The perfect balance of brash and beautiful, raw and refined, “Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole,” the latest cover by Buzzsession alum, Your Smith, is an acoustic catharsis—an ode to those who refuse to apologize for taking up space any longer. This song—originally written and performed by Martha Wainwright—explores the raw emotion and ever-present frustration of womanhood in a poignant and relatable way. “I wish, I wish / I was born a man / so I could learn how to stand / up for myself”. Fiery vocals and repeated expletives build up a stream of emotion that overflows into a space not often occupied by female artists, effectively making this song every bit as socially rebellious as the women it speaks to. “I will not pretend / I will not put on a smile / I will not say I’m alright for you / whoever you are” are words that feel like a love letter to every woman who has ever been made to feel less than she is.

Existence in the current digital oligarchy—this era in which a faceless social collective constantly yells at us to fulfill myriad, shallow but ultimately meaningless expectations—has left us, collectively, overwhelmed. No one, it seems, is happy with themselves, or anyone else. And if they are, you probably won’t hear about it online. FKA twigs is a heartbreaking example of this social paradox—her relationship with Robert Pattinson was, by all accounts, terrorized by hordes of online trolls who felt she wasn’t good enough for him. In “Cellophane,” her first song in three years, twigs anguishes over flooding pressure from people who want to see her and her lover’s relationship crumble. Her attempts to push back are futile. “And I don’t want to have to share our love,” she sings in the song’s lone verse. “I try but I get overwhelmed / All wrapped up in cellophane, the feelings that we had.” The first single off her upcoming record feels like a gut-punch—it’s a song that leaves you, like twigs, gasping for oxygen, for a space to breathe again.

What is there left to say about The National that hasn’t yet been said a dozen times over? For fans of The National, though, who doesn’t want to hear it again? In “Hairpin Turns,” the Dessner brothers meticulously craft one of their signature soundscapes, this time on piano and guitar, orchestrating the band to pull arrangements out from under the listener. The Devendorf brothers make up the warped backbone of the song, Bryan innovating unconventional patterns on the drums and bassist Scott foregoing the four strings altogether in exchange for a swelling sub-bass synthesizer. Berninger, in his unmistakeable voice in its unmistakable rhythm with his unmistakable wordplay still delivers a touching chorus, not letting the artistry of it all detract from the beauty of lines like, “What are we going through, you and me? Every other house on the street’s burning.” He is helped out this time by Gail Ann Dorsey, long-time David Bowi bassist and short-time Tears For Fears band member, who contributes vocals to the track, somehow deeper and more time-worn than Berninger. It’s not a ludicrous claim to call The National the most consistent band in alternative rock (although hardcore Spoon fans may disagree)—their first three records show immense promise in retrospect with gems like “All the Wine” and “Mr. November.” As a result, the four-album run since 2007’s Boxer has been nothing short of stellar, showing the natural growth of a band that never seems to grow out of its prime. The National has been presenting singles from their eighth album, I Am Easy to Find, due out May 17th, in a way that feels somehow less revolutionary, less loud and less like a statement than another indie stalwart’s recent effort, Vampire Weekend’s Father of the Bride, but by no means less great.

California based indie-folk duo Black Match’s newest track, “Nowhere,” is like the eye of a brilliantly violent storm, placid, smooth yet vulnerable . The core of the song sits in the small, calm diameter of an otherwise chaotic, enraged spiral. Black Match, which consists of childhood friends and musical partners, Hannah and Ian, possesses an intense musical strength that extends beyond their masterfully penned lyrics, folk-blues inspired guitar, and otherworldly harmonies. The duo taps into the essence of what makes music so undeniably human. With lyrics like “Are we all just in the inbetween / longing to be heard and to be seen” and “All I see is you painted next to me but you’re nowhere,” they are unafraid to fully expose their true identities and experiences. Black Match is deeply in touch with themselves and the vulnerability of their music. “Nowhere” is compellingly honest despite its simple instrumentation and stripped-down production style. It’s the kind of track that truly encapsulates the universal power of music—to make each and everyone one of us feel a little less alone in this world. We are very excited to premiere “Nowhere,” the title track off of Black Match’s forthcoming EP, and we hope this song speaks to you the way it does to us.

Mal Blum uses punk tropes like distorted power chords and driving drum beats not to express anger, but as “the next chapter of my therapy session,” they said in a press release for the album Pity Boy, due out July 12. “I Don’t Want To," the second single from the album, is a joyful, energetic song about feelings typically at direct odds with joy and energy, as Blum sings, “When I go out / When I come home I only feel relief.” Blum takes the trepidation expressed in the lyrics and cleverly plants those ideas in the music itself, too. They rush to get words out, finagling them into the correct number of beats, never quite finishing a complete thought. “Some people have / Commitment issues / Heard through the grapevine / That you moved into / A whole new life,” they sing, and even the verse’s guitars, played by Blum and Audrey Zee Whitesides of Speedy Ortiz, feel jumpy and excited. There’s an undeniable joy in “I Don’t Want To,” the sigh of relief of a weight finally being lifted off one’s chest. This sigh battles with the song’s themes until the explosion of the chorus, a triumphantly confident sing-along ultimatum — “I don’t want to / I don’t want to / I don’t want to / So I won’t.”

With the lilt of a cosmic lullaby, Lucy Dacus pieces through the nuance of mother-daughter relationships on her springtime release "My Mother and I." Over a hypnotizing acoustic guitar riff with just the right amount of twang and waves of atmospheric sparkling, Dacus’ lyricism is a tender survey of the parts of mother that she sees in herself, and what it means to raise a daughter in a society that is highly critical of women’s bodies. As always, Dacus sings with compelling warmth and a keen sense of honesty. The minimalist instrumentation serves to further highlight her intimate lyricism. The tune takes a timely Taurean turn in the chorus as Dacus sings of the astrological sign that she shares with her mother—"the stars have a lot to say / about babies born in the month of May / we are down to Earth / we see eye to eye / we dig our feet in / my mother and I."

“Come Home” is the smooth, crescendoing opening track on Anderson .Paak’s newest album, Ventura. The release finds .Paak making a successful return to soul after veering left, toward rap, on last year’s Oxnard, a decision that disgruntled fans hoping for a follow-up to his groundbreaking 2016 record, Malibu. Ventura, released just five months after Oxnard, is that follow-up; it’s a larger, livelier, and wiser ode to romance and classic soul, and “Come Home” is a powerhouse of an opener. The funk rock heart of the arrangement, which builds to gratifying release, compliments the impressive percussion and .Paak’s light, jovial vocal. He sings to his love with an effortlessly likable croon: “I’m begging you please / Come home / No one even begs anymore.” Later, André 3000’s rap solo acts as its own distinct section of the song and showcases his virtuosic talent with words. It’s the perfect bridge, balancing out .Paak’s tender, sincere soul with sharp words and a pulsing flow. With a groovy beat and compelling lyrics, “Come Home” is a fun ode to old school soul music.