Every Friday, Atwood Magazine’s staff share what they’ve been listening to that week – a song, an album, an artist – whatever’s been having an impact on them, in the moment.
This week’s weekly roundup features music by Alabama Shakes, Medium Build, Ethel Cain, Madelline, Takeda, Bea Elmy Martin, Lindsey Rose Black, My Chérie, Somewhere in Between, Paige O, Common People, American Authors, Jordan Anthony, Cristina Hart, Nia Wyn, & Lizzie Thomas!
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:: “Another Life” – Alabama Shakes ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Of all the vinyl records in my collection, few are more played, more worn, more loved, than Alabama Shakes’ 2015 masterpiece, Sound and Color. The genre-bending, soul-soaked rock band, helmed by the inimitable Brittany Howard, were a singular force of nature in the early 2010s – and while individual members have gone off and done their own things, often to great success, the chemistry that is and was “Alabama Shakes” has been dearly missed over these past ten very long years.
Here we are
The most unusual circumstances
How could I ask you to settle?
What if there is something better
For us next time?
Ooh, I’m dying to tell you
That I found a way to say goodbye
So it doesn’t hurt so much, ooh
When you cross my mind
Can we try again?
(Can we try in another life?)
One more time again
(Can we try in another life?)
I won’t make you cry again
(Can we try?)
Can we try in another life?
Until now, that is. “Another Life” marks a fresh start for the legendary trio of Brittany Howard, Heath Fogg, and Zac Cockrell as they reunite and light another red-hot fuse, picking up right where they left with a song full of fire and fury. Recorded at Nashville’s Sound Emporium Studios with longtime collaborator Shawn Everett, “Another Life” feels like a transmission from the cosmos – smoky keys and a bluesy guitar drift in like storm clouds before Howard’s voice cracks them open. “Can we try again? One more time again? Can we try in another life?” the dynamic frontwoman howls with gut-wrenching strength, pouring pure passion and raw emotion into a heavy, heartrending, cinematic fever dream.
Howard calls the track a meditation on the lives we carry: “When we wrote ‘Another Life,’ I was thinking about all the lives we carry,” she tells Atwood Magazine. “The ones we’re living right now, the ones that slipped away because of different choices, the what ifs, the what wasn’t meant to be, the goodbyes, and the chance encounters that feel divine. This song is about those threads and how they stretch across time and space, connecting every version of who we are. It’s about letting them come together, letting them harmonize, and realizing that goodbye isn’t really goodbye. It’s more like I’ll see you later. A collective story that never stops unfolding. I’m glad we opened this door into this reality of us making music together again.”
Do I mind?
Never knowing what can happen
Never knowing if wе’d last
Maybe we can find some answеrs
Maybe next time
Who am I trying to lie to?
I can’t pretend you didn’t just cross my mind
When I hurt you, I hurt myself
And the feelings just won’t heal
I can’t walk it back, ooh
Baby, goodbye
Can we try again?
(Can we try in another life?)
One more time again
(Can we try in another life?)
I won’t make you cry again
(Can we try?)
Can we try in another life?
Can we try in another life?
“Another Life” is a powerful welcome back – cinematic, soul-stirring, and unrelenting in its ache. Every phrase Howard sings, every lament she cries is steeped in yearning and reckoning, every instrumental moment full of intense, untethered feeling. Ten years on from Sound and Color, Alabama Shakes are once again blazing their own trail, sounding just as fearless, fiery, and free as they did when they first rewrote the rules of modern rock.
“Another Life” doesn’t just reignite that flame – it reminds us why we missed it so much in the first place. With a third Alabama Shakes studio album on the way, the future of music smolders once more with gritty rock and bluesy swagger.
Here we are
The most unusual of circumstances
How could I tell you forever?
What if there is somewhere better
On the other side?
Ooh, I’m dying to tell you
We’ve already said goodbye
When I hurt you, I hurt myself
And the feelings just won’t heal
I can’t walk it back, ooh
Baby, goodbye
Can we try again?
(Can we try in another life?)
Try again
(Can we try in another life?)
I won’t make you cry again
(Can we try)
Can we try in another life?
Can we try in another life?
