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 The Tullamarines, Ellur, Nadia Kadek, Couch, runo plum, & Still Blank!

 follow EDITOR’S PICKS on Spotify

“If I say I love myself, I’m lying.” It’s one of those lines that grabs you by the heart and doesn’t let go – brutally honest, deeply relatable, and instantly unforgettable. The Tullamarines waste no time cutting to the core on “Lying,” the second single off their forthcoming Safety Blanket EP. It’s an electrifying pop/rock explosion of doubt and defiance – a vibrant, high-octane anthem that turns insecurity, imposter syndrome, and self-loathing into something cathartic, anthemic, and downright addictive.

I’ve never been sure about this
It’s deep down I can see
how you missed it
But I just endure and that’s alright
I’m out of it half the time
Tried the best to fix my mind
And I’ve been thinking lately
you should pull me in

If I say I love myself I’m lying
But I still hope that I get points for trying baby
If I say I love myself I’m lying
But I still hope that I get points for trying baby

Released in early June, “Lying” is one of the catchiest songs I’ve heard this side of 2012 – a rush jangly guitars, buoyant beats, and magnetic hooks that invite you to scream-sing along by the second chorus. It’s nostalgic and fresh at once – a vibrant shot of noughties pop/rock energy supercharged for the 2020s, somewhere between Hot Chelle Rae and 5SOS, with just the right balance of charm and churn. But underneath that infectious exterior, “Lying” is achingly honest – a vulnerable, gut-punch confessional about showing up for yourself even when it’s hard.

“‘Lying’ is about insecurity, imposter syndrome, self-loathing, and the effort to do better,” the Australian band – comprised of Josh Thomas, Lucinda Machin, Angus Purvis, and Benny Waltho – tells Atwood Magazine over email. “That feeling of people leaving before we perform is a running joke, but it comes from real doubt. We struggle with confidence in our music, image – everything. So we said exactly how we felt, but wrapped it in sunny, ‘90s pop-inspired sounds. It’s sad-happy. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend you’re okay than to be vulnerable. We hope this song helps people feel seen and encourages real conversations.”

I don’t wanna tell someone in case I come undone
But I’ve been thinking lately how much eat
I don’t think I’m anyone think year nine got me ’cause
I’m still believing all the things they said to me

That duality pulses through every line: “If I say I love myself, I’m lying / but I still hope that I get points for trying,” they sing loud and proud in the song’s unforgettable refrain. “It means exactly what it says,” the band reflects, “in that I hope I can forgive myself for being harsh on my character or my body when I’m not feeling good.” The words are raw and disarming, yet delivered with so much drive and verve that it feels empowering – like owning your pain is the first step toward healing. And that’s what makes this song so special: The Tullamarines don’t wallow in their emotions – they channel them into an inspiring rallying cry; a radiant, rousing anthem.

If I say I love myself I’m lying
But I still hope that I get points for trying baby
‘Cause I’ve never been sure about this
It’s deep down I can see how you missed it
But I just endure and that’s me trying baby

If I say I love myself I’m lying
But I still hope that I get points for trying baby
If I say I love myself and I’ve tried for something else
If I say I love myself I’m lying

That candid spirit is the beating heart of Safety Blanket, a record they describe as sounding refreshingly different from the music that came before it – and one that’s opened up new creative possibilities for the Adelaide-based four-piece. “We really wanted to push the boat out with ‘Lying,’” they explain. “The demo felt really different to our usual style, and we had a lot of fun with the syncopation and interweaving parts. It felt like the perfect song to push that ‘sad-happy’ vibe a little further, definitely taking inspiration from Paramore’s After Laughter.”

“Being able to take that risk and have everyone receive it so well has been really great,” they add. “It’s given us confidence to keep pushing that sound further.”

And while their music is evolving, the band’s purpose remains steady: “We’re just four normal people trying to be as honest as possible and hoping it connects with other people’s experiences too,” they say. “If they can relate to it, just know that we’re feeling it too – and it’s okay.”

