June

This month was defined by the start of summer, some new takes on old influences, and the redefining of cringe. Plus, our first 12 song list!

After Hours, Kehlani

Every year, I start my summer playlist in March. For the preceding few months, I collect every summer-sounding song I find and lock it away, so on the first day of June, I’m ready to go. The second this came out in April, it made it into the fourth spot on said playlist. It killed me to avoid listening to it for so long, but it was so worth it. Playing it in full for the first time this month felt like summer had finally begun. And it’s not just me–I hear this song everywhere I go. Blasting from rooftops, out car windows, in stadiums as we wait for the band to come on. Los Angeles is obsessed with “After Hours.” Kehlani has always been a master at the sultry jam, but throwing a vitamin-D infused (and catchy as hell) beat behind her takes it to a whole new level. I think we’re far enough in to call it: this is the people’s song of the summer, and it’s easy to see why. 

This is Nowhere, The Black Keys

The third track on my summer playlist I came across for the first time, fittingly, in my local record store. My friends and I were browsing the aisles and something caught my ear–the guys were playing the new Black Keys record. The second I heard this song, I was transported to riding a bike on the beach at sunset with my shirt flying in the wind… which is exactly what I did for my inaugural listen of the summer playlist a few months later. This song is nostalgic for a summer before technology changed the world: a summer of bike rides, beaches, physical media, friends, feelings, the sand on your feet, the sun in your eyes, the wind in your ears, and absolutely no Instagram posts. This is helped by the fact that the music itself feels tangible. You can hear every instrument clearly and you know they were played by real human musicians. It almost feels as if the band could be just around the next corner, playlist along. “This Is Nowhere” offers an escape to those of us tired of screen addictions and AI: a real summer soundtracked by a real band. 

In My Bed, Amy Winehouse

Kayla’s parents have now both officially made their mark on this list. I heard this song for the very first time on Dorothy Pincus’ playlist as she drove us to a basketball game (much to Mical’s disdain, as she claims that she played it for me a while ago), and when it came on, it stopped me in my tracks (or rather, my seat). I had never heard Amy Winehouse sing anything like this. It’s so much fresher and jazzier than I had ever heard her.. I thought maybe it was some sort of posthumous remix, until Mical informed me (see, she gets some credit) that it was off her first album, Frank. To be fair, Mical has told me to listen to Frank about 400 times, but I’ve brushed her off. Now, though, I’m realizing I should have listened. “In My Bed” is probably my favorite song of Amy’s I’ve ever heard. I never knew she had music like this. But now that I do, I will most definitely be listening to the rest of the record. 

Moist, lozeak

Part of my commitment to this monthly list is to be honest about what I’ve been listening to, even when it may require some extra explaining. But although this song at first listen might read as a guilty pleasure, I come prepared to go to bat for it. “Moist” is a representation of pure, raw, brat summer. And it’s a good one. (Though, for the record, it does brat by two months.) For every 20 artists I see promoting their work on TikTok, there’s always one that catches my eye. That’s how I came across this song. It’s a unabashedly slutty, multi-hook dance track that’s refreshingly unafraid to be cringe. This song understands the TikTok approach (“make lots of marketable moments!!”) and flips it to be an advantage rather than a detriment to the song’s cohesiveness. It’s filled with personality and knows how to keep listeners interested, dropping the beat in and out and messing with the tempo throughout. My favorite part has to be the spoken-word opening of the second verse. For some, the song itself may illicit the same reaction as the title, but I’ll never tire of a good bratty jam. 

Close To You, Gracie Abrams

On the topic of guilty pleasures, I have a lot of thoughts on Gracie Abrams. They can be summed up primarily by the fact that I’m not sure she’s ever made a song that actually sounds like Gracie Abrams, and not like an exact replica of Taylor Swift or like some other white indie pop girl. This song is no different–it sounds like a slightly-less-interesting Melodrama B-side. But once again, integrity, so I have to admit that in a Lorde-droughted world, it’s filled a hole in my heart well. Though perhaps less poetic and philosophical than much of Lorde’s work, it does have the element of being a synthpop ballad driven by desperation, and a quality one at that. For all the imitating she does, Gracie Abrams has learned how to do it well. Though it has literally nothing other than her vocal timbre to audibly attach it to her name, it is a damn good song. Unoriginal Gracie Abrams equals great Lorde, and sometimes, that’s enough. 