:: “Last Time” – Medium Build ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Medium Build’s new single is the kind of song that takes your breath away. “Last Time” is a rich and soulful, smoldering reverie full of glistening, golden melodies, achingly tender lyrics, and pure heat. Nick Carpenter has always blurred lines between raw and refined, confessional and cathartic, but here he unveils a new side of his artistry – sensual and suave, seductive and sultry, yet still undeniably sweet. His latest track simmers with slow-burning passion, every beat pulsing like a heartbeat you can’t ignore.
We were smoking in the street
You were finishing your drink
We were waiting for your friends
It hadn’t been romantic in a while
You were kinda playing mean
It was the kind of Friday night
Where all of the drunks are in the street
So this girly wanders up
She was trying to get a laugh
She pretends she had a mistletoe
hanging by her head
You were drunk, but still polite
We didn’t want to kill her vibe
So we pressed our lips together
like we had a thousand times
But it might be the last time
that we kissed
You always take for granted
what you have until it’s missed
Don’t you take for granted
what you have until it’s missed
Carpenter frames the song as an exploration of memory, nostalgia, and the strange clarity of knowing when something may be ending: “I have this friend who is obsessed with superlatives. He is so curious about who’s eaten the most Flamin’ Hot Cheetos or how many people have ever been drunk in the Vatican,” he tells Atwood Magazine. “But sometimes these absurd queries drift into the nostalgic. When was the last time I slept over at my childhood bestie’s house? Did I know the last thing I said to my grandma before she died? When was the last time I held hands with my first love? We never really clock these moments. They’re always left to the pain of memories.”
“This song is about leaving a moment and knowing it very well might be the last time you talk to, kiss, or hold a person who was a giant part of your life,” he continues. “It’s the odd sobriety you feel when you leave something behind. It’s the yin and yang of need and repulsion. When will I play my last show or eat my last banana? Who knows?”
Orange wine, Airbnb
Then we got the news ’bout Eileen
I punched a hole in the wall
You got curled up in a ball
You told your friends, “He’s a loaded gun”
Now you say that I’m the one
Is it romantic that you’re the
only person I never cheated on?
And now we’re dancing in the park
You’re really trying to unwind
It’s been so long since
I’ve seen you have a decent time
Not crashed out on the couch
Not pulling your hair out
Come on, one more mouth-to-mouth
It might be the last time that we kiss
You always take for granted
what you have until it’s missed
Don’t you take for granted
what you have until it’s missed
This might be the last time that we kiss
You always take for granted
what you have until it’s missed
Don’t you take for granted
what you have until it’s missed
It’s a heavy truth to hold, but “Last Time” makes that ache feel luminous and everlasting. Carpenter’s voice rises like smoke, hushed and heated, carrying lines that sear straight through the soul: “It might be the last time that we kiss / you always take for granted what you have until it’s missed,” he sings in the track’s brutally heartrending, breathtakingly beautiful chorus. Blending R&B smoothness with indie grit, he’s crafted a song that glows from the inside out, both intimate and explosive, intoxicating and immersive. This is Medium Build at his most magnetic – and if it really were the last time, he couldn’t have left us with anything more stunning.
And if it really is the end
I just want you to be happy
And I know the way that sounds
So fucking kill me when you hear this
‘Cause it might be the last time that we talk
It breaks my heart when I think I’m moving on
You taste regret, what you’ve got until it’s gone
And this might be the last time that we kiss
You always take for granted
what you have until it’s missed
Don’t you take for granted
what you have until it’s missed
:: : “F**k Me Eyes” – Ethel Cain ::
Julia Dzurillay, New Jersey
Regardless of where you stand on the Ethel Cain vs. Lana Del Rey drama, there’s no denying “F**k Me Eyes” is one of this year’s most bold, dynamic, and cathartic releases. In her Instagram story, the artist described this track as “taking a stab at the persistent misogyny against innocent kids,” even if not all the lyrics are based on real experiences.
Despite its heavy topic matter, “F**k Me Eyes” is arguably one of the most marketable songs of the 2025 release Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You. Especially with 2025’s earlier album Perverts, Ethel Cain proves to be shifting her focus to ambient music. This single, however, has a “Crush”-esque, pop-adjacent sonic quality — and that’s intentional.
“This is what funds my life,” Cain said (via the New York Times.) “I do not want to have to go back to working a day job… So I do have to find the compromise of, we put out an album, I tour it, I make a pop song or two, and I enjoy that. But then I will make an hour-and-a-half-long drone album.”
