Atwood Magazine is excited to share our Editor’s Picks column, written and curated by Editor-in-Chief Mitch Mosk. Every week, Mitch will share a collection of songs, albums, and artists who have caught his ears, eyes, and heart. There is so much incredible music out there just waiting to be heard, and all it takes from us is an open mind and a willingness to listen. Through our Editor’s Picks, we hope to shine a light on our own music discoveries and showcase a diverse array of new and recent releases.

This week’s Editor’s Picks features Medium Build, The Head and the Heart, Hudson Thames, Lola Young, DE’WAYNE, and Jack Garratt!

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Medium Build has always made music for the emotionally unguarded — songs that ache and shimmer with unresolved longing, filled with the raw humanity of someone trying to make sense of their past and present in real time. His fifth studio album (and major label debut), Country, saw singer/songwriter Nick Carpenter digging into himself — both figuratively and literally — to make something sweet, raw, and direct. “I wanted this album to have my goddamn DNA on it,” he candidly told me last year — and it did.

With the five-track Marietta EP, Carpenter continues this intimate journey, peeling back yet another layer as he traces his roots, his relationships, and his sense of self all the way back to the town that raised him. If Country was his thesis on identity, lineage, and inherited weight, Marietta feels like its echo: A self-contained postscript that softens, sharpens, and stitches together what came before. It’s a five-track snapshot of unresolved memories and ongoing processing that didn’t quite belong to the record that came before it, but nevertheless brings us closer and closer to understanding Nick Carpenter in tandem with his own self-discovery.

He affectionately calls them his “therapy trauma tunes,” and for good reason: From the first guitar strums of “Triple Marathon” to the final echoes of “Faded Blue,” Carpenter unpacks his upbringing and childhood, his parents, his (former) religion, and everything in between. Each of Marietta‘s five stunning songs offers a different lens through which to view the past — some jagged, some tender, all deeply human. Whether he’s reckoning with religious trauma on “Yoke” or channeling his inner bad boy on “Dad’s 4Runner,” Carpenter threads vulnerability through every moment, blurring the line between personal memory and shared emotional truth.

Atwood Magazine previously praised the EP’s beautifully gut-wrenching opener “Triple Marathon,” a song born from pure desperation about a “relationship-situationship-friendship thing” (his words), as a “breathtaking, brutally honest upheaval from Carpenter’s most intimate and vulnerable depths.”

“John & Lydia” is another instant standout – an intensely emotional, achingly intimate, and deeply personal anthem, the EP’s second track sees Carpenter singing to, for, and about his parents, John and Lydia. “Did I grow up into someone that you like? I know that the people you heard from told you it was all black and white,” he roars, going on to create a cinematic, soul-stirring mantra out of an inescapable, inevitable truth: “The things that were shaping you, the things that are shaping me, and we both know you can’t run from family. Would we have been friends if we were born at the same time? Maybe in another life…”

Whether it’s an anthem of healing, a raw release, or an empathetic mirror, each track on Marietta holds space for reflection — both Carpenter’s and ours. The EP’s resonance lies in its specificity, as well as its timelessness: The more Medium Build opens up about his own experiences, his own humanity, the more listeners can see themselves in his songs. Having just seen Medium Build play for the first time last week, I felt it finally time to give Marietta its due, and recognize its songs for their weight, their warmth, and their worth.

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Open your ears, open your eyes, open your heart, and take it all in: The good, the bad, the joy, the ache, the love – everything this incredible life has to offer. I will have many more words to say about The Head and the Heart’s sixth studio album over time, but what I will say for now is this: Fifteen years into their storied career, the band’s folk-laced music continues to be as fresh and fun as it is free-spirited and philosophically profound. Released on May 9th via Verve Forecast, Aperture is “an invitation to wake up in the present moment recognizing that it is all we have, in all its contradictions of beauty and pain, joy and despair, unfathomable vastness and impermanence,” per band member Matty Gervais. In practice, that translates to rich, warm harmonies, radiant melodies, thought-provoking lyrics, invigorating instrumentals, and instantly memorable singalongs – all delivered with the passion and seasoned strength of professionals who, despite their years of doing this, continue to find inspiration in themselves and in their everyday.

