What connects a Swedish pop singer worried about wasting his life, a Dublin rapper replaying an argument in his head, a Kent soul artist questioning her career, and a Maui-born folk writer who stayed too long in the wrong relationship? Not genre, not geography. Nearly every track in this week’s Fresh Finds is looking backwards. At the argument you mishandled, the relationship you should have left, the version of yourself you outgrew, the future you are not sure you are building. Retrospection is the week’s real genre. Here is what is worth your attention, why it matters, and where to go next.
If you’re new here, start with our breakdown of Patrick Watson’s Je te laisserai des mots Meaning Explained.
Listen to this week’s Fresh Finds playlist below while you read.
BOY IN SPACE — The Man Who Lost It All
The Man Who Lost It All is about the dread of arriving at old age with nothing but regret, the suspicion that you may already have taken the wrong path.
Released March 20 as the second preview of a long-awaited debut album, it is the most exposed thing Robin Lundbäck has put his name to. The song opens with his body, weight gained and lost, fluctuating. It moves through missed streams, a fantasy of running a hot dog stand, a plot of land where he could grow something with his hands. The images are ordinary on purpose. He has said: “I have a big fear of growing older… with ‘what-ifs’ at the end.”
The lyric stays in that uncertainty without forcing an answer. ‘Did I drop the ball… the man who lost it all’ feels like a question and not a conclusion. The production mirrors that uncertainty through texture. Violin and pedal steel sit low beneath the guitar, adding warmth his earlier work avoided. The falsetto, which has always Lundbäck’s most distinctive tool makes the anxiety feel closer to real.
Over half a billion streams and still no debut LP. That changes this autumn.
Boy In Space Questions Belonging on Who’s Crying When I’m Leaving?
KHAKIKID — Soul
Soul is the conversation KhakiKid never had during the argument. He is having it now, one week later.
That is how Dublin-born Abdu Huss describes it: “the conversation you have with yourself a week after the argument.” The track avoids the heat and stays with the aftermath, replaying what was said and what was meant.
Produced by Louis Stanley Isaacs featuring vocals by Bricknasty, the production leans into contrast. Bright piano and steady drums sit against heavier subject matter. The feeling holds because it never settles. KhakiKid’s delivery stays searching, while Bricknasty’s chorus lifts just enough to keep it moving.
Abdu writes from contradiction. Earlier tracks hinted at it. Soul removes the distance.
NME 100 Essential Artists. Dazed One To Watch. A sold-out 3Olympia headline. Girl Bites Dog looks like the moment it widens.
TIA GORDON — should I give it up?
should I give it up? is Tia Gordon asking herself, without performance, whether she should keep going.
The writing is direct. She questions her talent, her future, her ability to build something real. The chorus repeats until it becomes its own answer: “should I give it up?… with a little luck and a lot of love.” It does not resolve. It continues.
Brasstracks build the track around bright horns and a steady groove, but the arrangement never lifts fully. The energy stays level, holding the uncertainty in place. Gordon’s voice carries a controlled soul tone that keeps it grounded.
Born in Croydon, now Kent-based, she built quietly from SoundCloud before going public in 2019. She now sits past 500,000 monthly listeners with co-signs from Mahalia, Berwyn, Pip Millett and Mabel.
This is the second single from her upcoming EP i asked the stars for this. x, out May 6. The question remains open.
OBED PADILLA — Rainforest
Rainforest sits at the end of a grief arc. Not the breakdown, not the processing, but the point where something new becomes possible.
Padilla positions it as the closing chapter of his upcoming EP Rodeo Clown. Each track maps a stage of a relationship ending. This one arrives last. The lyric reflects that shift: “I do whatever you want to… grow you a rainforest.”
The structure follows that feeling. It begins sparse, then gradually expands. Instead of building upward, it spreads outward, adding layers without raising intensity. It grows rather than pushes.
A Chicano artist from Oceanside with roots across Mexico and Costa Rica, Padilla draws from wide influences. The Beach Boys’ warmth meets Kanye West’s production instincts. Viral tracks built attention, but this feels more intentional.