:: “Happy as Hell” – Madelline ::
Chloe Robinson, California
Ever catch yourself wishing you were further ahead in life than where you stand now? Do you feel like you’re just stumbling from one wrong step to the next? Then Madelline’s anthem for falling behind is the perfect piece for you. Titled “Happy as Hell,” the single dives into the anxiety of not keeping up with life’s pace and the relentless self-criticism that comes with it. Lines like “no concentration/why did I spend all of my fucking money on my college education/I should call my mom/instead of writing songs,” could not be more relatable. This soaring track features cinematic strings and introduces her new theatrical pop era. The release is produced by Arthur Besna (Nessa Barrett, Lay Banks) and Jon Buscema (Sophie Truax).
Madelline is rising as one of pop’s most inventive and daring voices. Her offbeat, incisive songs confront themes like life, death, and mental health, while her clever lyrics and theatrical stagecraft captivate audiences in a performance that blends cabaret flair with catwalk style. Her songs have captured the internet’s attention, sparking viral trends on Instagram and TikTok, and building a loyal fanbase of nearly 500,000 monthly listeners. This offering is just as enticing with a message that is sure to resonate with audiences.
:: “Reynardine” – Takeda ::
Danielle Holian, Galway, Ireland
Takeda re-emerge with “Reynardine,” a spellbinding statement of intent that sets the stage for their long-awaited debut album, In Venus’ Train, out September 17th via Drongo Records. With a sound that’s as intricate as it is expansive, Takeda weaves a rich tapestry of influences, from the dusky poetry of Ben Howard to the visceral pull of Pearl Jam, all the way to the kaleidoscopic harmonies of Fleetwood Mac. “Reynardine” is a brilliant fusion of tension and texture, a folk-rooted composition that builds with cinematic precision and emotional weight.
Produced by David Pye (Faithless, Szun Waves), the track showcases Takeda’s stunning command of atmosphere and dynamics. Josh Harrison’s vocal performance is arresting, melancholic yet full of resolve, as he guides us through a landscape of intimate acoustic fingerpicking, swelling strings, and a rhythm section that gradually gathers storm. The track’s final minutes are nothing short of breathtaking: a soaring, fuzz-drenched climax that explodes from its folk origins into something more primal and cathartic. “Reynardine” doesn’t just signal a return; it’s a promise of something truly special on the horizon.
:: “Lost” – Bea Elmy Martin ::
Rachel Leong, France
Rising artist Bea Elmy Martin returns with folk-rooted sonic scape “Lost.” Much like the titular track, the EP sees Martin navigate the lush and expansive sonic scapes of her musical capabilities. Rich textures and dynamic layers surround Martin’s ethereal vocals, accompanied by storytelling spanning identity, artistry, and vulnerability.
“‘Lost’ is about that feeling of drifting,” Martin shares. “The way we all move between being grounded and then suddenly untethered. But it’s also about the things that bring us back to ourselves. For me, that anchor is writing and music.”
“Born to Fly” combines rhythmic production with Martin’s stacked vocals, pushing forth with a burgeoning clarity. “Shallows” hones elements of striking narrative within a moody atmosphere, while “I’m Here Now” brings home Martin’s ability to craft musical power in the softness as well as the explosive moments.
:: “CUNT HONEY” – Lindsey Rose Black ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Lindsey Rose Black’s “CUNT HONEY” is as bold as its title suggests – and then some. An intoxicating singalong full of cheeky wit, heart, and swagger, it’s dreamy and dramatic, a wink and a sashay with a country swing, brimming with sexy feminine fire. It’s the kind of song that commands attention from the very first beat, a tempest of grit and glitter that feels both rebellious and celebratory.
The track bursts open with biting imagery: “You can break a mare / put a curse on Eve / take a bite of the apple / and blame it on me.” By the time Black hits the refrain – “No you can’t take the cunt, honey, out of country” – it’s impossible not to sing along. The lyrics are playful and raw, equally cathartic and comedic, as if she’s rewriting the language of country music in real time while reclaiming the narratives of femininity, queerness, and Southern identity.