What’s perhaps most striking about Aperture is its range: While songs like “After the Setting Sun,” “Time With My Sins,” and “Arrow” unpack intimate reflections on identity, purpose, and life’s greater meaning through a familiar, sun-kissed sound, The Head and the Heart spend a great deal of this record trying on new clothes – both musical and topical. The urgent and emotionally charged “Cop Car” is an obvious standout: Jonathan Russell’s voice is at its rawest as he sings from the back of a police cruiser, angry and scared, unsure of his present and fearful for his future: “I’m riding in a cop car tonight, looking outside as the blinks go by, wondering how we gonna die.” Not only do The Head and the Heart bring a flicker of humanity and empathy to those whom society so often turns a blind eye, but they do so with grace, tact, charm, angst, and a beautiful middle finger to the boys in blue.

But that’s far from Aperture‘s only bright spot: From the lush, hypnotic, and heartrending “Pool Break” and the euphoric, life-affirming “Jubilee” to the feel-good reverie “Fire Escape” (a truly classic THATH tune) and the hopeful “Beg, Steal, Borrow,” The Head and the Heart’s sixth studio album proves to be a meaningful, memorable, altogether moving ray of light in 2025’s musical landscape.

In fact, it’s songs like “Pool Break” and “Jubilee” that have been my personal highlights to date – two special songs that find The Head and the Heart expanding the sonic world we’ve come to know and love through bold vocal harmonies and emotionally potent topics that hit hard and leave a lasting impression.

“For me, Aperture represents the choice we all must make between resigning ourselves to darkness, or letting the light in and recognizing our own agency to do so,” Matty Gervais shares. “It feels relevant to the times, in that we’re literally choosing between authoritarianism vs. democracy. Ignorance vs. enlightenment on a macro scale, and complacency/cynicism vs. hope, empathy and perseverance on the micro scale. To me, it sums up a lot of what each of these songs is grappling with in some form and what we’ve collectively gone through as a band. It’s about choosing hope again and again, no matter how many times it may feel that you have lost it.”

True to their name once again, The Head and the Heart have used both their heads and their hearts to create one of this year’s best albums – an electrifying, exhilarating folk rock journey into our shared humanity that meets the present moment with passion, tenacity, vulnerability, and above all else, hope.

To share your innermost self with the world is an act of quiet bravery. It means stripping back every layer, letting go of pretense, and allowing others to see the parts of you that are still healing, still questioning, still raw. Hudson Thames does just that in “Wrong,” an achingly intimate piano ballad that reads like a journal entry cracked wide open. Vulnerable, impassioned, confessional, and soul-baring, it feels less like a performance and more like an open wound. Every line pulses with unfiltered emotion as Thames lays bare his fears of love, connection, and commitment – not because he doesn’t care, but because he cares so deeply it terrifies him.

I’m afraid of your love
Afraid that it’s real
Of sharing my time
Or sharing a meal
Afraid of the way
You make me feel

I’m afraid that it’s right
Afraid that it’s good
That maybe you know me
Like nobody could
Afraid things work out
The way they should

With only a piano beneath him, Thames lets his voice bear the full emotional weight of his words: “I’m afraid of your love / Afraid that it’s real.” His singing is rich and full of quiet desperation, carrying the weight of someone torn between wanting love and being too scared to let it in. The song’s sparse arrangement – just piano and voice – underscores the intimacy and intensity of the moment. You feel like you’re sitting next to him at the keys, listening in on a private confession he never meant to say out loud. He’s not hiding behind metaphor or abstraction – he’s naming his fear, line by line, verse by verse. The result is devastating in its simplicity. The more he opens up, the more we feel the ache of someone caught in the crossfire between longing and self-protection, between love and the deep-rooted fear of what love demands.

