There are a dozen reasons Orla Gartland’s "Pretending" might resonate with you. It might be the closing introverted plea to go home after spending too long at a house party you don’t wanna be at. It might be the disconnect between the face you paint on to catch in a mirror from the one you know best. Or it might be the hook, begging you to admit that you’re pretending too. For me, the line that hit hardest was the final question of the chorus, “Who are you so afraid to be?” It spoke to me for the very simple reason that it’s a question I’ve never thought to ask. I’ve asked why I’m afraid, I’ve asked how not to be. I’ve never bothered to tease out who I am that it feels so uncomfortable to peel back all the layers and expose. I know there’s a dozen facets I could lean into or out of at any given time, almost comfortably. As long as I can remember, I’ve co-existed in a virtually infinite number of spheres — some organic and others forced. However, the person sitting at the center of them all, fluidly weaving them together, is an absolute mystery to me. "Pretending" held up a mirror with a question mark, and it utterly gripped me. The track opens with ethereal harmonies that remind me of the Grouper album that my friend recommended, which I listened to until I understood why he likes it. Next, gentle rhythm math rock guitars layer in, reminding me of the Tessa Violet concert I brought my dad to, where he had so much fun he bought a pin to remember it. The guitar texture morphs into shoegaze that reminds me of the first time I ventured to a living room full of amps, kids and beer. Abruptly the track collapses into itself. Gartland's voice stands alone aside from some empty echoes from pizzicato strings. I’m back in a recital hall with a cello between my knees, my breath matching someone else’s. Suddenly everything returns: bass, drums, guitars, all slam onto the scene. It’s a game changer. From then on, all the pieces effortlessly flow and twist together, only existing completely once they’re all together. It makes sense. It resonates. Photo by Karina Barberis and Greta Isaac.

Belgian indie group Pale Grey’s single, “Seasons” off of their new album, Waves is the perfect complement to a quiet fall afternoon. It starts off with a simple beat and some garage-like synths that quickly fill up the track with a feeling of longing. Though it sits at just over two minutes, the song packs an emotional punch with minimal production. It asks the question of whether or not you can go on when the one you love passes away, and in that contemplation is where the song shines.

Indie favorites JR JR, formerly known as Dale Earnhardt JR JR, have returned to the scene with new music after their self-titled LP back in 2015. The new single, “Clean Up” offers a look at the mind of someone coming to terms with their addictions and indulgences. The duo uses a throbbing bass line, simple plucked guitar and harmonies to illustrate the conflict that happens when one willfully chooses something that is bad for them. “Clean Up” brings JR JR to a more provocative realm, and one that we are excited to see more of in the upcoming album.

Henry Jamison is a storyteller at heart. It may be in his blood — his father, a classical composer, and his mother, an English professor — but Jamison is a writer and artist in his own right, evidenced by his debut album The Wilds (released October 27th). Beyond writing, recording and arranging the album all on his own, Jamison has a special ability to bring each track to life. Take his song, “The Wilds”: it’s instrumentally rich without being overbearing, letting Jamison’s narrative whisk you away. “The Wilds” sounds like an old-time American love story - unassuming and familiar, but nevertheless, still surprising.

Los Angeles genre-bending artist Moses Sumney released his gorgeous and ethereal debut album Aromanticism into the world this September. Sumney has made a big impression on artists like Solange and Sufjan Stevens for good reason. His infusion of soul and folk come together on this album in a way that leaves us begging for more. A prime example of this heavenly blend is found on the third song of the album, “Plastic.” A previous version of the song can be heard on the first season of Issa Rae’s HBO series, Insecure. This new version serves as one of the more simplistic songs on the album, featuring just a fingerpicked electric guitar, a synth and Sumney’s captivating voice. The hook of the song repeats the line “my wings are made of plastic,” each time sung in a slightly different way than it was before, continuing to imbue the phrase with new meaning. This song of vulnerability, self-awareness and secret-spilling is the kind that you can leave on repeat and get lost in for hours.