You can break a mare
Put a curse on Eve
Take a bite of the apple
And blame it on me
See God in the flower
But don’t forget the weed
No you can’t take the cunt, honey
Out of country
“‘CUNT HONEY’ is a country-meets-alt-pop bop exploring themes around queer identity, y2k purity culture, and feminine power,” Black tells Atwood Magazine. “Growing up in a small religious town in Texas, I learned that painful periods were ‘Eve’s curse’ for causing Adam to sin… There’s so much to unpack as to why this is a BANANAS thing to hear as an adolescent in a body that menstruates, and I’ve been actively deconstructing narratives my body has carried around shame, femininity, and sexuality for years.”
That mix of fury and playfulness is exactly what makes “CUNT HONEY” so magnetic. It’s a sharp, funny, and fearless setup for a song that wears its rebellion with a smile. Black takes all the shame and confusion of growing up under purity culture and spins it into something playful, campy, and loud. It’s both tongue-in-cheek and deadly serious, a reclamation wrapped in glitter.
Turned 13
Polishing my purity ring
Make my bed
Leave room for Jesus
Christ
Principal said
Oh it’s your fault, all your fault, all your fault
Those boys are touching themselves at night
Well, alright
“As for writing the track itself, I was in fact on my period and, well, sometimes the best inspiration is just in paying attention to the moment. It started with a simple drum machine line, and this whole song just tumbled out in a matter of minutes. It honestly felt very ‘divine intervention’ for a track that critiques the divinity belief system I was brought up on.”
“‘CUNT HONEY’ is ultimately a very silly song with a lot of un-silly reckoning around my religious upbringing, purity culture, and the journey to expressing queer identity freely, beautifully, and wholly. I love pop music, I love my complicated, country southern girlie roots, and I have such a deep well of faith in God/Spirit/the great etc etc – it just doesn’t look anything like it used to.”
You can break a mare
Put a curse on Eve
Take a bite of the apple
And blame it on me
See God in the flower
But don’t forget the weed
No you can’t take the cunt, honey
Out of country
Donut, mango, cherry, peach
No you can’t take the cunt, honey
Out of country
Devil’s kiss, set me free
No you can’t take the cunt, honey
Out of country
In other words, “CUNT HONEY” is both sermon and satire, a country kiss-off with teeth. It’s that tension – silly and serious, sacred and irreverent – that fuels the song’s irresistible fire. Black leans into contradiction and finds freedom there, turning her own history into a thunderous celebration of self. The result is music that feels healing and hedonistic all at once.
“My hope with this track is to hold space for the layered experience of feeling both gratitude and anger toward the places and beliefs that shaped you. I carry a deep respect and tenderness for fellow ex-vangelicals who are doing the hard, thoughtful work of deconstructing and reconstructing their faith in new ways.”
23, left home for the big city
Thought I had no place
And had to leave (bye, y’all)
And the angry men
On the TV screen
Screaming about us
Stealing their rainbows
I’m just taking what’s mine to keep
What makes “CUNT HONEY” remarkable is how it refuses to sit in just one mood. It’s a tender sentiment tucked inside a song that otherwise struts and snarls, proof of how much range Black packs into a single track. Vulnerability and ferocity walk hand in hand here, each making the other stronger. That balance is the heartbeat of “CUNT HONEY” – a cheeky anthem and a rallying cry all at once. Black isn’t just telling her own story – she’s opening space for others to see themselves, scars and all.
“Viva la cunt, honey and viva la my forthcoming record, The Myth of the American Cowboy, and viva la all the hunnies everywhere healing their religious trauma. I love you so much.”
You can break a mare
Put a curse on Eve
Take a bite of the apple
And blame it on me
See God in the flower
But don’t forget the weed
No you can’t take the cunt, honey
Out of country
That combination of silly and serious is exactly what makes “CUNT HONEY” such a triumph. It’s explosive and intoxicating, unapologetic and unfiltered, balancing campy humor with lived-in truth. Black takes the sting of purity culture and spins it into an anthem of release and reclamation – a foot-stomping, hip-swaying celebration of feminine power that is as fun as it is fearless. This isn’t just a song; it’s a spell, a laugh, a prayer, and a battle cry all at once.