‘Cause if I wanted love
I would have it now
I would settle down
Then I’d settle down
But I… I can’t decide

And if I wanted friends
They would be here now
They would have my back
In a violent crowd
But I… got too much pride
But maybe that’s all wrong
Wrong wrong
Maybe that’s all wrong
Wrong wrong

“I think, or at least I hope, that ‘Wrong’ touches on a subject that all artists have experienced to some degree; How much of a ‘normal’ life do I get to have?” Thames shares. “Seemingly, art and performing have always been at odds with any relationship that I have been in. The relationship I share with my music is quite demanding in its own rite. And when it requires all of me, it feels difficult to make space for anything else. This song is me, in a new chapter of my life, trying to make some sense of that. I still don’t have the answer. But that is the point of everything that I make; to open up the conversation in hopes of finding one.”

It’s this tension – between art and intimacy, presence and performance – that forms the emotional backbone of “Wrong.” It’s a dilemma familiar to many artists – how to reconcile the intensity of creative life with the intimacy of human connection – and “Wrong” finds Thames in the thick of that tension. He’s afraid of what love could cost, of who he might become if he let it in, and of what he might lose if he doesn’t. Yet the song is not without hope. The refrain “I hope that I’m all wrong” lands like a wish whispered in the dark: tender, uncertain, and quietly defiant.

I’m afraid of your dad
Afraid of his eyes
Afraid when he tells me
That I’m a good guy
Afraid of the way
I make him smile

I’m afraid of a son
That isn’t alive
Afraid he’ll be perfect
And grow up just fine
Afraid of the fact
That he’d be mine

There’s a quiet bravery in how Thames confronts himself: His fear of being loved, his uncertainty about settling down, and the haunting thought that maybe he’s built a life too singular for companionship. And still, he surrenders – letting someone in.

With its classic pop sensibility and raw emotional core, “Wrong” is a standout not just for its lyricism and performance, but for its honesty. In laying himself bare, Hudson Thames captures something universal: The way fear and love often walk hand-in-hand, and the courage it takes to face them both. Taken from Hudson Thames’ recently released debut album Bambino, “Wrong” is timeless and gutting – a diary entry, a plea, a prayer. It’s also one of the most compelling showcases of his strength as a vocalist and songwriter to date. Vulnerability this honest isn’t easy to capture, but when it lands, it hits like truth.

And if I wanted you
You would know by now
I’d have told the truth
I’d have stuck around
But I… I’m afraid it’s right

And if I f* this up
That’s just how it is
If the future lies
Then what lies in it
Oh I… I must admit

I hope that I’m all wrong
Wrong wrong
I hope that I’m all wrong
Wrong wrong

I’m afraid of your love
Afraid that it’s real
Of sharing my time
Or sharing a meal
Afraid of the way
You make me feel

Lola Young doesn’t just flirt with vulnerability – she dives headfirst into it, with no filter and absolutely no apologies. “One Thing,” her first release of the year and official return following the breakout success of This Wasn’t Meant for You Anyway, is a bold, brazen, and deeply seductive declaration of desire. Simmering with soul and teeming with sweaty heat and raw sexuality, it’s the kind of song that makes your skin tingle and your chest tighten – a late-night, love-soaked reverie laced with longing, lust, and power.

Oh, hi
I wanna take you on a little ride
I wanna make you feel so nice
I wanna make you feel appreciated
when you’re deep up in me
When you’re deep up inside
I wanna show you just what I like
I wanna kiss you slow, wanna f* you rough
I wanna eat you up,
I wanna cook you lunch,
I wanna love you, babe

Anchored by a dubby, head-bobbing groove and fluttering guitars, “One Thing” finds Young in full command – not just of her voice, but of the moment. Her hot-on-the-mic delivery is equal parts silky and sharp, shifting seamlessly from sultry coo to breathless plea to commanding presence. The lyrics are intimate, carnal, and strikingly self-aware: “Everybody wants to know ya / But me, I only want one thing.” And yet, there’s depth behind the smoldering seduction. This is far more than a steamy hookup track – it’s an exploration of the emotional and psychological weight that often comes with sex, especially for women.

“It’s a song that on first listen sounds like I’m talking about one thing. Sex. Which I am, of course. However sex in itself is never about one thing,” Young explains. “I wanted to make a song and music video that is thought-provoking and highlights sex being both a fun and light thing, not always meaningful, as well as showing how gender roles can be reversed.”