With Safety Blanket shaping up to be a powerful portrait of 20-something growing pains, “Lying” captures The Tullamarines’ spirit in full: Earnest, explosive, self-aware, and unapologetically alive.

‘Cause I’ve never been sure about this
It’s deep down I can see how you missed it
But I just endure and that’s alright
I’m out of it half the time
Tried the best to fix my mind
And I’ve been thinking lately you should pull me in

There’s a raw ache to Ellur’s “Missing Kid” that I felt in my bones the first time I heard it – a searing, surging indie rock anthem that captures the spiraling experience of trying to keep up, keep calm, and keep going. “This sinking feeling, I know it so well,” she confesses in the chorus – yet as emotions sink, our energy levels rise. That line alone hits a nerve – and the whole song keeps the hits coming: It’s big and bold and heart-wrenchingly vulnerable, with dazzling electric guitars, breathtaking choruses, and cinematic levels of catharsis that immediately make you feel more alive.

Released July 16 via Dance To The Radio, “Missing Kid” is Ellur’s first new single of 2025 and the beginning of a new era for the rising Halifax artist. A sharp, unfiltered reflection on the weight of adulthood and the identity crises that accompany your early twenties, the track builds on the confessional brilliance of last year’s God Help Me Now EP, showcasing her gift for pairing gut-punch lyrics with unapologetically explosive indie rock. The song was produced by Joel Johnston (Far Caspian) and arrives amidst a busy festival run and sold-out UK tour dates, further cementing Ellur’s status as one of British indie’s most compelling new voices.

“I wrote it when rehearsing for a support tour I did last November, when I was feeling a bit self-critical and low,” Ellur tells Atwood Magazine. “I felt like I’d spent my life copying everyone else and looking to other people for guidance on how I should be living my life. I needed a song that would pick me up.”

So she made one – and it’s an absolute knockout. From the opening verse (“I’ve studied you, relentlessly… I go with the flow ‘til I drown”) to that devastating hook (“Look like I’m healing, I’m going through Hell”), “Missing Kid” cuts deep and leaves a mark. It’s a rallying cry for those who’ve lost their way, who feel like strangers in their own skin – a thrashing, glistening reckoning with shame, self-doubt, and the impossible task of figuring it all out while pretending to be okay.

“I find life throws me situations sometimes and I’m left feeling like a kid who’s lost their mum in a supermarket,” she says. “I suppose that’s what this song is about for me at the moment. [It’s] about how I observe the people in my life; I sometimes feel like I’m just copying what everyone else is doing, simply because I don’t know what I’m ‘supposed to’ do… It’s also about wanting to move and getting other people moving when we play it live. I love playing it.”

That duality – of longing and release, fear and freedom – courses through every inch of “Missing Kid.” You can feel her inner churn beneath the fiery guitars, but it’s all delivered with the kind of livewire energy that lifts you up even when the subject matter drags you down. “It’s panic and depression and shame,” Ellur says of the song’s central emotion, “but I’m really good at hiding it, haha.”

And yet here she is, not hiding at all – offering her inner world up in plain sight, and in doing so, making space for others to feel less alone. “I want people to hear it and think, ‘that’s how I feel!’” she shares. “That’s usually my goal with any music release. Whenever I play live I seek out a moment with someone in the audience where we can make eye contact and I can feel that they understand. Being able to relate to people I’ve never met without even a conversation is so interesting to me. It’s like magic.”

With this song, that magic is palpable. “Missing Kid” is music at its most emotionally honest and sonically thrilling – a stunning, scream-worthy standout from one of indie’s brightest stars. As Ellur puts it: “It’s the start of a series of songs that represent me at my best and worst… I’m living out my inner child’s dream, and I do it all for her.”

When life gave Nadia Kadek lemons, she made a beautiful, sweet n’ sour song. What began in a moment of loneliness and self-doubt became a glistening indie pop anthem – a radiant, cathartic release wrapped in dreamy light and tender melodies. “Who are you, who are you without someone to fall into?” the London-based artist asks in her second single “Lemonade” – a moment of reckoning delivered like a sunbeam to the chest. There’s vulnerability in that question, along with a strain of raw resilience: An intimate insistence that we all need connection.