Donut, mango, cherry, peach
No you can’t take the cunt, honey
Out of country
Devil’s kiss, set me free
No you can’t take the cunt, honey
Out of country
:: “Dishes in the Sink” – My Chérie ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
My Chérie’s “Dishes in the Sink” is an intoxicating indie folk seduction – achingly intimate, breathtakingly vulnerable, and tender to its core. It’s a song that feels soft to the touch, yet it burns with a quiet fire inside: Gentle but turbulent, delicate yet hard-hitting. Reminiscent of artists like Phoebe Bridgers, Samia, Daughter, Julien Baker, and Soccer Mommy, it floats in a dreamlike haze of emotion until its finale, where the calm bursts into a frenzied fever dream – a bold, cathartic climax that feels like a hard-won exhale.
Dead plants, cancelled plans,
Push away my friends
‘Cause they all think that they know me.
But this heartbreak feels lonely.
Heartbreak like a shadow,
Can’t see it in the shade.
I’ll get through this,
But I don’t want to have to wait again.
“For me, this song encapsulates the desperate feeling of being exhausted from ongoing turmoil,” My Chérie tells Atwood Magazine. “Wishing you could just skip through therapy and the hard parts of healing and get to the good bits. Wishing denial was still going to work. When we don’t deal with the core issues, they always come back up to the surface and mess us up. Sometimes we work on ourselves, and that just puts a magnifying glass on the work that others aren’t doing, making it so much harder.”
Sitting in my victim chair,
Eating from my victim plate,
Choking on my life
And my pretty mistake,
The best one I’ve made.
It’s a sentiment anyone who has brushed up against burnout or grief can recognize – the longing for shortcuts through the hardest parts of healing. My Chérie captures that ache with startling clarity, giving shape to feelings that are often too messy to name. That candor is what makes “Dishes in the Sink” feel so arresting from the start.
My Chérie doesn’t soften the edges; she leans into the mess and lets it speak. That refusal to sugarcoat is exactly what gives the track its power.
She continues, “This song reminds me of screaming at a wall – a longing, a desire for change – but there’s this deep essence of hope that came through in the recording process which wasn’t originally there in the first half of the song. A break-free kind of moment. This song feels so vulnerable and is so metaphorical, yet it feels like the most honest song I’ve written about mental health and the struggles I’ve faced in my life.”
Mood swings, dishes in the sink, dirty.
We don’t believe in therapy.
So sad when you stare at me.
These bones are caving in,
These walls are crumbling,
And she’ll sweep the floors.
That honesty comes through in the song’s stark images and raw delivery: “dead plants, cancelled plans… sitting in my victim chair, eating from my victim plate.” The writing is unflinching, but the sound is lush and full of light, as if My Chérie is letting us into her storm and showing how it shimmers from the inside. The track swells like a quiet storm breaking, each verse peeling back another layer until the final eruption of sound – part cry, part confession, part release.
“Dishes in the Sink” is a quiet chaos of heartbreak, healing, and hard truths, but it’s also a beacon of resilience. Vulnerable, metaphorical, and unflinchingly real, My Chérie transforms the mundane into the monumental, offering a song that aches with turbulence yet glows with the promise of hope.
Hold me tight.
Don’t let me go,
I just wanna feel at home.
Hold me tight.
Don’t let me go,
I just wanna feel at home.
:: “Lay Your Head on Me” – Somewhere in Between ::
Danielle Holian, Galway, Ireland
With “Lay Your Head on Me,” Somewhere In Between delivers a balm for the weary heart, a hushed anthem that feels like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Deena Robertson and Austin Bisnow summon something both intimate and cinematic here: a lullaby for grown-ups, wrapped in golden harmonies and grounded in the quiet heroism of love that stays. The track floats with the ease of a deep exhale, yet carries the emotional gravity of a promise kept, a vow whispered in the dark, reminding us that even in chaos, connection can be our compass. It’s the kind of song that feels lived-in and timeless, as if it’s always been humming in the background of our lives, waiting for the right moment to speak.
This single marks more than a sonic evolution; it’s an emotional milestone. Somewhere In Between has never sounded more assured or more vulnerable, threading influences from Thom Yorke’s fragility to The Lumineers’ campfire warmth. “Lay Your Head On Me” is a gesture, a philosophy, a lifeline in a world that too often rushes past the quiet spaces where love lives. In honoring their H.O.C. ritual, Deena and Austin give listeners permission to pause, soften, and find safety in each other. Somewhere In Between isn’t merely building a discography; they’re cultivating a refuge, one song at a time.