As the verse gives way to the pre-chorus, Young’s voice rises with urgency and anticipation – breathy, hot, and hungry. The tension builds as she leans into the physicality of the moment, her vocals dancing over the beat with a growing sense of desire. It’s in the chorus that everything snaps into place: a release, a reckoning, and a revelation all at once. “Break your bed and then the sofa / I wanna pull you closer” she sings, owning her wants with conviction. The production swells beneath her – sultry yet playful – as she declares that her intentions are clear, singular, and entirely on her terms. The result is hypnotic and empowering, turning lust into liberation.

You know where I wanna be, I want you right under me
Can you just live a little, let your hair down?
I’m screaming for you, I can’t breathe,
turn the light off, I’ma wet the sheets
There’s plenty enough for me to go ’round

Break your bed and then the sofa
I wanna pull you closer
Everybody wants to know ya
But me, I only want one thing
I don’t even want your number
Don’t care if you got another
‘Cause tonight, I’m your only lover
And I’ma give you that one thing
I’ma give you that one thing (Uh)

In that spirit, the Dave Meyers–directed visual captures Young’s irreverent charm and clever provocations, reframing intimacy through playful scenarios: A boxing match with her exes, an all-girls classroom, a date turned power play, and even a tantalizing make-out with herself. It’s cheeky, yes – but also subversive, smart, and self-possessed.

This is the magic of musical maverick Lola Young. She writes songs that hit like a punch and linger like a kiss – unfiltered, magnetic, and endlessly confident. With “One Thing,” she continues to carve out a space that’s entirely her own: One where sex and agency, pleasure and complexity, don’t have to be mutually exclusive. It’s a triumphant, teasing, and utterly intoxicating return – and a reminder that few artists can command a mic, or a moment, quite like Lola Young.

You look so cute with no clothes on
It feels so right when I’m acting so wrong
No small talk, that shit’s too long
And you’re breakin’ my back, you’re so, so strong
And I want you so bad, like “OMG”
Turnin’ off my phone to DND
And a couple little hours is all I need
Panties still on, you can go in between me, and

You know how I wanna be,
I want you right under me
Can you just live a little and let your hair down?
Nobody will ever know, we can put on our own little show
Save that big-dick energy for my mouth, yeah

Break your bed and then the sofa
I wanna pull you closer
Everybody wants to know ya
But me, I only want one thing
I don’t even want your number
Don’t care if you got another
‘Cause tonight, I’m your only lover
And I’ma give you that one thing (Yeah)
I’ma give you that one thing, that one thing,
that one thing, that one thing, ah
I’ma give you that one thing (All night)

DE’WAYNE is strutting into a new era, and he’s doing it with style, swagger, and soul. “june” is a flame-lit anthem – electrifying, seductive, and sonically untamed. Equal parts funk and punk, pop and rock, it’s a genre-defying sizzler that grooves with the fearless charisma of Prince, the eccentricity of Bowie, and the rhythmic pulse of Talking Heads, all while being unmistakably and unapologetically DE’WAYNE. The title track off his upcoming third album (june, out July 30 via Fearless Records) doesn’t just mark a return – it’s a reintroduction, a transformation, and a full-bodied celebration of love, desire, and divine femininity.

Me and June go to the city
around 9 a.m. and get really drunk
We roll up into the 7-Eleven
like we were dropped from Heaven
and ripped a couple mini shots

We got hit by cameras, we’re no example
Yet everybody still wanna watch
And I kissed her hand though we were just friends
I’m enamored by the way that she loves me

Built on raw guitars, real drums, and a bassline that oozes heat, “june” captures the visceral rush of falling head over heels – the kind of love that flips your world upside down and makes you feel alive in your skin and bones. “Her name is June, and I think she’s pretty cute, and she got that kinda thing that should be studied in school,” DE’WAYNE sings with a wink and a snarl, teetering between reverence and rebellion. “And she got the kinda fire that makes me lose my cool, plus she got me going ahhhhhh…” It’s hot. It’s heavy. It’s fun as hell. And it’s dripping in that DE’WAYNE magic – the kind that makes you want to dance, scream, kiss, and jump out of your skin all at once.