Maryann is a man on a mission
Got down in a lethal position
Is it love or just lemonade?
Sugar rush on a satruday

Driving shift when its two in the morning
The DJ dives and she gives him a warning
This isn’t love it’s just lemonade
Hold me close and just get away

Written during Kadek’s second year of university, “Lemonade” bloomed from a period of personal unrest. “I was sitting with a lot of loneliness and was turning to external validation to feel good about myself,” she tells Atwood Magazine. “I took this feeling into the studio with my friends Benjamin Francis Leftwich and Matt Ingram, and we managed to turn it into something I could dance and scream to – which is the beauty of songwriting!” What could have been a soft and somber ballad is instead expansive, expressive, and full of motion – a song that aches and glows all at once.

Who are you?
Who are you without someone to fall into?

Kadek has since found a new relationship with “Lemonade” – one rooted not in shame, but empathy. “The thing I love about this song now is how it’s unapologetic and honest,” she shares. “I have a lot more empathy now for the version of me who wrote it… It’s understandable to long for love and connection during hard times, and it’s nothing to be ashamed about. We can’t always feel fulfilled being completely independent – life and love are about community!” That shift in perspective is what gives the song its staying power: It doesn’t scold or shy away from longing – it embraces it, boldly and beautifully.

The second-ever single of Kadek’s career, “Lemonade” continues building the world she introduced on her debut “Feeling It All,” and teases a larger body of work to come – one that sits in the bittersweet glow of late summer, navigating themes of nostalgia, intimacy, and quiet resilience. “A lot of this project is about acceptance and forgiveness,” Kadek says. “I would say ‘Lemonade’ is the messier type of forgiveness in the narrative. It’s about accepting all of your past and future mistakes.” That complexity – the willingness to sit with what’s unresolved – makes her music feel all the more human.

For Kadek, who describes her music as “confessional and honest lyrics accompanied by lots and lots of guitars,” this moment is just the beginning – and “Lemonade” is the sweet, sun-drenched invitation into her world. “The best feeling about releasing this song is that it isn’t just mine anymore,” she reflects. “It belongs to whoever hears it. The lyrics can mean lots of different things, which is exciting to me.”

For me, “Lemonade” is a reminder that vulnerability isn’t weakness, but rather, a kind of strength. It’s about embracing our longings instead of hiding them, and finding power in softness. There’s so much heart in this song – in its honesty, its warmth, its ache – and that’s what makes it so special. It can be a shoulder, a mirror, a dance break, a sigh of relief. This is messiness, forgiveness, and self-compassion set to music. Whatever you need it to be, “Lemonade” is here – full of sweetness, full of soul, and full of life.

It’s one thing to get your heart broken; it’s another to look that heartbreak in the eye years later and say, “You were wrong.” Couch’s “What Were You Thinking” is that moment – bold and brave, wounded and unflinching. It’s the song you write when you finally see a situation for what it was, and let yourself feel the full weight of it – the loss, the confusion, the imbalance, the betrayal. And then you sing through it, belt through it, burn through it.

With glistening guitars, cinematic horns, and a molten vocal performance that smolders with pain and passion, “What Were You Thinking” is a fiery, soul-stirring eruption – a stunning reclamation of agency, power, and voice. The lead single off the Boston-based band’s upcoming debut album Big Talk (out October 24^th) surges with seductive emotional energy: It’s colorful, cathartic, and compelling – the sound of a heart healing in real time.

You call me here on business
I can’t believe I’m sitting in your room
A real life rock-and-roller
Tattoos along your shoulder
My mother wouldn’t like you

You’re blowing smoke
You blink your sleepy eyes
Kiss me for the first time
There goes my caution
I inhale your lies
You got me paralyzed

“‘What Were You Thinking’ is a reflection on a complicated on-again, off-again relationship that I was in at 19/20 with a 26-year-old musician in a band that I deeply admired,” lead singer Tema Siegel explains. “Shortly after we met, he began love-bombing me; the power dynamic gave me pause, but I gradually let my guard down. Once he began touring again, his affection vanished… For the first time in my romantic life, I felt needy and small.” The song’s title, and its burning, aching chorus, are aimed directly at that older presence who blurred lines, broke trust, and walked away. Now 26 herself, Siegel sings from a place of clarity and confidence. “Today, I’m the same age he was when we met. It feels so empowering to tell him off like a peer.”

