slipping in and out of covid-19-related lockdowns for a long, weird time now has many of us feeling all sorts of ways. here are some songs to invite into your support bubble, or take out with you, as you gingerly tiptoe or wildly dance into summer.
according to herself, angie mcmahon is potato farming and yelling words at microphones. this song, although pre-pandemic, contains a bedroom that “is a disaster”, “spend[ing] so much time eating pasta” and a familiar feeling of being out of time: “and they’re building things outside my window / everywhere i look there are signposts, signposts / i just sit in my house making noise for fun / i’m not moving much or proving much for anyone”
21st-century riot grrrls mila, eloise, lucia, and bela have opened for bikini kill and snuck into netflix (the claudia kishi club and moxie) as well as into a library, for a gig that the video below is from. lockdown longing (“i wanna see my friends / and play with my band / i wanna eat dinner at my grandma’s place / here i sit in my house feeling so blue / i’m missing you”) plus cheerful making-it-through determination:
be prepared for surprise laughter when watching samia’s videos, where she hangs out with spaghetti, hides in the scenery, or is joined by lots of uncanny/tiny dancers. top-notch lockdown company, even when you find that there are people you just “have got nothing in common anymore” and feel overwhelmed by “bad news”
the best honey hahs used lockdowns for songwriting challenges and making music videos. here’s a small selection with earworms and contagious dance moves:
for more dancing (as a change from eating pasta, or, indeed, while eating, even in the outside world), try this challenge based on master kg and nomcebo’s bulubedo house hit! slow tutorial here.
beloved small feet, back with a mysterious masquerade,
a disaster waiting in line, and soaring ohs to the rescue.
one sunny afternoon last year, in a south london flat, simon sat down on a windowsill with a cup of coffee before his secret high hopes/imaginary friends collective living room gig, and played us two absolute tunes. one half-secret itself! 💛
moving from passenger to pilot and from emerald green to blue, emma elisabeth makes melancholic vintage pop milkshakes for endless cold summer nights and warm winter afternoons.
on a lucia friday in leipzig, between looking through record collections, drinking hot apple juice, and playing a fantastic and fairy-light cosy high hopes/imaginary friends collective living room gig (including forming a surprise choir with everyone to sing a lucia song in swedish, twice), emma and jonas played “cavalry”, to-the-bones beautiful and defiant. happy days!
the advent calendar mixtape returns to accompany you leaning far out of windows, whistling for snow and humming for good news, every day until 24th december.
we’re two weeks into 2019 and last year is still hanging out in my head. i mean, these tunes!
mitskibe the cowboy my ears pricked up at “your best american girl“, “texas reznikoff” took me far away and kept me there with its “anywhere”s, and i spent hours singing along to “strawberry blonde“, which is brightly sad and relentlessly catchy. then i saw mitski miyawaki touring her fifth album be the cowboy at sheperd’s bush empire and, oh my giddy aunt, she was brilliant. complete with all-out mime dancing, where she paced the stage, frog-jumped, and semaphored her songs with complicated hand movements. be the cowboy moves mitski’s fierce and vulnerable vocals, and her familiar chords and strange noises, into more electronic, outer space spheres that immediately feel homely. in “old friend“, some syllables stutter melancholily in a manner that lowers my head and lifts my heart, “a pearl” crescendoes into an irresistable chorus of watching a glow from the past, and feeling like an “idiot with the painted face in the corner, taking up space” does not exclude one from being “loved” in “me and my husband“, just as the urgency of global warming amplifies, not extinguishes, the need for “one good honest kiss” in “nobody“. mitski’s music, like her “i love you”s in “pink in the night“, is excellent company for dancing in the outer spaces of everyday life.
haley heynderickxi need to start a garden haley heynderickx’s debut album begins with the loitering vowels and lingering vocals of “no face“, which demands an explanation for a love lost. the way her voice catches, urgent like a scream but not screaming, for example in “is it [. . .] the back of my skin, is it the weight of the room that you couldn’t hold in?” gives me glorious soulshivers. subsequently, a naked centipede in the bedroom “out to get you” impedes the project of making “a perfect morning” in “the bug collector” until a beautiful trombone dusk descends. there are intricate acoustic guitar patterns and ghostly backing vocals, and splendidly tilting vocals of lines such as “you are alone” in “jo“. “oom sha la la” explains the urgency of the ablum’s title in its lyrics so compellingly that jumping around and singing along is imperative as it magnificently moves from the stark beginning of “the milk is sour / i’ve barely been to college / and i’ve been doubtful / of all that i have dreamed of”, via a pomegranate heart, to the final “oom sha la la”. this album faces troubles head-on but also invites surrealism to creep in among the chords, growing towards the light like the sunflowers in the unruly garden on the cover. aw.
honey hahsdear someone, happy something i had been looking forward to the debut album (on rough trade, no less!) of south london sisters rowan, robin, and sylvie since i saw them supporting misty miller at the windmill in brixton. at each of their gigs that i went to, there were shy glances, bold drumming, laughing fits and, most importantly, golden honey hah harmonies. their album, whose limited edition comes with a commendably yellow vinyl, includes a song marking their father’s pessimism about the state of the world in “forever” and a more optimistic counterpart: “i know you know“. “river“, inspired by the film adaptation of katherine paterson’s bridge to terabithia and its sad ending, is all glockenspiel, catchy, and haunting, especially the chorus: “and how did i let you go, out of sight and down the river”. there are also songs about other types of sadness such as “ok” and “beer fear“, and an anti-trump protest song, “stop him“, which, in fact is not merely against trump but sincerely demands he do better. and if you’ve made it thus far without catching an earworm, you are made of ice. the final track, “whoever“, may get you though when it gets to the line “push the time when theses rules die out and we are free to love whoever”. and, look, there is an hilarious bonus track, as well! what a debut. encouragingly messy trampoline anti-folk, bouncing around your ears for ages, much like the drawings bouncing around the photographs of the album artwork.
