Songs of the Week: An Echoic, Angela Sclafani, & more

Welcome to Songs of the Week, a running series with new selections.

It’s almost 2023, can you even believe it? I certainly can not. 12 months have whizzed by, but such is time’s mercilessly hand. To celebrate the closing of the year, I have the very last Songs of the Week feature with songs diving deep into moody synth-pop and indie folk, weaving between sharp songwriting and textured soundscapes. Hope you enjoy

An Echoic – “take me with you to outer space”

Psych-pop artists An Echoic transmits his adoration for his girlfriend into the outer ring of the cosmos. “take me with you to outer space” imagines celestial bodies colliding into one another, as so often happens with love. “Us out in space might feel lightyears away / But well what can I say, can barely wait…” yearns artistic frontman Martin Kihlstedt, his voice as light as a feather. Kihlstedt sings with a weirdly ethereal glow, as though he’s beaming up from another planet across the plane of light and space. As Train sings in that one song, it’s like drops of Jupiter.

Sean King – “Tasmania”

The beauty of Tasmania stretches out before him. Acoustic guitar in hand, its rumbling purr warm and enveloping, Sean King paints a vividly clear and bright landscape. “There ain’t no other blessed place to be,” he crows, stretching out his twangy draw across prickly guitar chords. He feels invigorated by the sights, so much so the songwriting would not be quite the same. Sometimes the environment really does influence one’s artistic notions. Even the guitar solo carries with it a resounding lyricism, pedaling through the notes with rapid intent.

Sparkbird – “Silent Film”

Stephan Nance, known onstage as Sparkbird, felt grief throbbing in their chest. Mourning the death of their parrot Gabby, Nance turned to songwriting to exorcise the pain that somehow clung to their ribcage. “I don’t even know where to begin,” sings Nance over a piano’s sharp chords. When the flood waters rise unexpectedly, as is always the case with grief and its rippling effects, it’s difficult to navigate one’s way into, through, and out of the murky depths. “You were the soundtrack of my life,” they weep, their tears cascading down their chin and splashing across the instruments. “Silent Film” is powerful in its stillness, and Nance delivers a wallop of a performance.

Angela Sclafani – “I’d Fall”

Angela Sclafani is a lark, swooping over the melody with agility. With “I’d Fall,” the singer-songwriter masterfully, wistfully gazes back to childhood and how creative expression became an escape from isolation. The walls seemed to crush upon her shoulders, yet her imagination proved to be vital for her healing and endurance through the worst of times. “I couldn’t run away / My thoughts ran laps around the grey,” she sighs over a glistening folk arrangement. In the most terrible darkness, Schlafani manages to uncover hope and a way to triumph.

Reina Subramanian – “Breathe Slow”

With the bitter cold, there comes buckets of snow and heart-sore headaches. The kind that casts you deep into a depressive, catatonic state. On “Breathe Slow,” Reina Subramanian encourages the listener to take a step back and inhale, deeply drinking in the present moment. “If you’re running on an impulse, try to breathe slow,” she sings over an icy, moody beat. While its air is chilly, the song actually soothes and warms the soul. She calls back to the summer weather and hot sun beating down on her shoulders. Such an image may just get us through the next four months. Here’s hoping.

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