What were you thinking
Handling a heart of 20 years like that
Twisting the knife in
Just to stitch it up
and pat yourself on the back

That empowerment radiates through the band’s performance: There’s heartbreak in this song, yes – but also strength. You can hear it in every belted note, every bright, brassy exhale. “What Were You Thinking” doesn’t wallow; it rises. Siegel’s voice is raw, emotive, and incandescent, surrounded by a band firing on all cylinders. “Built up my appetite, then you’re so scandalized when I was hungry for more,” she sings, putting her foot down in a chorus that aches and soars all at once.

You’re blowing smoke
You blink your sleepy eyes
Try to kiss me like the first time
Stuck with my heart and my
Head so unaligned
You got me paralyzed

While Couch have built their name on joy, warmth, and groove, Big Talk represents a tonal expansion – one that embraces life’s messier, murkier emotions. “Up until this point, our stories have been predominantly optimistic, joyful, and heartfelt,” Siegel shares. “‘Big Talk’ embraces more complex and messy emotions. ‘What Were You Thinking’ is one of our first songs to take a more assertive, direct, and angry tone.” That honesty doesn’t dampen the band’s spirit – it strengthens it, making this music feel even more vibrant and alive.

What were you thinking
Handling a heart of 20 years like that
Twisting the knife in
Just to stitch it up and pat yourself on the back

Built up my appetite
Then you’re so scandalized
When I was hungry for more

What were you thinking
Handling a heart of 20 years like that

Couch call Big Talk their most collaborative, honest, and expressive work yet – a record that blends pop, R&B, funk, soul, and rock in dazzling, expansive fashion. With “What Were You Thinking,” they set the tone with an anthem of autonomy and emotional courage. “I hope this song emboldens people in unhealthy relationships to ask their partner for more thoughtful communication,” Siegel says. “If they can’t achieve that together, I hope they feel the strength to walk away.”

This song is a stunner – searing, bold, breathtaking. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself singing along, fists clenched, dancing through the ache. Couch are coming in hot, and “What Were You Thinking” is a thrilling first taste.

What were you thinking
Handling a heart of 20 years like that
Twisting the knife in
Just to stitch it up and pat yourself on the back

Built up my appetite
Then you’re so scandalized
When I was hungry for more

What were you thinking
Handling a heart of 20 years like that

runo plum’s “Lemon Garland” is a song of longing and warmth – a wistful, radiant daydream that aches with tenderness and stirs the soul. Set in a fairytale world of shared meals and backyard joy, her Winspear debut is as delicate as it is dynamic: An indie folk reverie that yearns for connection, blossoms with compassion, and embraces the intimacy of togetherness. “Give me company, barefoot and muddy,” she sings in the chorus – a line that feels almost whispered into the wind, like a wish. These are the kinds of words you don’t just sing; you feel them in your bones.

windows open, curtains blowing
lemon garland
dark red cherries
we’re spitting the pits into the garden
the garden

“This song is me dreaming and longing for friendship,” the Minnesota-based singer/songwriter tells Atwood Magazine. “I imagine living in a giant old house in the middle of the woods, hosting my friends and feeling pure bliss. I’ve had little glimpses of this over the past few years, but I currently live pretty isolated from the world. There’s a beautiful 12-string on this that adds such fullness to the song, which feels really representative of the community/friendship theme.”

