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    Tokischa, la nueva rebelde de la música latina

    SANTO DOMINGO, República Dominicana — Era una tarde de mediados de marzo, aquí en la capital, y una multitud de cientos de asistentes al festival vestidos con alas de hada, pedrería y pintura facial de arcoíris comenzó a corear. “¡Po-po-la!”, gritaban, empleando la jerga local para referirse a la vagina. La escena parecía la invocación al líder de un culto, y la incendiaria dominicana Tokischa, una rapera conocida por sus letras impúdicas y sus colaboraciones de alto nivel, salió al escenario.Durante la siguiente hora, la artista de 26 años habló de su bisexualidad, de los placeres carnales y de las drogas, todo acompañado de un ritmo estridente de dembow y trap. Esa noche llovía en el festival de la Isla de la Luz, el tipo de diluvio caribeño que llega en un abrir y cerrar de ojos. “¡Ay, pero yo me quiero mojar con ustedes!”, gritó, al salir de debajo del toldo del escenario y adentrarse en la multitud. Se desabrochó la blusa color azul, dejando al descubierto un sujetador cónico de satén color rosa intenso, y el público se volvió loco.El suelo, antes cubierto de hierba, ahora era una pista de obstáculos con charcos de lodo. Al parecer a nadie le importaba. Los admiradores coreaban cada palabra, con voces roncas. Una mujer se subió a una valla metálica y perreó por encima de la multitud. Cuando terminó su actuación, Tokischa, radiante, se sacó la ropa interior de debajo de la minifalda y se la lanzó a una mujer del público.Este es un pequeño ejemplo de la provocación que define a Tokischa Altagracia Peralta. Sus audaces letras, que se deleitan con la rebelión lingüística del argot dominicano y abrazan la euforia del sexo son, en su mayoría, impublicables. En “Tukuntazo”, se jacta de acostarse con otras mujeres junto con su hombre. En su himno “Yo no me voy acostar”, proclama: “Tengo pila ‘e Molly en la cabeza/ Tengo una amiguita que me besa”.“No tener miedo de expresar mi sexualidad, mi pensamientos, es como algo bonito”, aseguró la cantante.Josefina Santos para The New York TimesTokischa colecciona escándalos como si fuesen recuerdos de vacaciones. El año pasado, se vio obligada a pagar una multa municipal y a pedir disculpas públicas después de publicar fotos subidas de tono delante de un mural de la Virgen de la Altagracia, la patrona de la República Dominicana. En otoño, se presentó a una entrega de premios con un disfraz de vagina de tamaño natural, vestida como un personaje al que llamó “Santa Popola”. En un artículo de opinión ahora borrado, un columnista del periódico dominicano La Información afirmó que sus letras explícitas “faltan el respeto de una población que lucha por conservar los valores de la familia”.Sin embargo, también hay toda una generación de jóvenes dominicanos que se ven reflejados en el alegre rechazo que Tokischa despliega contra la respetabilidad. Para ellos, es una rebelde queer que ve la sexualidad de manera positiva, el tipo de figura cultural cuyas actuaciones apuntan a la liberación de las políticas opresivas y retrógradas.En una calle apartada del Malecón, el paseo marítimo que rodea la costa de Santo Domingo, Tokischa reflexionó sobre su irreverente reputación. Días antes del festival, la rapera acababa de llegar a las oficinas de Paulus Music, la discográfica y el equipo creativo que está detrás de sus videos. Llevaba puestos unos pantalones para correr de color verde oliva y una camiseta a juego con una imagen conocida y que se ha usado incontablemente para memes: el GIF de Homero Simpson escondiéndose en un arbusto.