After his previous EP, Do You Still Love Me?, this signals direction. Rodeo Clown is worth watching.
GRAY HAWKEN — growing pains
growing pains is written for someone carrying damage from their past. Not trying to fix it, just refusing to leave.
The song came from watching someone close navigate the aftermath of domestic violence, and recognising the limits of what you can do. The lyric stays there: “Girl you got too much heart…” and later “The only power that they get is what you give them.”
That line holds the emotion. It is not comforting, instead, it offers a choice.
The arrangement stays subdued. Fingerpicked guitar keeps the texture light while the piano carries the emotional weight, and Hawken holds back vocally until the second chorus. It never becomes about him.
A Grammy-winning producer with credits across pop and R&B, he understands scale. Choosing not to use it here is the point. This is the centre of his new EP Sovereign.
Ross Newhouse — Words I’d Use
Newhouse calls the single “years in the making,” written with Grace Gardner around a shared idea: wanting someone to see themselves the way you already do.
The co-write opened something he does not usually access: “I don’t usually co-write my own songs…”
It lands on something more specific than that. They’re saying the right things. Neither of them trusts it.
The song builds, but it never lets you step outside the thought it’s caught in.
The guitar stays acoustic throughout, the harmonies between Newhouse and Gardner are warm without being pushed, and the production leans more pop-facing than his earlier work without losing the folk intimacy that keeps his writing worth returning to.
CENOBIA — Make Us Whole Again
Make Us Whole Again confronts the version of yourself you thought you had left behind.
Her framing is consistent: “She writes music for him. He will never hear it.” The track opens with imposter syndrome as something physical, “holds me in its cold dark maw”, before moving through disconnection and a loss of identity . It works both as a relationship unraveling and something more internal, the feeling of not recognising yourself anymore.
Positioned as the third chapter in a wider narrative, the song builds on a growing sense of continuity across her releases. The appeal is not just the subject, but the world around it, something listeners can return to and piece together.
Produced by Mark Williamson, who has worked across her previous releases , the track pulls from prog-metal, shoegaze and blackgaze but shifts away from the density of her earlier work. The guitars stay hazy, the vocal stays low, and the expected climax never arrives. That choice is what makes it land.
Earlier releases leaned on impact. This one holds back and lets the detail do the work.
Three singles in and the identity is already clear.
Also This Week
2charm — no pressure: A shift from Cub Sport into club-ready house-pop. The tension sits in what is not said. “No pressure though… it’s just a dream.” The outro strips it to fragments: “wait / here / more / rage.”
livingthing — auburn: 80s textures, but the mood is closer to dread than nostalgia. “Don’t they know I’ve got a chance to ruin my life?” The hook turns back on itself, like the thought it can’t get past.
REMI — Your Loss: A breakup framed as clarity. “I don’t need your apologies.” Ends with a definition of loss, landing on “This is your loss.” Calm or cutting depending on where you stand.
Erin Kinsey — Reasons Why We Broke Up: Kinsey builds the song around a literal list. “I got a working list in my phone… when I’m alone and tipsy” . The reasons are clear, the feeling ignores them. The stripped production leaves that conflict exposed. That gap is the song.
FMBLONGMONEY — Only My Turn: Built around a single line repeated until it becomes belief. “I never lose only learn.” Every ending is reframed. The delivery stays controlled, with one line cutting through the surface.
Nikki Falk — Fighter Dog: A breakup framed through strength rather than loss. “You only called me weak…” sits at the centre, followed by “My warmth alone still keeps your ribcage filled.” Sparse folk production keeps everything exposed.
The week starts with Robin Lundbäck asking if he has already made the wrong choices and ends with Nikki Falk naming what it cost to stay. In between, an Irish rapper replays an argument, a Kent songwriter questions her future, a Chicano artist imagines something new, and a Sydney artist writes to someone who will never hear it. None of these songs resolve. That is why they stay with you.
All tracks out now on major streaming platforms.
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