then there’s also the likes of hop along‘s library riot album bark your head off, dog on dear saddle creek. 2018 gave us some brilliant records. they’ll have to bunch up though, as 2019 is already earning its place.
the new friska viljor album broken is all stolen memories, sinking sadness, and bold decisions of the heart. daniel johansson and joakim sveningsson’s seventh album is less cheerful than usual and, like the fifth album remember our name, takes another turn musically, this time towards an orchestra-style expansive landscape of trauma. some songs unfold so slowly they stop you in your tracks. “trap“, while still managing to be catchy and providing trumpet hope, describes a limbo of “fighting without any words”. the “lights out” waltz sadly notes that “fear’s taken over the person you are” and the difficulty of “laying in bed trying to find the right side”. and the sigh at the beginning of “regrets“. aw. thankfully, hope, where it is not in the lyrics, preseveres in backing vocals, ohs (if not ahs), trumpet soars and smashing keys. and “endless life“, which amidst the sorrow evokes the sublime and familiar friska viljor kind of playful happysad hymns, is not exactly optimistic but offers allevating whistles and some way forward: “i believe love is not for us all but i know some who will not give it up, i could try hard to find it again, over and over again”. the album’s ending leaves you with subdued whistles and a breathtaking journey alongside someone flailing in an electronic storm. it is difficult to listen to this album in some ways, for it gives more space to feeling out tough emotions and traumatic situations. however, there is lovely friska viljor beauty in that and heartbreak is accompanied by bold decisions ‒ “i am not in love with you if you are not in love with me, so i, i wanna break up” ‒ and humor as in the opening track “unless you love me” and in the video for it.
this year, we can also look forward to sharon van etten‘s remind me tomorrow (18th january), amanda palmer‘s there will be no intermission (8th march), jade bird‘s self-titled debut album (19th april), and last but already beloved jens lekman and annika norlin‘s epistolary correspondence, for which they spent 2018 taking turns writing each other a song a month. until it’s released as an album, you can listen to it and look at the lyrics here (try “hibernation”, “not because it’s easy but because it’s hard”, “joining a cult”, and “on the edge of time”! aw, i’ll say!).
with three feet in the past, and a few into the future, planting records in my garden, i can confidently say that amidst all the troubles hanging over us, there are still places in the margins, hills, backyards, alleyways, and storms where we can love, dance, start gardens, make demands, and defend our hearts.
the advent calendar mixtape returns to your igloos with a new song for sleepdancing, slowdancing, or skipping-up-and-down dancing every day until 24th december.
amy may ellis‘s music is weathered by waves, moors, and london rivers. also to her credit, she takes ukuleles and knitted socks seriously.
on a sunday boat morning, between children’s drawings, cardboard advice from previous occupants, lists of recommendations, a telephone call to discuss lyrics, and cups of tea, amy sang “lonely loving” in a golden indoor-outer space, took us on a walk, and introduced us to her harmonium. hooray!
on 1st november, first aid kit played shoreditch town hall in london. three days later, i am still happily caught in their harmonies like in an autumn fog.
the evening began with van william, whom i had once seen with his band port o’brien when i had a stubborn cold. this time, he seemed more earnest as he played his new solo songs, even as he made jokes about how he kept losing his guitar string at difficult notes and guessed his way to his next london gig. he also took us back to port o’brien times with “fisherman’s son” (whee), and was joined by first aid kit for “revolution”.
first aid kit‘s set went from new fireworks skating across frozen lakes towards lonely finish lines, to nights cutting like knives in “it’s a shame” (oh my, do i feel for klara in this video), from singing about cold stockholm and dancing to trombone solos in “emmylou” to “you are the problem here” which, as klara said, was written as a response to brock turner but sadly “keeps remaining relevant”. johanna and klara took the time to introduce their wonderful band warmly and their friend van came back out to sing on “king of the world“. apart from all the singing, dancing, and exuberant smiles exchanged freely between audience and band, one of my favourite moments was the first encore, “ghost town”, which johanna and klara performed by themselves and acoustic. they invited everyone to join in, even if they didn’t know the lyrics and people sang softly, like a ghost choir.
a gig like a seaside campfire, lovely and brilliant all around. and, judging from “fireworks”, “it’s a shame”, and “postcard”, their upcoming album ruins, out on 19th january 2018, will be one for the “repeat” button.
my ears pricked up at “
haley heynderickx’s debut album begins with the loitering vowels and lingering vocals of “
i had been looking forward to the debut album (on rough trade, no less!) of south london sisters rowan, robin, and sylvie since i saw them supporting 
the new friska viljor album broken is all stolen memories, sinking sadness, and bold decisions of the heart. daniel johansson and joakim sveningsson’s seventh album is less cheerful than usual and, like the fifth album remember our name, takes another turn musically, this time towards an orchestra-style expansive landscape of trauma. some songs unfold so slowly they stop you in your tracks. “
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