“Dicen muchas cosas de mí”, comentó. “Ah, que no es artista, que ella es loca, que es una drogadicta”, continuó. “Yo no me ofendo, porque yo soy clara de qué es lo que pasa conmigo. Yo sé quién es Tokischa, yo sé qué es lo que Tokischa está haciendo”.Tokischa y Rosalía en el escenario durante una actuación en 2021. Tokischa participa en “La Combi Versace”, una canción del último álbum de la estrella del pop español.John Parra/Telemundo and NBCU Photo Bank, vía Getty ImagesTokischa Altagracia Peralta nació en Los Frailes, un barrio obrero de Santo Domingo Este, pero tuvo una juventud itinerante. Sus padres se separaron y ella vivió con su madre hasta los 3 años. Cuando su madre se trasladó a Estados Unidos, Tokischa se mudó muchas veces, viviendo con tías, padrinos u otros familiares. Su padre fue encarcelado cuando ella era joven.Tokischa es la primera en admitir que era revoltosa en la escuela. “Yo peleaba. Me encontraban chuleando. ¡Siempre alguien me encontraba chuleando!”, dijo riendo. Solía responderle a sus maestros, por lo que fue expulsada de varias escuelas y, con frecuencia, era castigada físicamente, agregó.“Siempre era creativa”, recordó. “Dibujaba, escribía. Me trancaba en la habitación a verme en el espejo y actuar en el espejo”. Creció rodeada de géneros dominicanos como el merengue, el dembow y la bachata, pero cuando tenía 14 años descubrió todo un nuevo universo musical en línea con bandas como Pink Floyd y artistas como Bob Marley, Nicki Minaj, Rihanna.“Vivía imaginando mi vida, imaginando lo que iba a ser”, relató. “No sabía en qué rama, pero sabía que sí iba ser gran artista”.El primer tema oficial de Tokischa fue “Pícala”, una canción de trap con Tivi Gunz que se lanzó en 2018.Josefina Santos para The New York TimesCuando cumplió 18 años, una amiga la introdujo al sitio de anuncios clasificados Craigslist, y dijo que se convirtió en una sugar baby, que es como se le llama a una persona joven que acepta salir por mutuo acuerdo y con condiciones predefinidas con personas mayores que pueden ser hombres o mujeres; Tokischa recibía regalos de turistas sexuales estadounidenses mayores y adinerados. Uno de ellos le compró unas Puma Fenty, su primer par de zapatos deportivos. “Un tíguere tenía fotos montado en un camello”, dijo pícaramente sobre un hombre. “Yo dije: ‘¡Este tipo tiene cuartos!’”, refiriéndose a la jerga para el dinero.Aunque se muestra juguetona cuando habla al respecto, a Tokischa no le gustaba ese trabajo, sobre todo cuando los clientes cruzaban las líneas del consentimiento. De ahí pasó a OnlyFans, la plataforma por suscripción en la que la gente puede cobrar por dar acceso a fotos y videos, y con el tiempo empezó a modelar y a incorporarse a la comunidad creativa de Santo Domingo. Aprendió a escribir y grabar música tras conocer a productores de la escena a través de su representante, Raymi Paulus. Rápidamente cultivó su estilo vocal, que ahora es su arma principal: un inconfundible gemido agudo y tímido que rezuma sexo y permite que sus endiablados y sensuales raps se pronuncien con precisión.Su primer sencillo oficial fue “Pícala”, una canción de trap con Tivi Gunz que lanzó en 2018. Luego vino una serie de sencillos del estilo dembow, igualmente picantes: “Desacato escolar”, con Yomel El Meloso; “El rey de la popola”, con Rochy RD; y “Yo no me voy a acostar”, del año pasado, entre muchos otros.Las grandes discográficas no tardaron en llegar: el verano pasado, lanzó “Perra” con la estrella colombiana del reguetón J Balvin. Luego vino “Linda” y, más recientemente, “La combi Versace”, ambos con la estrella española Rosalía. En marzo, terminó su primera gira por Estados Unidos, al agotar las entradas de la Terminal 5 de Nueva York en 30 minutos. A finales de mes publicará un sencillo con el productor de EDM Marshmello y tiene previsto grabar un álbum completo en los próximos dos años.“Ella es diferente de lo que la gente ve, o sea, ella es muy profesional, muy disciplinada”, dice LeoRD, el superproductor de dembow que ha colaborado con Tokischa en varias canciones. Durante una llamada telefónica, dijo que su ascenso no tiene precedentes en el mundo del dembow. “En tan poco tiempo, con tan pocas canciones, he visto la evolución de ella que ha ido a millón”.