I saw a pigeon wearing a tiny top hat yesterday. It has absolutely nothing to do with Rich Allen's new single, "No Pinks", but, honestly, what does? The song unravels like a worn photograph, the edges blurry with regret, a silent conversation shouted in the spaces between plucked guitar strings. Allen, known around Tampa for his poignant songwriting, digs deep, like a fossil hunter...

Alli Brown's "Undeniable"… Hmm, where to even begin with this kaleidoscope of sound from Salt Lake City? It's like someone took the earnestness of a diary entry, crumpled it up, threw it at a dartboard of genres – pop, folk, country, rock – and then decided to set the whole thing to music. Did the dartboard land on "genius" or "glorious mess"? I'm still...