Pink Skies, Zach Bryan

Zach Bryan continues to show me what there is to love about country music. I hear the most country every time I get a haircut (shoutout to Ashley and her excellent country radio) and it always sends me on a spiral to find more when I come home. This time, my haircut hit right after Zach Bryan dropped the first single (from the follow up to his phenomenal self-titled record), “Pink Skies.” It’s a bittersweet ballad about the loss of his mother, told through anecdotes about his childhood compared to the grown-up kids now attending the funeral. His skill for nailing emotional impact through honest detail is as strong as ever. The instrumentation is homey, highlighting some classic country instruments: harmonica, banjo, and mandolin. Most importantly, it features Bryan’s classic acoustic strumming. It even inspired me to pick up a guitar for the first time in 10 years. He remains a master of the sad-yet-hopeful, or otherwise, of conveying the human experience. 

Less of You, Omar Apollo

Ever since Stranger Things came into the world in 2016, we have had a never-ending supply of odes to the 80s. The (new) wave is still nowhere near finished 8 years later–take Conan Gray’s recently released Found Heaven, for one. But something Conan Gray has dutifully taught us is that there is a right and wrong way to do 80s influence. Omar Apollo understands the right way. “Less of You” takes elements from the decade (powerful, pulsating synths, some light vocoder, Oberheims) and blends them seamlessly into modern style, tying a generational link between his unique sound and that of his predecessors. It’s also a nice ode the origins of gay pop (sorry Jojo Siwa) for pride month. Though a shift from Apollo’s usual style, it’s one that marks a progression towards a new era. His album God Said No came out last Friday, and I’m very excited to listen to it. 

Tuesday, Toro y Moi

I talked a little bit earlier about the idea of embracing cringe, and Toro y Moi has decided not only to embrace it, but to nurture it, to give it food and water and care and see what grows. SoundCloud rap is an often dismissed genre, attributed by many to be the work of a bunch of teenagers repeating the same melodramatic lines over xanax beats. But there’s something to be said about a major artist, already established and critically acclaimed in another genre, intentionally switching over to a genre long abandoned by the mainstream and deemed “cringe” by the masses. Toro y Moi has a certain standard of quality, so when he does something, he does it well–interestingly, that doesn’t mean sacrificing some of the worst parts of SoundCloud rap. The lyrics are so cheesy it almost hurts. But Toro y Moi is a master of the blend between each piece, so instead of hurting the song, they manage to compliment its bright sound well. This is only the first single (and only really explores one small part of the genre), so I’m very intrigued to see what else he comes out with for the record. 

Snap My Finger, KAYTRANADA (ft. Pinkpanthress)

Lately, I’ve joked that I’ve spent more time at Café Dulce in Little Tokyo than I have at my own home. It’s become my favorite place–it’s relatively quiet, the vibe is good, and the food is amazing. A side effect of spending so much time there is that I hear their music, and sometimes things catch my ear enough to break out the Shazam in public. This was one of those songs. It makes sense to belong in a hip, indie café, or straight off of KCRW. “Snap My Finger” radiates that element of cool that’s hard to capture. Kaytranada’s production is crisp and fresh, and Pinkpanthress lends a smooth, rich accent to the beat. Funnily enough, this description is making me crave my favorite Dulce sandwich. I suppose, then, that it’s a fitting pairing. 

