Doomed Desire
Do not let the production in this playlist fool you. What has been designed to sound big and dreamy is nothing but a guise for the murky, mundane secrets we all keep. The wishes we hide. The feelings we know, but supress. Instead of keeping them in the dark, these albums celebrate them. From a uniquely female perspective, guided by classic shoegaze, dream-pop, and indie, these songs are the soundtrack to desperation. To longing. Even when you know it's all for naught. This playlist is full of dreams that are destined to fail. In drowning out our desires in sound, they provide us with a unique kind of comfort. A foreboding you can sink into. A shame that feels ok to embrace. This is apocalyptic dream-pop that pines. This is Doomed Desire.
Mostly Forever, Bluhm (2025)
The more I hear from Bluhm, the more I am convinced of their ability to be my next favorite indie artist. The Detroit duo - which I have written about before - is sure to truly take off some time soon. In just the last couple of months, their listeners have grown - and this newest EP explains why. By far their biggest and dreamiest work to-date, Mostly Forever is a hauntingly beautiful account of drama, desire, and sex.
Between heartsick melodies, faded, clashing drums, chants of la-la-la-la, and sparkling synths, Mostly Forever reaches the peak of what dream-pop should be. Freedom on the dancefloor. Power play in bed. Mystery in the mirror. Meaning in glances between strangers. Mostly Forever sounds big, but a closer listen will reveal it for what it truly is: a simple, raw account of honest desire. Instead of trying to transcend her humanity or shy away from it, Claire Bluhm embraces it. The sexy, the ugly, the desperate. Bluhm celebrates her lack of control. An acutely human kind of recklessness, best captured in Touch Me. When You Come Over goes so far as to tap into an explicit Cigarettes After Sex sultryness: “Do you like it when you come?; Did it feel like you were powerful; I think I like it when I’m on top; Say words, tell me how you want me now; You hold on; Let it go and you’ll be everything I want.” Meanwhile, the pre-chorus and chorus on Low Light are utterly ravenous. A striking balance between prowling spoken poetry and big belting. On the other end of the spectrum, Ghosts Between Us is coated with a The Marías sweetness. In honoring the many facets of humanhood (and especially womanhood), Bluhm captures a unique kind of depth on Mostly Forever.
Time Time Time (I’m In The Palm Of Your Hand), Yndling (2025)
Oh. My. Production. The artistry of this album cannot be understated. I’m embarrassed to admit that Yndling was not previously on my radar. But, oh boy, she is now. The Norwegian solo artist is navigating uncharted territory on her third LP. Far beyond dream-pop, the record reaches into a daring otherworldliness. And it works.
Time Time Time is cutting. A bold take on the classic drowsiness of Men I Trust, Beach House, and Portishead. Even when playing with various genre elements as if they were toys, Yndling shapes something substantive, mature, and surprisingly coherent. Despite the record being split into two parts - “the first inspired by classic shoegaze and dream-pop, while the second blends trip-hop and dream-pop with touches of fuzzed-out shoegaze guitar” - Yndling does a dazzling job of curating a consistent soundscape. Indeed, “The album does indeed shift, but maintains a fluid, cohesive atmosphere and sound palette.” We are strung along by her storytelling, each track revealing an emotion we didn’t know we had. In this way, the album is a soundtrack to all-too-familiar human feelings. A longing for the past. A longing for a lover. A longing for belonging. Each song throws a hurling, heart-wrenching hook our way. Surprises us with a new, strange instrumental element. That shredding electric guitar bridge on It’s Almost Like You’re Here. Those drums on You Know I Hate it. The honest desperation of the title-track. Fighting against the force of time. Fighting against what you know will win. Grieving. Learning to accept. That acute Portishead essence of Fences. An eeriness enough to send shivers down your spine. From beginning to end, Time Time Time flaunts not only flawless, but truly innovative production. Here, Yndling shows us musicality that is creative, clever, and catchy all at once.
Upper Mezzanine, Sex Week (2025)
Sex Week is a current obsession of mine. While their 2024 self-titled debut (featured on the Barely There playlist) was soft-spoken, fragile, warm, and oh-so-sexy, this most recent EP from the Brooklyn-based duo channels a completely different energy. Fusing genres, Upper Mezzanine is partly uneasy, partly charming, and strangely romantic.
Co-vocalist Pearl Amanda Dickson’s intention with the EP was for, “…People to be singing along and taking the melodies away with them, but the darkness of this EP is obviously there. The world is scary right now. I’m scared in lots of ways, and I think that omnipresent feeling definitely snuck into Upper Mezzanine.” Easily, the band was successful in creating something both delightful and haunted at once. They achieve this by crossing our wires. Beethoven is utterly foreboding. Murky guitars prepare us for something wicked that comes this way. And yet, Sex Week never strays too far from their name. Even at their darkest, they can’t pull themselves away from that nasty kind of desire: “Would you come to me?; I want you inside; Beethoven, come give me something to do; Beethoven, I'll get all sloppy for you; Beethoven, I'll do anything you want.” Meanwhile, the xylophone (?) on Lone Wolf sounds like something out of a Studio Ghibli film. The prowling pace and instrumentals prepare us for something frightening, while the duo’s contrasting vocals transport us somewhere blissful, even flaunting a pop-like catchiness at times. The EP is full of these surprises. The brilliant banjo and hollerin’ on Coach. Moneyman’s silly little harmonica. Upper Mezzanine’s genre exists strictly between shadows, tension, and uneasy intimacy. What we are left with is a soundscape that oscillates between foreboding and seductive. An impending sense of doom, overshadowed by desire. A craving for more.
No Place To Land, Night Swimming (2024)
Yes, another EP. But its not my fault. Since bursting onto the scene in 2022, Night Swimming has yet to put out an LP. A tragedy, really. Despite the similarities in name (and an admitted sonic resemblance), Night Swimming is not to be confused with Night Tapes. While both bands are from the UK, the 5-member band from Bath/Bristol with a sadder sound is far less known than their London-based counterparts.
Despite having only 50,000 monthly listeners with a top track boasting just slightly over 100,000 streams, Night Swimming is creating phenomenal soundscapes. Living up to their name, the band draws inspiration from just as much from the dream realm as it does from the mundane. Echoing influences like Slowdive, Warpaint, and Beach House, Night Swimming feels like a deep dive into a dark, starry pool. No Place To Land is among the group’s best work, highlighting their effortless, seamless sound. With flawless production, the EP lures us into its mesmerizing haze. Even when the production does not show us something new, Meg Jones' heaven-sent voice keeps us tuned in. And when that is not enough to hook us, we stay stuck on her songwriting. Feeling like the fading, old tattoo on a lover on Evergreen. Losing someone to their own dark blue on Let That Be Enough. Unable to stop from falling into a lover’s addictive allure on Mirror. Tunnelling in sweetness (aka touching yourself to a memory) on the absolutely stunning Warmer. Jumping into someone, only to realize you can no longer touch the bottom on Five-Year Plan (the way the tempo picks up as the track goes on is genius - perfectly igniting the anxiety the song is meant to make us feel). From top to bottom, No Place To Land captures all of the angst of its title. Yearning, wishing, dreaming, aching, desiring. Soaked in love. Heavy with gloom. Hypnotizingly sad.