:: “Thaw By June” – Paige O ::
Rachel Leong, France
Paige O returns with “Thaw By June,” the new single basking in a dreamy state of escapism. Connecting indie-folk sensibilities with the backing music akin to boygenius and Mitski, Paige’s vocals shine in its softness.
“Thaw By June” blends imagery and feeling, narrating the state of being in love with someone who doesn’t really see you. Like the title suggests, the warmth and summer daze emanating through the sonic landscape of “Thaw By June” is propelled further by Paige’s songwriting and vocal performance, full of longing and hope.
Embedding nostalgia, storytelling and deep-felt emotion, “Thaw By June” is the perfect track to bring us into the autumn months.
:: “Thank You” – Common People ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Every once in a while, a debut single comes along that feels like a shot of pure electricity. Common People’s “Thank You” is one of those songs – spirited and angsty, dynamic and charming, a passionate indie rock anthem brimming with fire and heart. Gritty guitar licks and a head-nodding groove set the stage for a chorus that soars sky-high, demanding to be shouted back in unison: “You pick me up then let me down / it’s inside out / you say my name, but I don’t hear a sound now / so thank you for calling, guess you’ll take anybody.” It’s raw, it’s magnetic, and it leaves you reeling.
Formed in a Southern California basement, Common People are Nicky Winegardner (vocals, guitar), Sam Belzer (guitar), Asher Thomson (guitar), Konrad Ulich (bass, vocals), and Cormac Cadden (drums). Bonded over a love for Radiohead, The Strokes, and The Pixies, they’ve spent the past two years cutting their teeth on the LA circuit – honing their sound until it caught the ear of Cage the Elephant’s Brad Shultz, who went on to produce their debut and sign them to his Parallel Vision label (in partnership with Big Loud Rock). With their official first single now out in the world and a slot supporting Cage the Elephant at Lollapalooza’s aftershow, the band are introducing themselves on the biggest of stages.
“Sometimes it can hurt more to have something taken away than to never have it at all,” Common People share. “‘Thank You’ has to do with the acceptance of being let down.”
That mix of grit and grace is what makes “Thank You” such a powerful introduction: It’s tender in its ache yet electrifying in its delivery – the kind of debut that demands attention and hints at a band destined for festival stages and beyond.
:: “Race Car” – American Authors ::
Chloe Robinson, California
Have you experienced that fleeting romance where you fell fast and hard despite knowing the risks? American Authors’ radiant new release “Race Car” details that intense feeling of thrill and connection and how it vanishes when reality comes crashing back. The song blends rich harmonies, smooth guitar melodies, and irresistible rhythms, making it impossible to skip. The band is most known for their infectious hit single “Best Day of My Life,” but the group’s more recent pieces like this one, are equally as addictive.
Since the release of their debut album Oh, What a Life in 2014, New York pop-rock outfit American Authors have achieved what many artists can only imagine. Their music has climbed up the charts, with singles earning multi-platinum status. They have performed at major awards shows, graced iconic stages worldwide, and toured alongside acts like Andy Grammer and OneRepublic. “Race Car” is another standout sure to soar.
:: “Reckless” – Jordan Anthony ::
Chloe Robinson, California
Jordan Anthony’s “Reckless” is an R&B-tinged late-night pop anthem that channels the thrill – and risk – of falling hard for someone who brings out your untamed side. The song is drenched in a seductive soul that is simply gut grabbing. With a smooth, charming tone, he sings of diving headfirst into love, and it’s completely irresistible. Lines like “there is danger in your eyes, but I don’t seem to mind. If we took it any faster, could be crashing,” show just how exhilarating this partnership is, wild, unpredictable, and completely magnetic.
The singer first rose to prominence as a Top 14 contestant on American Idol and has since achieved over 600,000 streams with his debut single, “Broken Love.” With a voice that balances tender vulnerability and electrifying euphoria, Jordan Anthony is quickly establishing himself as one of pop’s most captivating new voices. Originally from Australia and now based in Los Angeles, his music blends deeply personal, heart-driven lyrics with sleek, arena style pop. Whether exploring heartbreak or the excitement of a new crush, Anthony’s songs capture emotions that are vivid, unfiltered, and instantly relatable.