A Minneapolis native with deep roots in the indie folk and DIY scenes, runo plum has previously toured with artists like Angel Olsen and Searows, slowly building a devoted fanbase with her intricate, emotionally charged songwriting. Written during a period of isolation and recorded in a Vermont cabin with co-producer Lutalo Jones, “Lemon Garland” captures both the wondrous, poetic nature, as well as the breathtakingly beautiful fragility, of her artistry. The song came to life slowly – a soft-lit fantasy shaped by real-world loneliness. “This had been a work in progress for the past couple years I’d come to it in moments where I felt really lonely, and I’d find myself dreaming of a time where I wasn’t feeling like that,” she shares. Her vocals are tender and expressive, backed by a lush 12-string guitar and lilting electric licks played by her girlfriend Noa. The result is a soundscape that feels expansive and intimate all at once – a space to be vulnerable, to belong.

plum sends shivers down the spine as she spills her soul over glistening guitar chords, her voice soft and delicate yet no less forceful and full of life:

give me company
barefoot and muddy
give me pointing
at the birds we’ve never seen before

“That chorus was the hardest thing for me to get right lyrically,” she explains. “I was really trying to capture something so pure. It’s just me naming what I want: Connection, playfulness, being barefoot in a backyard with friends. Awhile ago my friend Marlowe, who did the production and creative direction for the music video, showed me a song called ‘Company’ by Amos Heart, who’s a friend of theirs. There’s this line: ‘your company is a part of me, and the best that I can find‘ – and I just remember thinking, damn. That’s exactly it. That’s what I want. Marlowe showed me that song while we were on tour with their partner Alec (Searows), right as the ‘bestiefication’ of our friendship was happening. Thinking of the right words for the chorus, I was reminded of that song, and it felt so serendipitous and special and sort of an ode to that time. It’s even more special to have them both in this music video!”

The idealized vision of friendship that inspired “Lemon Garland” became tangible the day they filmed the song’s music video, transforming art into life. “It is really just a wholesome, feel-good song,” she smiles. “What makes it really special is that the fantasy I wrote about actually became real on the day we filmed the music video. That day felt like a gift. I live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and most the friends in that video live in Portland, so I only get to see them a few times a year. But ‘Lemon Garland’ captures one of those rare, golden days. I hope listeners feel that warmth, too.”

we’ll stop to pick some veggies
for the big feast at our friendly table
our table
pass the guitar and show me your work
catch me up on what i haven’t heard about your family
your aunt patti

“Lemon Garland” may exist in a fairytale, but it’s the kind of fantasy we all need sometimes – a reminder of how beautiful life can be when shared with others. “I know that I want the music to feel good and hit somewhere emotional and real,” plum reflects. “If a song helps someone articulate something they didn’t have words for yet, that’s kind of the dream.” runo plum has crafted a song full of heart, magic, and meaning: A soft, stunning ode to presence, companionship, and care. As she sings about company and quilts, garden feasts and muddy feet, we’re invited to pause and imagine that world for ourselves – or maybe even create it. With a gilded hue and gentle stride, this song glows from the inside out.

cuddle the quilt that your grandma made
bed on the floor for a movie day
we’re sipping coffee from handmade mugs
give me company
then give me more
give me more

Still Blank’s “Ain’t Quite Right” is an unsettling, unrelenting thrill – a fever dream of tension and turmoil that builds and boils over, never letting up. Written in a stormy Manchester winter, the duo’s second-ever single channels darkness into a stunning, slow-burning alternative rock eruption: It’s raw, visceral, and deeply immersive, laced with dissonant guitars and stripped-back production that draws you into a fractured world of dysfunction and desire. Jordy Fleming’s voice cuts through like smoke through fog – soft, but striking; heavy with ache, yet seething with strength. “I lay down, I watch her breathe / My senseless lamb of ecstasy,” she sings in a breathless whisper alongside bandmate Ben Kirkland’s wall of churning electric guitars. “She would fall in the dirt if she saw me betray / So I’ll cover my tracks and I’ll wash ’em away…”

I lay down, I watch her breathe
My senseless lamb of ecstasy
I’d peel your mind
And snatch all of your dreams

She would fall in the dirt if she saw me betray
So I’ll cover my tracks and I’ll wash em away
Although It ain’t quite right
It ain’t quite right, you say

Aaah, ain’t quite right
Aaahh, ain’t quite right

The band call it “an edge-building song” – and you can feel that tension in your chest from the moment it begins. “We wrote the song around Christmas in rainy Manchester while listening to a lot of Sonic Youth and PJ Harvey,” Fleming tells Atwood Magazine. “Usually, Ben leads the music and I work on lyrics and melody, but this one flipped. We wanted it to feel on edge – building tension. The lyrics explore a dysfunctional relationship where both sides are suffocating, and neither can let go. The guitar almost talks back to the vocal, responding with this jarring energy that adds to the unease.”