“Dicen muchas cosas de mí”, comentó. “Yo no me ofendo, porque yo soy clara de qué es lo que pasa conmigo. Yo sé quién es Tokischa, yo sé qué es lo que Tokischa está haciendo”.Josefina Santos para The New York TimesEl rápido ascenso de Tokischa ha sido polarizador. Para algunos, es una desviada sexual que pone en peligro a los niños, o una víctima del abandono y las circunstancias difíciles. Para otros, es una mujer que se cosifica a sí misma y que solo satisface las fantasías masculinas. Y para otros, es una feminista intrépida cuyo espíritu insurgente está abriendo camino. El verano pasado, actuó en Santo Domingo en el desfile del orgullo gay dominicano y presentó a mujeres trans como extras y bailarinas en el video de “Linda”, lo que atrajo elogios de toda la comunidad LGBTQ. El blog de belleza Byrdie escribió que ella se “aleja de manera activa de la mirada masculina y hacia la liberación femenina”, y lo hace en una industria de la música latina que a menudo favorece a los artistas blancos.Sin embargo, no todo ha sido color de rosa. En otoño pasado, las activistas feministas y el vicepresidente de Colombia condenaron la representación de las mujeres negras en el video de “Perra”, la canción de Tokischa y J Balvin, donde las mujeres negras estaban caracterizadas como perros, y Balvin, un colombiano blanco, caminaba con una actriz que andaba a cuatro patas con una cadena alrededor de su cuello.Después de que se eliminara el video de YouTube, Balvin emitió una disculpa. Luego, Tokischa le dijo a Rolling Stone que realmente lamentaba “que la gente se haya sentido ofendida”, pero que la puesta en escena era conceptual y estaba destinada a ilustrar las metáforas de la canción. “Estábamos en RD [República Dominicana]; allá toditos somos morenos”, dijo sobre las críticas del video en una entrevista para un pódcast en diciembre. “No fue que nosotros fuimos a África, ni a los Estados Unidos para buscar esas mujeres”. Como era de esperarse, el comentario suscitó críticas de algunos fanáticos en Twitter que creían que estaba desestimando las preocupaciones válidas sobre la representación de las mujeres negras como animales.La reacción muestra cómo los fanáticos demandan cada vez más que las estrellas pop sean progresistas, en especial las figuras vanguardistas como Tokischa. “Desde el primer día que empecé hacer musica, yo dije: ‘Voy a hablar mi verdad’”, dijo. En una entrevista de radio que concedió el año pasado, lo dijo de una manera diferente: “Yo solo hablo de mí. De mi vivencia. Yo no me siento responsable de arreglar la sociedad”.Tokischa sigue siendo una agitadora, y resulta necesaria. “No tener miedo de expresar mi sexualidad, mi pensamientos, es como algo bonito”, aseguró. “Hay mucha gente que tiene miedo de decir lo que son, porque los botan de su casa, los botan del trabajo, pierden amistades. Pero tú no estás mal. Tú estás haciendo lo que tu corazón te dice”.“Yo tengo mucho más mensajes que dar”, continuó. “Pero es el momento de este mensaje, y yo me lo disfruto”.Isabelia Herrera es crítica de arte del programa de becarios del Times. Da cobertura a la cultura popular, con especial atención a la música latinoamericana y estadounidense. Antes fue editora colaboradora en Pitchfork y ha escrito para Rolling Stone, Billboard, GQ, NPR y más. @jabladoraaa More

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    Tokischa, Latin Music’s Newest Rebel, Isn’t Holding Back

    SANTO DOMINGO, Dominican Republic — On a mid-March evening here in the capital, a crowd of hundreds of festivalgoers wearing fairy wings, rhinestones and rainbow face paint began to chant. “Po-po-la!” they shouted, deploying the local slang for vagina. The scene resembled the summoning of a cult leader, and the Dominican firebrand Tokischa, a rapper known for her prurient lyrics and high-profile collaborations, emerged onstage.For the next hour, the 26-year-old performer rapped about her bisexuality, carnal pleasures and doing drugs, all over speaker-frying dembow and trap beats. It was raining at the Isle of Light festival that night, the kind of Caribbean deluge that arrives in a flash. “I want to get wet with you guys!” she shrieked, walking out from under the stage awning and into the crowd. She unbuttoned her periwinkle blouse, revealing a hot-pink conical satin bra underneath, and