Best New Songs (May 1, 2025)
Don't miss these great new tracks.
Photo of Indigo De Souza by Hannah Sommer
At Paste Music, we’re listening to so many new tunes on any given day, we barely have any time to listen to each other. Nevertheless, every week we can swing it, we take stock of the previous seven days’ best new songs, delivering a weekly playlist of our favorites. Check out this week’s material, in alphabetical order. (You can check out an ongoing playlist of every best new songs pick of 2025 here.)
Car Seat Headrest: “The Catastrophe (Good Luck With That, Man)”
Car Seat Headrest’s rock opera opus The Scholars is out this week, but before Toledo and the band fully raise the curtain, they’ve dropped one final single: “The Catastrophe (Good Luck With That, Man).” Their latest track is a feverish, five-minute sprint through the cynical indie rock we’ve come to expect from the band, volatilely switching mid-breakdown just to ramp back up as suddenly as it fell away. These melodic bait-and-switches bring a welcome change of pace to the track list we’ve heard so far—condensing the chaos into a 5-minute run time. Now, that’s not a short song by any modern standard, but compared to earlier singles “CCF (I’m Gonna Stay With You)” stretching over eight minutes, and “Gethsemane” clocking in at a sprawling 11, “The Catastrophe (Good Luck With That, Man)” sounds more focused, concentrated, and empowered in its storytelling. That contrast has made it my favorite preview from The Scholars so far. It’s more accessible and relatable, yet remains entwined in the pandemonium of the band’s musical theatrics. I’ve been fully on board for this drawn-out, operatic narrative direction, but it’s still a nice callback to the days where Car Seat Headrest were frantic and urgent—as if this is a rock opera rendition of “Beach Life-in-Death” or “Connect the Dots (The Saga of Frank Sinatra).” —Gavyn Green
dating: “Your New Bones”
Sometimes all I want to do is sit in bed, stare at the ceiling, put my headphones on, and be engulfed by sound. It satisfies the emo kid inside me—the main-character energy I crave every now and then, like there’s a camera pointing straight down at me and slowly panning out. dating’s latest single “Your New Bones” not only happens to be the perfect sync for my hypothetical coming-of-age movie scene, but a clear reminder that I’m still susceptible to the allure of existential slowcore. There’s a delicate ache inside the marrow that is “Your New Bones.” Amidst a hammering of percussion and ghostly vocal effects lies a simple guitar riff—a melody that lurches forward into the catastrophic breakdown within the song’s final moments. It’s dating’s first release in almost two years, and while it isn’t a far departure from his already-established grinding, otherworldly approach to shoegaze, “Your New Bones” comes across as more mature, both in style and production. He’s been able to capture that haunting-meets-headbanging quality so many shoegaze bands strive for. By decelerating the rhythms, the words, and the noise, the gravity of each element multiplies. It demands patience and presence to construct songs like this, but the payoff is exactly what a young, emo me always wanted—to close my eyes and feel like I’m floating away. —Gavyn Green
Emily Hines: “My Own Way”
Listening to Emily Hines’ lo-fi folk ballads feels like discovering a cult hero’s lost demos—these gentle, heart-mending recordings crackle with intimacy and seem to unfold as you’re listening. What a beautiful discovery her latest song, “My Own Way,” is—a quiet, empathetic reckoning with self-doubt. “I’m in my own way again,” Hines exhales, as muted chords, plush percussion, and tender strings wrap around her raw-hemmed yet delicate drawl. “Watchin’ the wheels spin.” Instead of snowballing into an explosion of pent-up frustration, that opening remark assumes a mantra-like quality when Hines repeats it—she isn’t self-flagellating, just observing herself, singing with the serenity of one watching clouds slowly drifting overhead. The four-track cassette recording preserves a warm, fuzzy atmosphere that makes it feel like you’re right beside Hines as she comes to peace with herself, realizing that the path forward begins with self-recognition. Listen and learn. —Anna Pichler
Hotline TNT: “Candle”
Hotline TNT are lighting it at both ends on “Candle,” playing up their fuzzy tradition but with a new color of catchiness. It’s the second single from their next album Raspberry Moon, a white-hot but fashionably sweet follow-up to “Julia’s War” from last month. There’s an aroma to the track, as bandleader Will Anderson sings about a new crush: “I wanna try, get butterflies.” The melody weeps out of the guitars like a Teenage Fanclub lick you can’t quite get out of your head, and Anderson pulls his vocal out of the mix’s deep end before it gets lost in translation. “Candle” isn’t as muscular as its predecessor, but it’s lovesick and unflinchingly so. I’m a sucker for what I call a “possibility song,” and “Candle” is a good reminder that catching cooties is cool as hell. —Matt Mitchell
Indigo De Souza: “Heartthrob”
There’s a long history of women turning songs about sexual assault into catchy pop songs, from Amanda Palmer’s “Oasis” to Charly Bliss’ “Chatroom.” It’s the ultimate “fuck you” and a way to reclaim your power while reminding listeners that they’re not alone in the form of abuse that sadly is too common. Indigo De Souza’s lead single “Heartthrob” off her upcoming album Precipice sounds jubilant and effervescent, evoking being in a “bounce house,” which she references in the first verse. Its melody is a striking contrast to the lyrics, in which she paints vivid imagery about her experience of being sexually assaulted. “And I was just so cold at first / But after all that moving around / I start to warm up to the feeling / I really put my back into it,” she sarcastically belts out. The track excels at making you uncomfortable over how pleasantly earworm-y it is, as you find yourself having the tune stuck in your head and confronting the horrors that women are told to take. —Tatiana Tenreyro
