when it doesn’t. My favorite line in it is, ‘She keeps her coat on/There’s not a lot to go on/She used to dote on me.’ It’s that feeling that you used to be so close to someone and now they don’t even take their coat off when they come round because they know they’re about to leave. That feeling—it’s like someone’s punching your chest. Musically, I was in a bit of a rut and \[US producer\] BJ Burton sent me something that he and \[Bon Iver’s\] Justin Vernon had been working on. I started writing over the little loop he sent me—luckily they said I could keep using the chords, because that would have really thrown a spanner in the works!” **“Morning Pages”** “There’s this book called *The Artist’s Way* where you write every morning. It’s meant to be a way of opening your brain and you’re supposed to throw away \[what you’ve written\] and not read it afterwards. I only ever did it once and it became the lyrics to this song. I sent Katie \[Gavin of MUNA\] the song and she wrote a verse on it. I fell in love with what she wrote—she’s great at completely understanding what a song is about. We’ve been friends with MUNA for so long and I really like the way our voices sound together. I think we’re drawn to this style of song, where the theme is sad and gay. I think it’s perfect.” **“Boyhood”** “I wasn’t in a particularly good place when I wrote the early version of this song. I was thinking about trauma and things that happen to you in your life—how you become the summation of those things and how that feels unfair in a way. I was also thinking about gender in terms of me not having had a boyhood. The word ‘girlhood’ doesn’t really even exist. I was thinking about how different it would be had I had a boyhood because a lot of the time I felt like I was a boy and would dress as a boy, asked to be called a boy’s name. It’s taken me a long time to accept certain aspects of my gender. In some ways, it’s about embracing the things that have happened to you and about letting go of others in order to become someone that you feel you are intrinsically. The demo was really electronic, then we experimented with stripping everything back and it becoming a completely acoustic organic song. We watched this video of a gay dance group dancing in cowboy hats and boots in front of the White House—I think it’s in the early noughties at Pride—and it’s exactly the same BPM as ‘Boyhood.’ We wanted to encapsulate a definite cowboy twang but also \[have\] a campness to it. It’s a dance song in a weird way—just a stripped-back, acoustic dance song.” **“Indexical reminder of a morning well spent”** “In lockdown, my then girlfriend and I were reading outside and having a really lovely morning. We were eating croissants or jam on toast and I accidentally got something on one of her books—a little fingerprint of jam or something. I was like, ‘I’m so sorry.’ She said, ‘It’s OK, it’s an indexical reminder of a morning well spent.’ She just made that up! And I wrote it down immediately. The song is about giving in to love and solitude and repetitive life. It’s a little map of things that were going on over the period of lockdown.” **“Friends”** “I had a much slower version of this originally. George and I were both pretty depressed at this point and I think we sped it up just to make a dance tune to cheer us up. I think we were a bit sick of listening to all these sad songs. George is an amazing sound designer when it comes to writing drum parts and creating rhythms. And I’m good at making basslines. We were collaborating in this new way, and it was really fun to explore that. Later, we ended up adding these Paul Simon-y guitars and making slightly less electronic. I don’t even know what genre this is, but it’s fun to have a sexy song about threesomes.” **“Sunshine Baby”** “I would call my ex and my dog my ‘sunshine babies.’ My dog is obsessed with the sun, and me and my ex are the same—probably some of the best moments of our relationship were just lying on the beach in Margate. The song started as an attempt to find a way to stop fighting, but at the end it became sort of a resignation about the relationship ending. That speaks to what the whole album is about. Do you resign to being in something that you’re not completely happy with, or do you resign to it ending? And which one’s worse? There’s relief in giving up. And you can hear that in the music—there’s catharsis in the outro, the sax, and lying back on a beach in the sand looking up at the sun like, ‘OK, fine.’” **“Baby goes again”** “This is inspired by Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Honey Hi’ or ‘Tusk.’ I think it’s about the feeling like you’re always on the cusp of fixing everything. Then I’d often feel like I’d just go and fuck everything up, or one of us would. Just when you’re starting to feel great again, someone’s done something stupid. There’s the lyric in there, ‘I keep circling/You can’t stop a circle, but I keep coming back around, at least I can’t keep coming back around.’ That again links to the title and the album art so clearly. It was: ‘I’m aware that I keep repeating myself and making the same mistakes, but at least I keep coming back around.’ I was wondering if that can be enough. And it wasn’t. But I think the song was the last glimpse of hope for my relationship in a lot of ways.” **“You always get what you want”** “I wrote this song when I was 17 or 18. It’s the oldest song on the record, and I really liked it. It was about when my girlfriend left me for a boy, and I was bitter. I was just like, you always get everything you want. Now, that person is one of my best friends because we were so young when we were together. But she makes a joke that I’ve cursed her and that, ever since I wrote that, things keep going wrong for her. The original version of the song was so embarrassing, but I really like the bass of it. We did all the production for it in one day.” **“One for sorrow, two for Joni Jones”** “I had this instrumental thing written with the piano and strings, and I had this idea that we’d have some sort of lyrical rambling over the top of it, kind of like an ode to Joni Mitchell. Obviously I love her so much and I named my dog after her. I went into the studio and said I’d written this weird thing—a poem I’d written hungover that morning after seeing a Charli XCX show—and that maybe it could be the lyrical rambling. Katie Gavin came in and sung pretty much the exact melody we have for it now. It was just so magical watching her do that—she was kind of laughing and crying and me and Chloe were both sobbing. It’s just one of the most honest and pure things I’ve ever written. It’s on the cusp of being embarrassing because it’s radical honesty. But I think it pulls back at the right moments. It’s talking about how it’s so sad that you think your life’s going to end \[after a breakup\], but actually day to day, you’re just going to be walking in the park with your little dog and everything’s going to be pretty much the same. This is definitely the most raw and real thing I’ve ever released.”