the audience squealed.The ground, once covered in grass, was now an obstacle course of mud puddles. No one seemed to care. Fans belted every word, their voices audibly hoarse. One woman climbed a metal fence, twerking above the crowd. When her set ended, Tokischa, beaming, pulled her panties off from under her miniskirt and tossed them to a woman in the audience.Consider this a minor example of the provocation that defines Tokischa Altagracia Peralta. Her audacious lyrics, which revel in the linguistic rebellion of Dominican slang and embrace the euphoria of sex, are mostly unprintable. In “Tukuntazo,” she brags about sleeping with other women alongside her man. In her anthem “Yo No Me Voy Acostar,” she proclaims, “I’ve got a bunch of molly in my head/I have a girlfriend who kisses me.”“Not being afraid to express my sexuality, my way of thinking — it’s a beautiful thing,” Tokischa said.Josefina Santos for The New York TimesTokischa collects scandals like vacation souvenirs. Last year, she was forced to pay a municipal fine and issue a public apology after she posted risqué photos in front of a mural of the Virgin of Altagracia, the patron saint of the Dominican Republic. In the fall, she showed up to an awards show in a full-size vagina costume, dressed as a character she called “Santa Popola.” In a now deleted op-ed, a columnist for the Dominican newspaper La Información claimed her explicit lyrics “disrespect people who fight to conserve family values.”But there is also an entire generation of young Dominicans who see themselves in Tokischa’s gleeful refusal of respectability. To them, she is a sex-positive queer rebel, the kind of cultural figure whose performances gesture toward liberation from oppressive, retrograde politics.On a tucked-away street off the Malecón, the seafront esplanade that lines the coast of Santo Domingo, Tokischa reflected on her irreverent reputation. It was a few days before the festival, and the rapper had just arrived at the offices of Paulus Music, the label and creative team behind her videos. She wore olive green joggers and a matching T-shirt with a familiar, eternally memed image: the GIF of Homer Simpson retreating into a bush.“They say a lot of things about me,” she said. “‘Oh, she’s not an artist, she’s crazy, she’s a drug addict,’” she continued. “It doesn’t offend me, because I’m sure of who I am. I know who Tokischa is. I know what Tokischa’s doing.”Tokischa and Rosalía onstage in 2021. Tokischa appears on “La Combi Versace” from the Spanish pop phenom’s latest album.John Parra/Telemundo and NBCU Photo Bank, via Getty ImagesTokischa Altagracia Peralta was born in Los Frailes, a working-class neighborhood in Santo Domingo Este, but had an itinerant youth. Her parents separated, and she lived with her mother until she was 3 years old. When her mother relocated to the United States, Tokischa moved around often, living with aunts, godparents or other relatives. Her father was incarcerated when she was young.Tokischa is the first to admit that she was rowdy in school. “I would fight. They’d find me making out — someone always found me making out!” she said with a laugh. She talked back to her teachers and was expelled from schools — and was often punished physically, she added.“Aside from that, I was always creative,” she recalled. “I’d draw, I’d write. I’d lock myself in my room and act in front of the mirror.” She grew up surrounded by Dominican genres like merengue, dembow and bachata, but when she was around 14, she discovered a whole new musical universe online: Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Nicki Minaj, Rihanna.