McKinley Dixon is three-for-three on Magic, Alive! singles so far, the latest being the Teller Bank$-assisted “Recitatif.” The title comes from Toni Morrison’s short story of the same name, a French word for “recitative.” Dixon takes that to heart, turning “Recitatif” into a dialogue between verse and arrangement. The track paces itself on a snare-and-cymbal rhythm, as Dixon’s flow gradually ticks up in volume. A drumstick scrapes across the hoop lip while whispers of flute coil and exhale. “So hellbent on being so heaven sent,” Dixon raps. “Burning through whatever’s next, just to find out what forever meant.” Two minutes in, the beat flips, and the melody crunches. Dixon’s delivery is bombastic, summoning a double entendre: “I’m tryna be everywhere that the sun is at! Red holes up in his fleece, you know that we finna drop.” Three minutes in, Dixon’s yelps gurgle like Freddy Krueger. “Run,” he tells us, before Teller’s pitch-shifted verse projectiles into view: “Them and dead is a synonym, him and him, bet this chopper spit quicker than Eminem.” “Recitatif” is an oratorio climaxing in power: “With this shogun, I’m a shogun.” —Matt Mitchell 
The opening of Nilüfer Yanya’s “Cold Heart” somehow sounds like light raindrops hitting highway headlights at dusk, making them twinkle briefly in the light; if that visual sight could be rendered audible, it might sound something like the first few moments of this track: effervescent, melancholy, and soothing all at once. But then an old-school drum kit kicks in beneath the gauzy synth, and all of a sudden you’re in that highway car and your foot is pressed to the pedal and you’re driving straight through the rainy night. This is Yanya’s first release since her incredible 2024 album My Method Actor, but “Cold Heart” doesn’t suffer at all from this rapid turnaround. Co-written with longtime collaborator Wilma Archer, the track’s lyrics are elliptical, carrying forward the previous album’s precarious balancing act between intimacy and detachment. A looping synth motif sets the pace, minimal and hypnotic, as a vintage drum kit kicks in to give the song its pulse. Yanya’s vocal—soft-edged, reverbed, slightly submerged—floats above it all: “Heaven knows the way you hold me,” she breathes out, airy and weighted all at once. “Let them know I feel this lonely.” It’s a song that never quite breaks open, but that’s its quiet power: tension held like a breath, ache wrapped in shimmer. “Cold Heart” doesn’t chase resolution; instead, it lingers in the half-light, content to haunt, to hum, to hold its shape just out of reach. —Casey Epstein-Gross 
Leave it to Canadians to create a perfect ode to Olive Garden, one that could perhaps dethrone the Chili’s “Baby Back Ribs” jingle as the best song about a suburban casual dining chain. Being both sincere and darkly humorous in signature PUP fashion, Stefan Babcock sings, from the perspective of his adolescent self, about wanting to catch up with an old flame at the local Olive Garden, somehow finding a way to rhyme the restaurant’s name with “Grandma was in a coffin.” His sweet vocals paired with heavy guitars make the tune charming, as an unconventional love song of sorts. Is Olive Garden the right place to convince an ex to hook up with you again? Jury’s still out on that one, but maybe some never-ending pasta bowls and unlimited breadsticks would sweeten the deal. This single is their last before the release of their upcoming album, Who Will Look After the Dogs?, and, unsurprisingly, the band is committing to the Olive Garden bit, creating their own Olive Garden pop-up in Toronto to celebrate the LP’s release. —Tatiana Tenreyro 
“So you need the metal in your blood to keep you alive,” sings the Beths frontwoman Elizabeth Stokes, earnestly but unsentimentally sketching out the messy physics of staying upright when the body begins to falter, lively acoustics erupting around her all the while. “Metal,” the Auckland quartet’s first new release since their excellent 2022 LP Expert in a Dying Field, sees the group lean full-force into jangle rock—12-string guitars shimmer, drumbeats take on a frenetic propulsion—without ever sacrificing the lyricism they’re known for. The song was written in the wake of a grueling tour and a myriad of health issues, and Stokes doesn’t lean away from either one, instead grappling with that sense of fragility in every line. But “Metal” doesn’t wallow or mythologize, keeping its head up and its arrangements kinetic. Tristan Deck’s drumming pushes like a rollercoaster chugging towards its peak; Jonathan Pearce’s guitar glitters without becoming twee. Just like the intricate, messy, yet always exacting systems of the body, the song is not chaos but complexity managed with precision. The harmonies land crisp, the ending breaks just right, and the whole thing feels like a sharp recalibration—not a reinvention, but a tightening of bolts. If this is a preview of what’s next, the machine is running well.—Casey Epstein-Gross 
When a new song by a band called Westside Cowboy lands in your inbox, you give it a listen. And when that song is as tremendous as “Shells,” you keep it on loop. Holy hell, what a ripper—and it’s only the Manchester unit’s second song released to streaming. Despite following a tried-and-true, quiet-loud alt-rock template, nothing about the song feels formulaic. As in Isaac Wood’s work with Black Country, New Road, even operatic releases of tension aren’t wholly gratifying—angsty undercurrents ripple beneath every fit of noise; the band assumes a self-control with a white-knuckled grip just before rupturing into full-blown catharsis. The poetry, too, is rather Woodsian: honest, indigestible, and deeply incisive. Vocalists Reuben Haycocks and Aoife Anson O’Connell sing of clenched jaws, drowning birds, and tucking a gun into bed in sublime harmony—their vocal chemistry, comparable to that between Witch Post’s Dylan Fraser and Alaska Reid, might be the band’s greatest weapon. “Done enough in my life to deserve the air I breathe,” they proclaim on the chorus, O’Connell’s uninhibited howl chafing against Haycock’s restrained, just-slightly-shaky sprechgesang. It’s the battle cry of a band with something to prove. —Anna Pichler