Her name is Junе,
and I think she’s pretty cute
And shе’s got that kinda thing
that should be studied in school
And she’s got that kinda fire
that makes me lose my cool
Plus, she got me going (Ah),
her name is June

“I wrote ‘June’ because I had to – it poured out of me,” DE’WAYNE shares. “I was heavily inspired by Talking Heads and Prince, but I wanted this to reach everybody; young or old, whatever your background, we all know what it’s like to fall for someone who flips your world upside down. For the fans, I hope this shows that I’ve truly found my voice. I want them to feel my heart in this one – and maybe see a little of themselves in it too.”

“‘June’ came from a real transformation in my life,” he continues. “It’s about meeting someone – or something – that shifts your entire world. For me, that was this divine feminine energy I call June. A beautiful guiding force in my life and music. The song captures that first moment of connection. Sonically, I wanted it to feel like falling in love and waking up at the same time – raw guitars, real drums, but with warmth and soul.”

Me and June go good like burgundy lipstick
stuck to a bottle of champagne, yeah
Every time we get around each other
makes me wanna dance the night away

We got hit by cameras, we’re no example
Yet everybody still wanna watch (I let ’em watch)
And I kissed her hand though we were just friends
I’m enamored by the way that she loves me

“June” is so much more than a name – it’s a force. A character. A muse. A guiding light. “These songs are me expressing my love, admiration, and yearning for her,” DE’WAYNE explains. “The title track is an anthem to strut to. It’s bold, powerful, and undeniably for ‘june,’ as it celebrates the feminine power and divine force she represents to me.” That admiration radiates through every line – from the playful lyrics and cheeky callouts to the groove-heavy arrangement that practically glides across the floor. This is a love song, yes – but it’s also a liberation.

“This is my epic rock love album. I gave everything – blood, sweat, tears, love, sex, spirituality, and truth,” DE’WAYNE reflects. “Every song was a surrender, and ‘june’ is the light guiding it all. I wanted to reframe vulnerability as a superpower, not a weakness, and use this record to show my evolution – not just as an artist, but as a human being. I believe this will stand as one of the most powerful rock albums of the year.”

Her name is June,
and I think she’s pretty cute
And she’s got that kinda thing
that should be studied in school
And she’s got that kinda fire
that makes me lose my cool
Plus, she got me going (Ah),
her name is June

She got me going, she got me good
She got me feeling like a player probably should
She always stunting, don’t play with her
See, that’s the type of girl that I deserve

There’s no mistaking the fire in his delivery or the freedom in his sound. “june” is a spiritual awakening disguised as a sweaty night out – and DE’WAYNE is your preacher, your partner, and your provocateur. He’s not following the rules; he’s rewriting them. With every beat, every shout, every twist of melody, he proves that rock music isn’t just alive – it’s evolving, expanding, and dancing in the light of something divine.

Let’s be clear: “june” isn’t just a song. It’s a statement. And DE’WAYNE? He’s the future.

Her name is June, and I think she’s pretty cute
And she’s got that kinda thing
that should be studied in school (Ah, yeah)
And she’s got that kinda fire
that makes me lose my cool (Lose my cool)
Plus, she got me going (Ah)

Her name is June,
and I think she’s pretty cute
And she’s got that kinda thing
that should be studied in school
And she’s got that kinda fire
that makes me lose my cool
Plus, she got me going (Ah),
her name is June

Jack Garratt doesn’t just make a comeback – he erupts back into frame with a finessed firestorm of feeling. “Catherine Wheel,” the explosive lead single off his upcoming third album Pillars (out August 15^th via Cooking Vinyl), is a radiant rush of emotion and electricity – a blazing, beat-driven outpouring of longing, lust, heartache, and heat. It’s messy. It’s massive. It’s everything we’ve come to love about Garratt, distilled into one searing, soaring, sky-scraping anthem.

