Songs of the Week: Melanie MacLaren, Maple Run Band & more

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

In our inaugural Songs of the Week feature, we’ve rounded up some essentials from our SubmitHub submissions. Running the gamut, from Americana and folk to rock-drenched pop, there’s something for everyone with this lineup. Let’s dive in.

Melanie MacLaren & Lorkin O’Reilly – “Sleeping with Headphones”

Troubles burrow so far into your bones that no matter what you do it’ll follow you all the days of your life. Melanie MacLaren and Lorkin O’Reilly‘s new song “Sleep with Headphones” trickles down like rain on a tin roof, acoustic guitar ricochetting across the earth. “My heart is a game in a penny arcade / It’s made to be lost, to be played,” whispers MacLaren. Her voice slides over the melody as agile as a lark, and for his part, O’Reilly’s reedy tone plants roots into the soil. “I shouldn’t have to tell you / You should just know…” he trails off. “Sleeping with Headphones” sweeps the listener into a haunted reverie, from which none of us can wake.

Francesco Yates – “JIMI”

Francesco Yates‘ falsetto is like melted butter. Guitars rumble and clatter together, slithering along beneath Yates and his galvanizing vocal performance. Referencing guitar slingin’ icon Jimi Hendrix, he finally says the L word, singing, “I think I love you, baby—like I love my guitar.” He then vaults into a propulsive acrobatic routine and flitters between creamy sweetness and throaty rock yelps. The arrangement keeps its chill to give Yates a proper platform on which to showcase his dynamic voice. “JIMI” is nothing if not an earworm that wiggles into your head and never leaves no matter how hard you try. Don’t try and fight ’cause you’ll lose.

Maple Run Band – “Loretta”

A cut from their new LP, Used to Be the Next Big Thing, “Loretta” crackles with deep sorrow. A friend has shaken off their mortal coil, and the anguish feels insurmountable. So, Maple Run Band turns to songwriting through which to process and accept the cruelty and uncertainty of existence. “Our days were the best, and the end was the worst,” cries Trevor Crist. The words shatter like glass across a hardwood floor and pack nearly as much punch as the death itself. There’s just something about singing those words allowed that allows the pain to resurface and reopen old wounds. “You left me without even saying goodbye” stings like a knife piercing the heart. This life doesn’t last, but it doesn’t make it easier to handle. That’s just the way of things.

Sage Castleberry – “Last Goodbye”

The rhythm stretches outward like a desolate strip of highway. The breeze ruffles his hair and dries the tear stains on his cheeks. But it doesn’t squelch the pain. That may never stop throbbing inside his chest. “Driving that highway / Going to see if you’re alright,” he cruises along the coastline. It’s their last goodbye but it all feels too surreal. Sage Castleberry exposes his heart, as a cathartic way to extricate what is left of the relationship. “I know it’s been a struggle / Let’s try to fix the rubble,” he sings, as much to himself as his ex. Heartbreak is the inevitable crash, but it doesn’t make the anticipation easier to swallow. It just makes it so much worse.

Dylan Dunn – “I’m Not Clyde”

There are those relationships that feel so good on the body. They’re intoxicating. But there’s always more than meets the eye. Eventually, cracks appear in the veneer, exposing the truth of the matter: it’s just not a good fit. With “I’m Not Clyde,” Dylan Dunn retools Bonnie & Clyde imagery to snuggly around into his emotional being. “You got me like I’m scared to try / Baby, baby, I just can’t decide / I’m feeling so alive but I’m afraid I’ll die,” he aches. His voice blankets waves to electric guitars, equally as resonant as the lyrics themselves. The relationship might toss him into a heap of ruin, yet it’s the songwriting that may save him after all.

The Bergamot – “Neon Sunrise”

“These are the moments that we live for,” bask Nathaniel Paul Hoff and Jillian Speece. The world and the stage on which they stand (namely an opening slot for the Barenaked Ladies last month) pulses like orbs falling down around them. The Bergamot never felt more alive than they do right now in this very moment. “Neon Sunrise” aptly summarizes their feelings about existing and finding real meaning in the present. “If lights won’t show up / And darkness on the ground / I know my way along the road,” rings out as a personal manifesto. The road might be weary and long, but they forge ahead anyway. It’s the only thing they know how to do.

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