The mainstream vaporized, our confidence decomposed, our enemies multiplied; the only honest path forward for punk lies in the teeth-chattering anxiety of A Salve for Institution by The Sheaves.

Compositionally, introspective lyrics, intuitive structures, and swirling rhythms draw us into the speaker’s inner world, observing our surroundings in all of their typically disregarded psychedelic absurdity.

For Ange Madame on her new record Birth Becomes Her, rebirth represents a deepening of all kinds of sensation and knowledge, from the scalding burn of sympathetic pain to the warm comfort of interpersonal intimacy.

Coin by Taxidermy explores loss in both concrete and abstract forms, using a dark, emo-influenced post-hardcore sound to move past the shock phase of grief.

Deliberately pulling back on the reins before the music spirals into overindulgence, these tracks prioritize acceptance and contentment ahead of jubilation, staying firmly rooted on the ground with positive melodies that remain spindly and narrow instead of escalating to an extravagant height.

Power strangles the world with a steel chain, from an economy that alienates us to interpersonal relationships that eviscerate our personhood. Julie Christmas shatters this chokehold on her terrifying new record Ridiculous and Full of Blood, a wholesale rejection of complacency in all facets of life.

Requiem by The Nausea tells a coming of age story by capturing a moment of earth-shattering realization, a flaming sword that will hold us wailing at the gates of eden forever.

The Silhouette of Us by Kotoko Tanaka builds a psychedelic experience out of a series of stagnant plateaus, each one generally venturing deeper into off-center rhythms, difficult countermelodies, and alien instrumentation.

Inner Light by Mark Templeton represents the death knell of this appropriationist era, chopping and screwing a series of flashy, shimmery christian meditation cassette tapes from the 70s and 80s to point out the absurdity of using such sounds in organized worship.

The computer organizes sounds by similarity and compatibility, creating bizarre rhythms and dense overlays that feel unexpectedly pleasing despite their complexity.

mDzod Rum by Abysskvlt, Obsidian Black Carrion by Gom Jabber, Th Fly S Cmng by Strlnr Twrs, and Alienation Manifesto by Thanatotherion

As a deeply emotional slice of life expressed through club bangers, the long awaited release Brat by Charli XCX is the perfect album to get your limbs pumping wildly at a party with tears streaming down your face.

Previously shelved as a historical relic, this sound reemerges in absolutely beautiful form on the new album Para No Olvidarte by Clamor, an ode to those early pioneers of what was then called “emocore” such as Rites of Spring, Embrace, and Dag Nasty.

Solitude with the Eternal… by Adversarial, Whereunto the Twilight Leads by Lament in Winter’s Night, Total Doom by SXAP, and What is DEATH? by Unholy Orpheus

If you were happy with the Duster resurgence a couple years ago, you’ll be happy to hear that the indie scene still produces heartbreaking lo-fi slowcore in ample quantity and quality.

On the new record What We Don’t See by FINAL, long-running project of industrial innovator Justin Broadrick, a map is made of the empty spaces inside atoms, traversing the dark void from electron to nucleus. These expansive ambient soundscapes are inspired by the concept of an invisible world, one beyond surface-level perception, something that cannot be measured but can be felt in moments of profound stillness.

Pieces of art like the album A1 by Namjorh challenge this expectation of safety in the most subconscious, unsettling way, opening our minds to a mystery with only the darkest possible resolutions.

For JackDupon on their album TOUCAN, representing nature requires a rejection of consistent harmony, celebrating the beautiful world we inhabit with an inconsistent onslaught of jagged guitars and lumbering grooves.

As the scene rediscovers fast, riffy hardcore, a natural impulse takes over: to push the pedal to the floor and create the most desperate, angsty, kinetic sound possible.

However, the songs on Cleats by FIN intimately resonate all throughout the body without losing their pop structural sensibilities, constructing choruses that crawl across our skin and hooks that caress us tenderly.