“Hit my head, scratch my back, leave me on read, get me on track,” he sings in the song’s opening breath, harmonized and hot on the mic. His voice is close, intimate, and raw – trembling with passion one moment, thundering with frustration the next. He’s in-your-face, and larger than life, all at the same time. “Pull on the lever, do whatever you feel, set me on fire like a catherine wheel.” It’s a line that lingers long after the song ends, not only because of its evocative intensity, but because of its layered meaning. The Catherine wheel is both a childhood firework – a circular pinwheel of sparks – and a brutal medieval torture device. There’s something poignant in that duality: The beautiful and the painful, whirring violently in the same breath. Love, in Garratt’s hands, has always been a push and pull – and here, it burns.

Hit my head
Scratch my back
Leave me on read
Get me on track
Pull on the lever, do whatever you feel
Set me on fire like a catherine wheel

I know a little about a lot of things
And I can teach you how to keep me,
if that’s what you want
It’s as easy as setting fire to oil in the ocean
What the water burn
I know I went away and it was getting late
But the night was coming oh so closer to the end of the light
And two shadows in the distance met me on my return
Theres one of you, and one of someone else

It’s been over a decade since I first fell under Jack Garratt’s spell – since the singular, seductive “Worry” first taught me that electro-pop could be weird, warped, and still utterly heartfelt. In 2020, I wrote that his sophomore album Love, Death & Dancing found Garratt “embracing a more liberated, fluid version of himself,” creating music that was “deeply personal and painfully self-aware.” That journey continues on Pillars, but where Love, Death & Dancing’s songs found Garratt wrestling with isolation and identity, “Catherine Wheel” bursts forward with purpose and passion. This is not the sound of an artist doubting himself – this is the sound of Jack Garratt fully lit up from the inside.

There’s someone else
(Pull on the lever, do whatever you feel)
(Set me on fire like a catherine wheel)

“The song is about this situationship that I had with a woman two years ago,” Garratt explains. “That feeling of being left on read is heartbreaking when you are someone like me, who is absolutely emotionally anxious – and I’m working on that!” That ache seeps into every lyric, from the oil-slick metaphors to the unshakable refrain: “I don’t wanna see you with someone else.” He’s spinning in circles, combusting, trying to find stillness in the storm of heartbreak and obsession.

Written during a moment of near-abandonment – “I was fully ready to quit music,” Garratt admits – “Catherine Wheel” became his spark. “It reignited my love for creating and set the tone for the entire album.” That tone is one of catharsis: letting every beat, every synth stab, every layered harmony say the things he couldn’t speak aloud. It’s bold, messy, euphoric – the sonic equivalent of being consumed by something you can’t quite name.

Say something that feels sticky in my ears
‘Cause the words are pouring
out of you just like oil on water
I see you floating on the surface,
you look so pretty
But there’s trouble underneath
And you know that if you wanted
you could come back
And I’d take you my arms
and spin you to the end of the light
Oh in my embrace you fit so nice
But there’s something else
There’s someone else

Oh oh
There’s someone else
Oh oh
There’s someone else

And yet, within all the chaos is clarity. “Catherine Wheel” feels like Garratt stepping into the light – not just as a producer or performer, but as a person who’s lived, hurt, burned, and come out the other side. It’s a reckoning. A renewal. And a reminder of just how thrilling it is to witness Jack Garratt in full flame: A limitlessly talented one-man band – a multi-hyphenate singer, songwriter, producer, and multi-instrumentalist who doesn’t just make music, but embodies it. Ever since he won the coveted Brits’ Critics’ Choice Award and the BBC Sound Of poll in 2016, Garratt has been a singular force of nature, both in and out of the spotlight. I’ve seen him command an entire stage by himself, weaving drums, bass, synths, guitar, and vocals into an awe-inspiring, genre-blurring symphony. There’s truly no one else like him.

Hit my head
Scratch my back
Leave me on read
Get me on track
Pull on the lever, do whatever you feel
Set me on fire like a catherine wheel
Oh my god I just can’t get going
On my own without ever knowing
If I’m gonna see you in a summer dress
I don’t wanna see you with someone else

Hit my head
Scratch my back
Leave me on read
Get me on track
Pull on the lever, do whatever you feel
And set me on fire like a catherine wheel

— — — —

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