Listen close to the spaces within Abra's "Sick Girl" and you can hear Arthur Russell in his bedroom—those same feelings of purity, gruffness, and unselfconsciousness. "Sick Girl" sounds almost literal, with the Atlanta artist half-singing/half-talking through her thoughts, like she's got a bit of a cold. "When you're not around everything stands still," she mumbles. The keys are bold and raw, the rhythm light reggae. It's not recorded very well, and forget about anything like proper mastering. The stakes are small, the results spurred on—and received—by a restless churn. This is a peek into someone's life, as close to Snapchat as Soundcloud. But then, somewhere in between, there are moments when Abra's little ghost moans are layered like crazy. Was that always there? "Sick Girl" is nothing special, until it is.