“I lived dreaming up my life, imagining what I’d become,” she said. “I didn’t know in what field, but I did know I was going to be a big artist.”Tokischa’s first official single was “Pícala,” a trap song featuring Tivi Gunz that arrived in 2018. Josefina Santos for The New York TimesWhen she turned 18, a friend introduced her to Craigslist, and she said she became a sugar baby, receiving gifts from older, wealthy American sex tourists. One bought her Fenty Pumas, her first pair of sneakers. “This one guy had photos of himself on a camel,” she said impishly. “I was like, ‘He’s got money!’”Even though she’s playful as she talks about it, Tokischa didn’t like the work, especially when clients crossed the lines of consent. She transitioned to OnlyFans, the subscription-based platform where people can charge for access to photos and videos, and eventually started modeling and incorporating herself into the creative community in Santo Domingo. She learned how to write and record music after meeting producers in the scene through her manager, Raymi Paulus. She swiftly cultivated her vocal style, now her central weapon: an unmistakable, high-pitched, coy moan that oozes sex and allows her devilish, sensual raps to land with precision.Her first official single was “Pícala,” a trap song featuring Tivi Gunz that dropped in 2018. Then came a torrent of equally racy dembow singles: “Desacato Escolar,” with Yomel El Meloso; “El Rey de la Popola,” with Rochy RD; and last year’s “Yo No Me Voy Acostar,” among many others.The major labels soon came running: Last summer, she released “Perra” with the Colombian reggaeton star J Balvin. Then came “Linda,” and more recently “La Combi Versace,” both with the Spanish experimentalist Rosalía. In March, she completed her first U.S. tour, selling out Terminal 5 in New York in 30 minutes. She has a single with the EDM producer Marshmello arriving at the end of the month, and plans to record a full album over the next two years.“She’s different than people imagine. She’s very professional, very disciplined,” said LeoRD, the superstar dembow producer who’s collaborated with Tokischa on several tracks. In a phone call, he said that her climb has been unprecedented in the world of dembow. “In so little time, with just a few songs, I’ve seen her evolution go from zero to 100.”“They say a lot of things about me,” she said. “It doesn’t offend me, because I’m sure of who I am. I know who Tokischa is. I know what Tokischa’s doing.”Josefina Santos for The New York TimesTokischa’s rapid rise has been divisive. For some, she is a sexual deviant endangering children, or a victim of neglect and difficult circumstances. To others, she’s a self-objectifying woman who’s just satisfying male fantasies. And to still others, she is a fearless feminist whose insurgent spirit is breaking ground. Last summer, she performed in Santo Domingo at the Dominican Pride parade, and featured trans women as extras and dancers in the video for “Linda,” which drew praise from across the L.G.B.T.Q. community. The beauty blog Byrdie wrote that she’s “actively moving the needle away from the male gaze and towards female liberation,” and doing so in a Latin music industry that often favors white artists.It hasn’t all been rosy, though. Last fall, feminist activists and Colombia’s vice president condemned the portrayal of Black women in Tokischa and J Balvin’s video for “Perra,” in which Black women wear prosthetics that depict them as dogs, and Balvin, a white Colombian, walks one actress, who is on all fours with a chain around her neck.After the video was removed from YouTube, Balvin issued an apology. Tokischa later told Rolling Stone that she was “truly sorry people felt offended,” but that the visual was conceptual, intended to illustrate the song’s metaphors. “We were in the Dominican Republic; over there, we’re all Black,” she said of the backlash in a December podcast interview. “It wasn’t like we went to Africa or the United States to find those women.” Unsurprisingly, the comment drew criticism from some fans on Twitter for dismissing valid concerns about the animalistic depiction of Black women.The reaction illustrated how fans increasingly demand progressivism from pop stars, especially disrupters like Tokischa. “Since the first day I started making music, I said, ‘I’m going to speak my truth,’” she said. In a radio interview last year, she made the point a different way: “I only talk about me, my life,” she said. “I don’t feel like I’m responsible for fixing society.”Tokischa is still an agitator, and a necessary one. “Not being afraid to express my sexuality, my way of thinking — it’s a beautiful thing,” she said. “There’s a lot of people who are scared to say who they are, because they’re kicked out of their houses, they’re fired from their jobs, they lose friends. But you’re not bad — you’re doing what your heart is telling you.”“I have a lot of other messages to offer,” she continued. “But now is the moment for this message, and I’m loving it.” More

