Top 10 songs of the summer so far

By Arman Saxena     6/19/25 9:25pm

Finals have wrapped, campus has emptied out and our playlists have exploded with fresh releases. From 10‑minute punk epics to sun‑drenched disco revivals, the early‑summer drop has been generous. Here are 10 tracks — in alphabetical order — that have ruled my headphones since the last textbook closed.

Honorable mentions:

“Incomprehensible” - Big Thief

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“One of Us is Lying” - Lucy Bedroque

“Immortal Hands” - Stereolab

“world’s end” - John Michel and Anthony James

“Two Riders Down” - caroline 

“Romeo” - PinkPantheress

“Magic, Alive!” - McKinley Dixon

The Top Ten:

“Nettles” — Ethel Cain 

Ethel Cain trades dark ambient soundscapes for dust‑caked porch folk on the lead single to August’s “Willoughby Tucker, I Will Always Love You.” Over finger‑picked guitar, fiddle and banjo, she time‑travels through memory, tracing loss, first love and roadside graves beneath prairie skies. “Nettles” feels less like a song than a faded diary page sung aloud — proof Cain can distill gothic Americana into something intimate enough to bruise but grand enough to haunt.

“Walk of Fame” — Miley Cyrus feat. Brittany Howard 

Sampling New Order’s 80s alt-dance classic “Blue Monday,” Cyrus slams retro synth stabs against Brittany Howard’s gospel‑tinged howls, creating a stadium‑sized dance anthem about rewriting your own legend. The production swerves from rubbery bass to squalling guitars without ever losing its neon pulse, while Miley toggles between raspy belt and honeyed coo. It’s the culmination of every era she’s tried on — punk, country, glam — welded into one defiantly future‑facing banger.

“Lotus” — Little Simz feat. Michael Kiwanuka & Yussef Dayes 

Simz opens with whispered reflections, then Michael Kiwanuka’s velvet hook blooms like sunlight through stained glass. By verse two she’s spitting double‑time bars about generational trauma, social media noise and guarding her peace, her cadence tightening as the instrumental swells from beautiful hip-hop piano and drums to full‑blown psych‑soul. The track’s final minute, where jazzy drums, wah‑guitar and Kiwanuka’s falsetto spiral upward, feels downright transcendental. “Lotus” isn’t just an album centerpiece — it’s a mission statement for artists refusing to shrink to fit audience expectations.

“Look Down on Us” — Maruja 

Ten minutes, two sax freak‑outs and one seismic tempo shift: Manchester’s Maruja cram a whole protest rally into a single track. Isaac Wilkinson’s verses snarl at Forbes‑list greed and “genocide abundant” warmongers, while the rhythm section detonates with post‑punk ferocity. Midway, the storm calms into elegiac horns before rebuilding into a furious, love‑as‑resistance crescendo. By the final refrain — half‑sung, half‑screamed — the song argues empathy itself is a revolutionary weapon. It’s exhausting, exhilarating and already a front‑runner for song of the year.

“Got To Have Love” - Pulp

Unearthed from early‑2000s demo reels and super‑charged with disco sparkle, Pulp’s second “More” single pulls Jarvis Cocker’s heart out of storage. The verses reclaim a scrapped “We Love Life” melody, but the strings and gospel call‑and‑response vocals push the track somewhere gloriously new. Lyrically, Cocker flips the snark of “F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E.” into a middle‑aged pep talk: spell the word, mean the word, stop hiding behind irony. For a band famous for youthful sarcasm, this candid self‑intervention feels downright radical.

“Fame is a Gun” — Addison Rae 

Dark, Y2K‑tinted electropop pulses under Rae’s feather‑light vocals, creating a tension that’s equal parts MARINA‑esque camp and pop hyper‑gloss. Synth bass throbs like a heartbeat while she flips “The Glamorous Life” into a cautionary mantra. “Crash and burn, girl, baby swallow it dry,” she coos, mapping the cost of constant exposure over neon snares and chrome‑shiny pads. It’s both jab and acceptance — proof Addison can poke fun at influencer culture even as she owns the spotlight.

“Rope (Away)” — Swans 

Across 19 hypnotic minutes, Swans weave two movements: “Rope,” an ascending instrumental built from hammered dulcimer, acoustic strums and slowly multiplying drones; and “Away,” Michael Gira’s elegiac roll call for departed friends. The studio version swaps the tour’s seismic improvisations for a more oceanic swell, letting each texture meld into a single tidal surge before collapsing into whispered farewells. Gira’s repeated “away” feels less like resignation than ritual—closing one era, preparing another rope to the sky. It’s towering, tender and terminally haunting.

“Angels All Around Me…” — Kali Uchis 

Kali splits this two‑part cut between celestial swagger and hushed prayer. Act I drifts on woozy trip‑hop drums, harpsichord sprinkles and heavenly ad-libs as she thanks her guardians for a life bathed in abundance. Mid‑song, the beat flips to half‑time gospel‑soul; instruments shimmer and her focus widens to family, unborn children and community protection. The gear‑shift trades euphoric triumph for intimate vulnerability without losing its psychedelic pulse. It’s spiritual summer‑night perfection.

“Lead Paint Test” — billy woods feat. E L U C I D & Cavalier 

Over a dusty soul loop and turntable scratches, three emcees walk the creaking halls of an ancestral address — “124 Bluestone crouched on thin haunch.” E L U C I D details cracked plaster and summer‑swollen doors; Cavalier recalls parents chasing ownership “to break the chains.” woods closes the door behind them, his voice half ghost story, half eviction notice, pressing an ear to the locked room nobody opens. Household decay becomes a map of generational trauma, each verse a new layer of toxic paint we suddenly realize we’re breathing.

“Dudu” — yeule 

Named for their beloved cat yet the opposite of cuddly, “Dudu” disguises anguish in candy‑coated indietronica. Breakbeat drums and chirping vocal chops bounce like a kids show theme, yet the lyrics spiral through overdose wards, poison rain and “unstable butterflies.” yeule’s voice hovers, glassy and bruised, vowing to “leave a trace before you forget my face” while the refrain’s coos loop like nervous laughter. It’s unrequited love rendered as glitch pop: irresistibly cute on first spin, tragic once you read the fine print.

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