Caitlin Mae's single "House Sitting" slid into earshot less like a shiny Nashville calling card and more like finding a faded letter tucked inside a secondhand book. It’s labelled country, and the soft rock structure gives it shape, but the atmosphere? That’s pure, unadulterated heartache, distilled. Mae possesses one of those voices – technically brilliant, sure, but more importantly, emotionally transparent. You hear the...

It's like discovering a rogue disco ball hidden in a forgotten record store, except instead of dusty surfaces, it’s polished chrome reflecting pure, unadulterated energy. We know absolutely nothing about Frank, and honestly? I think I prefer it that way. This track drops, a single, not some bloated album-behemoth, and suddenly the walls are sweating. Fun, like a sticky summer afternoon where you forget...