That tension is the song’s lifeblood: A brooding pulse that fuels every word and riff. “You bite my tongue, a palm to cheek / I choke your brain in naked sleep,” Fleming confesses. “Oh, it ain’t quite right / I know it ain’t quite right.” These lines sting like wounds left open. Each verse drives deeper into that dark, co-dependent dynamic – one that feeds on passion and pain in equal measure.

You bite my tongue, a palm to cheek
I choke your brain in naked sleep
Oh it ain’t quite right
I know It ain’t quite right

In the burning silence, peel my eyelids
Slam the door I’m locked outside
But in a minute you’ll say don’t ever leave me alone
Ain’t quite right…

Still Blank are a study in contrast. Fleming, from Kauai, Hawai’i, and Kirkland, from Manchester, UK, met in Liverpool and bonded over a shared desire to explore and stretch sound. “I think the reason the music sounds the way it does is because of our vastly different experiences growing up, yet we somehow still had similar crossovers,” Fleming shares.

The band’s sound lives in a space between genres – pulling from shoegaze, grunge, and minimalist folk to create something wholly their own. This June’s debut single “What About Jane” introduced Still Blank’s artistry through a reflection on identity and perception. “Over the span of our album, there’s definitely a variety of genres and sonic moods,” they note. “‘What About Jane’ is almost like the central heartbeat song that shows elements from different sides of the record and ties them all together.” But it’s “Ain’t Quite Right” that dives deepest into the darkness.

“Writing this song took a lot out of us and was emotionally draining,” the band admit. “We learned that in order to convey that tension, we had to go there ourselves, which was ultimately pretty taxing. We hope listeners can pick up on that and be taken somewhere similar.”

“Ain’t Quite Right” is the storm cloud to their debut’s searching skies – a sonic contrast that affirms their desire to remain fluid and ever-evolving. “I think that this song shows one end of the spectrum of who Still Blank is. We want the music we make to have many different faces, rather than stagnate in one expression,” they share. “Projects that are somewhat fluid and able to explore different genres, moods, instrumentation and topics within their music are the most interesting and inspiring to us. This song is one face, and the next track will have a new one.”

Storm out of the car and into the kitchen
China flies against a picture
Eyes on fire, words spewing hand grenades

Reach for the knife, go and take my head
But it’s not my life as your breast turns red
And now you ain’t quite right
Oh It ain’t right

That artistic elasticity is what makes Still Blank such an exciting artist to watch. There’s even a second version of the song – “Ain’t Quite Right (Unresolved)” – created in collaboration with legendary producer Flood. “He has unlocked a darkness inside of the song we didn’t know existed,” Still Blank say. That version leans even further into dissonance and despair, finding beauty in the discomfort.

With only two songs released to date and more on the way, Still Blank are already staking their place as one of the most dynamic, enigmatic new voices in alternative music. “Ain’t Quite Right” is chaotic, cathartic, and completely consuming – a soundtrack to the storm inside us all.

“Ain’t Quite Right” doesn’t just simmer – it scorches. It’s haunting and harrowing, hypnotic and human: A fearless emotional purge that leaves you raw and breathless, yet somehow wanting more.

Aaahhh, I know it ain’t quite right
Oh it ain’t right
Aaaahhh you know it ain’t quite right
Oh it ain’t right
It ain’t right

— — — —

Connect to us on
Facebook, Twitter, Instagram

Discover new music on Atwood Magazine

Editor’s Picks

 follow EDITOR’S PICKS on Spotify