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    Abba Previews First Album in 40 Years, and 11 More New Songs

    Hear tracks by Charli XCX, Bobby Shmurda, Japanese Breakfast and others.Every Friday, pop critics for The New York Times weigh in on the week’s most notable new songs and videos. Just want the music? Listen to the Playlist on Spotify here (or find our profile: nytimes). Like what you hear? Let us know at theplaylist@nytimes.com and sign up for our Louder newsletter, a once-a-week blast of our pop music coverage.Abba, ‘Don’t Shut Me Down’Before Max Martin’s hit factory ruled radio playlists, another Swedish pop phenomenon had its run: Abba, which is reuniting after nearly 40 years. A new album, “Voyage,” is due on Nov. 5 and quasi-concert dates are scheduled in London in May; the singers will be digitized images backed by a live band. Though the verses of “Don’t Shut Me Down” are about a woman surprising an ex with her return, the choruses also recognize the strangeness of Abba’s reappearance: “I’m not the one you know/I’m now and then combined,” Agnetha Fältskog and Anni-Frid Lyngstad sing, backed and produced by Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson. “And I’m asking you to have an open mind.” Meanwhile, the music reclaims familiar ground: a strutting march with gleaming orchestration and scrubbing disco guitars, stolid and earnestly tuneful. JON PARELESCharli XCX, ‘Good Ones’Charli XCX oscillates between big-gesture pop and artier impulses, but “Good Ones” swings the pendulum back to pop. It’s produced by Oscar Holter, from the Max Martin stable that also concocted the Weeknd’s “Blinding Lights,” and it looks back directly to the 8th-note synthesizers of the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This).” Hopping between registers, Charli XCX indicts herself — “I always let the good ones go” — neatly and decisively. PARELESJuls featuring Niniola, ‘Love Me’Everything is rhythm in “Love Me”: the shakers and hand drums, the squiggles of electric guitar, the overlapping call-and-response of the blithely syncopated Nigerian singer Niniola and a saxophone that eventually claims the last word. Juls, a Ghanaian-British producer, neatly balances 1970s Afrobeat, the hand-played, steady-state funk perfected by Fela Anikulapo Kuti, with the multitrack transparency of 20th-century Afrobeats. Even after the song erupts midway through, the groove keeps its sly composure. PARELESFred again.., ‘Billie (Loving Arms)’Sonically rich, big-tent-pop ambitious, soulful house music from Fred again.., a singer and songwriter who has worked with Ed Sheeran and Stormzy, was mentored by Brian Eno and has a soft spot for bright dance music that’s almost physically cheerful. JON CARAMANICATokischa and Rosalía, ‘Linda’On “Linda,” Rosalía — a white European woman who has dominated Spanish-language pop over the last few years — turns to the Dominican musician Tokischa and dembow for street cred. Tokischa is the genre’s resident insurgent, an iconoclast who makes government officials, homophobes and upper-class puritans clutch their pearls. It’s no surprise that “Linda” runs like a sexed-up playground chant; over a dembow-flamenco concoction, the two stars trill, “Nos besamo’, pero somo’ homie’” (“We kiss each other, but we’re homies”). This is the kind of song that sparks necessary reflection about race, power and collaboration — conversations about who these cross-cultural team-ups are designed to make rich, and who, if anyone, they intend to liberate. ISABELIA