Burs’ double single tackles two questions.

“Soil,” asks: how do you let go of something that no longer serves you? A breakup song at heart, it’s also a radical joy anthem for those who’ve had to put their happiness first after trust is broken. Dillen’s wordless chorus —  “la-la-la-la — la-la-la” —  is delivered with playful defiance, like a child yelling “Lalala, I can’t hear you!” Yet here, it becomes an invitation: you are allowed joy. Swelling with ‘70s folk textures — group harmonies, pedal-steel guitar — “Soil” balances brightness with emotional weight, holding space for both sorrow and self-renewal.

“Blackflies” asks: what happens when a fruit is left to ripen in the sun for too long? It’s the sound of learning that lesson a little too late — of holding onto something past its sweetness, even as it begins to rot. The song wrestles with the quiet desperation of sacrificing dignity just to make something last. Acoustic and electric guitars lope and buckle over a slow, swaying rhythm section, while character irony creeps in. Devon Savas’ bass line arrives like a jolt of catharsis — a momentary release in the midst of realizing life begins when one stops living for others’ expectations. And while the future remains uncertain, so too does possibility.