:: “Thank You for Leaving” – Cristina Hart ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Cristina Hart hits like a rush of fire. “Thank You for Leaving” is a searing grunge-inflected pop/rock anthem – her voice stunning and full of ache, her lyrics razor-sharp, the production pristine with a polished bite. It’s the sound of Hart stepping fully into her power: sharp-edged, soaring, and unapologetically bold. Every note brims with catharsis, every chorus begs to be screamed at full volume, whether in the car or alone in your bedroom.
“‘Thank You For Leaving’ is an unapologetic, cathartic anthem about shutting the door on someone who doesn’t deserve a second chance. Think Olivia Rodrigo angst meets Paramore energy, with a Joan Jett attitude,” Hart tells Atwood Magazine. “I wrote it at a time where I had a lot of pent up anger from seeing people I love not being treated the way they deserved. This song is about telling someone who thinks they can just waltz back into your life after treating you like dirt time and time again that no, they are in fact not welcome anywhere near you anymore.”
“It’s about reclaiming your power and setting boundaries; letting those rose-colored glasses come off. I want people to play this song while they’re blocking their toxic ex’s number and to scream it while on their way to cut someone off. I hope it can give them the confidence to listen to their gut. If one person gets the courage to leave their toxic partner after listening to ‘Thank You For Leaving,’ then the song will have served its purpose.”
From its gut-punch lyrics (“One minute you’re sorry / then act like a bitch… did you ever love me? I’m not sure you did”) to its smoldering, high-octane instrumentation, “Thank You for Leaving” feels like the start of something big. It’s bold, biting, and breathtakingly catchy – proof that Cristina Hart is fully in her moment and seizing it with both hands.
:: “Can’t Get No Love ‘Round Here” – Nia Wyn ::
Mitch Mosk, Beacon, New York
Nia Wyn’s music feels like stepping into another era. “Can’t Get No Love ‘Round Here” is a retro soul reverie – cinematic, achingly emotional, and dripping with intimacy and tenderness. With sweeping strings, organ flourishes, and call-and-response vocals that echo the golden age of Motown and Stax, the Welsh artist captures heartbreak with both grandeur and grace. It’s the kind of song that aches even as it soothes, steeped in the warmth of classic soul yet sharp in its modern vulnerability.
“I wanted to write a song that could be both about a toxic relationship, and also how I often feel about the music industry,” Wyn tells Atwood Magazine. “From conversations with other artists I know that this is a common experience – the highs and the very lows of making music and how it can make or break self-esteem. I had been listening to a lot of ‘60s R&B and lowrider tunes, and felt inspired to write something that felt both slow and sad, but also something you could tap your feet to.”
That duality is the magic here: “I’m reaching out with my hands, but you just pick another man / I can’t get no love ’round here.” Wyn turns personal despair into something communal, channeling longing and loss through a performance that feels timeless. It’s a song of shadows and glimmers, of sweetness turned sour, yet it shines with undeniable soul.
“Can’t Get No Love ’Round Here” isn’t just another heartbreak ballad – it’s a reminder of why soul music endures. Nia Wyn’s voice is raw, radiant, and restorative, and in songs like this, she’s proving herself a vital torchbearer for the genre.
:: Awakening – Lizzie Thomas ::
Danielle Holian, Galway, Ireland
Lizzie Thomas’ Awakening feels like a warm cup of coffee on a rainy morning; comforting, rich, and layered with subtle surprises. From the first note, you know you’re in for something special. Thomas’s voice is as smooth as silk but carries the strength of a storyteller who’s lived through her truths. The fusion of neo-soul, jazz, and vocal pop never feels forced; instead, it invites you into a sonic hug that’s both fresh and timeless.
What makes this album truly captivating is how Lizzie blends her intuitive songwriting with lush arrangements, including the Grammy-winning Harlem String Quartet. Tracks like “Home” and “Awakening” wrap you in cinematic soundscapes that linger long after the music ends. It’s like walking through a forest where every rustle and ray of light tells a story. But don’t be fooled by the album’s tender moments, and there’s fire here too. Songs like “This Love” and “This Fire” crackle with courage and rebellion, reminding us that growth isn’t always easy but always worth it.
Awakening is a reminder to listen closely, feel deeply, and dance unapologetically. The track’s final minutes are nothing short of breathtaking: a soaring, fuzz-drenched climax that explodes from its folk origins into something more primal and cathartic. “Reynardine” doesn’t just signal a return; it’s a promise of something truly special on the horizon.
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