HERRERABobby Shmurda, ‘No Time for Sleep (Freestyle)’Bobby Shmurda’s first post-prison song — seven years after his breakout single “Hot ___” made him a star — feels like burning off excess energy. This six-minute freestyle is a workout; it’s delivered with a doggedness reminiscent of the fervor of Meek Mill, but leaves little room to breathe. The stakes here are purposely low. Releasing a song like this — no chorus, intense rhymes, cluttered flow — lightens the pressure that would come with seeking to score another hit as massive as his first. For now, he just wants to rhyme. CARAMANICAMartox featuring Gian Rojas, ‘Pausa’All cool grooves and saccharine strings, Martox’s “Pausa” is best enjoyed with a spiked seltzer. The Dominican duo, alongside the producer and vocalist Gian Rojas, collage disco grooves and syncopated bass lines into a prismatic beachfront boogie. HERRERAJhay Cortez, ‘Tokyo’The second track on Jhay Cortez’s new album, “Timelezz,” exemplifies a small rebellion happening in Spanish-language pop. At times, the production is aquatic; at others, its twinkling synths resemble a midnight drive through the streets of the Japanese capital. With a thumping four-on-the-floor rhythm, the track is another sign that reggaeton’s major players are embracing the textures of house music, and stretching the genre’s boundaries beyond the realm of stale pop. HERRERAJapanese Breakfast, ‘Glider’In “Glider,” a song she wrote for the video game Sable, keyboard patterns enfold Michelle Zauner, the singer, musician and producer who records as Japanese Breakfast. There’s wonderment in her voice as she sings about an excursion into the unknown: “It feels like everything is moving/Around me.” The keyboards start out plinking like music boxes, soon to be joined by sustained, cascading chords, an ever-thickening structure that can’t constrain her delight. PARELESAoife O’Donovan, ‘Reason to Believe’In a live-streamed home performance last year, the virtuoso folk singer Aoife O’Donovan played the 10 songs on Bruce Springsteen’s “Nebraska,” front to back. She accompanied herself alone on acoustic guitar, as Springsteen had on the original album in the early 1980s, but that’s about where the similarity ends. The original album was desperate and dark, with doubt coursing through its tracks like murky blood; O’Donovan treats them as canon, saluting Springsteen’s songcraft with clear, pitch-perfect articulation and affable delivery. The approach is suited best to “Reason to Believe,” the finale, a Springsteen classic that contemplates the mysterious pull of resilience. GIOVANNI RUSSONELLORuby Landen, ‘Pt. 1’Ruby Landen’s blend of Celtic-tinged acoustic-guitar fingerpicking and bowed strings — cello and fiddle — echoes the introspection of songwriters like Nick Drake. But she has her own story to tell, with an unassuming but pointed voice, in songs like “Pt. 1.” It’s an anatomy of a failed relationship — “Was it the safety of my presence that made you come undone?” — that she relays patiently and quietly. Then she segues into a modal, accelerating instrumental coda, picking behind fiddle and steel guitar, that needs no words to capture the underlying pain. PARELESNate Smith featuring Joel Ross and Michael Mayo, ‘Altitude’On drums, Nate Smith is in the business of inspiriting. Far from flashy, he’s an ebullient technician who keys into the subtleties of his bandmates’ playing and laces joie de vivre into his own. Smith, 46, just released “Altitude,” a breezy original and the latest single from a forthcoming album, “Kinfolk 2: See the Birds.” His band, Kinfolk, is joined here by a pair of young and prodigious improvisers: the vibraphonist Joel Ross and the vocalist Michael Mayo. The music video captures the group recording the song in the studio, just before the coronavirus pandemic struck; when Mayo digs into a short scat solo, improvising flawlessly in little rhythmic zags in the lower register and high-flying longer notes, you can see — and hear — him passing inspiration back and forth with the drummer. RUSSONELLO More