Easy On Your Own?, Alvvays

A week ago, I had the privilege of attending the Grammy Museum’s Summer Sessions program to study songwriting for 5 days. I had a great time, met some amazing people, and wrote some really cool stuff, and I’m really grateful for the experience. It also totally changed the way I looked at music–suddenly, all these songs weren’t magical items that just popped into being fully formed, but I could hear every stage of their creation. As we wrote our own music and then started developing it with a band, I understood for the first time that all songs started bare bones, and then were crafted into the art pieces they are. This led my listening habits paying attention to a lot of new things–and to noticing that some of my favorite songs actually sounded a lot like what we were making. “Easy On Your Own?” is an incredible indie pop ballad about the scams of independence, and also is much like the pieces I was slowly starting to put together of my own songs. This only made me want to hear it more and dream about making a song as good as this…and for the first time, that dream seemed attainable. 

listen to sydney, June Henry

June Henry is the kind of artist that makes me want to start a record label. I’ve watched June Henry grow over the internet for the last few years, and I’ve seen as her production skills increase with each release to help support the phenomenal songwriting she’s had since the beginning. But for her, I would listen even if all she put out were shitty voice memos (which do actually make up a good amount of her released work). She has a raw skill for stringing together words and melodies reminiscent of when the greats, too, were touring in between their fast-food jobs. If I could, I would give her all the resources in the world to take her craft wherever she wants to, but I have confidence that even without them she’ll find a way. A great example of how far she’s already come is “listen to sydney,” which has the best production quality of anything she’s put out so far. I strongly recommend following her now. Someday you’ll be seeing her on billboards. 

Breaking Apart, Caroline Kingsbury

Returning to the 80s, Caroline Kingsbury is another example of how to take their influence well. But what she takes is less vocoder and more the pop song form perfected during the decade. “Breaking Apart” understands this pop format down to its fundamental feeling: a song constantly chasing after something. In this case, it’s freedom from the rapidly descending relationship she finds herself in. She shapes the synths and drum machine to follow the emotional narrative of the song, much like her clear predecessor Kate Bush. However, I think Kingsbury also brings a very modern brashness to the sound–her lyrics are simple and honest, reading more like a journal entry than an art-pop epic. She doesn’t try to disguise anything, instead reaching to the music to score her thoughts rather than hide their true narrative. It’s a modern classic. An epic for a new generation told through the sounds of an old one. 

brat, Charli XCX

I’ll admit that I’ve known brat would be June’s album for months now. Since the day it was announced, I knew it would be good enough to surpass anything else, even in a competitive summer month. But what I didn’t know was how much it would completely surpass my expectations. 

Charli XCX has made a lot of great records, but this is undoubtedly her best. The last 10 years of experimenting have led to an album where she still sounds completely different from any of her peers, but this time, it’s not a messing around. It’s an iron-willed choice. Charli embodies the most common advice musicians get: “make what you want to hear.” She wanted modern club classics, so she made them. From top to bottom, it’s a record carefully designed to be blasted at unhealthy volumes in messy, dark dance clubs. But she doesn’t care about you–she wants to dance to herself. 

However, for all the bratty ambivalence, what makes this record truly one of the greats is the vulnerability she threads across the album in shining colors. She talks about being iconic, then she talks about comparing herself to another girl and feeling inadequate even while knowing they’re very different people. She talks about having to practice what she says in the mirror, and wondering if she belongs anymore in the space she created, then she talks about being your #1. She talks about wanting to go back to a time before she was constantly embarrassed by her body, about grieving her friend, about being insecure about her relationships with other women, about generational trauma, about going back to someone who’s bad for you, and then she shouts out the hot mean girls. Near the end of the record, she talks about wondering if she wants a child, then talks about being a party girl 24/7, 365. It’s not that she’s philosophically juxtaposing these ideas–she’s simply speaking honestly about her thoughts, even the embarrassing and messy ones. She unintentionally paints one of the most accurate pictures of the complexities of the human experience I’ve ever heard in music, all over A.G. Cook’s pop beats. It makes for a record that is not only honest, but empowering. And most of all, it’s iconic. Long live brat summer. 

you can find this month's playlist here.