Generations of gay sadsacks have found solace and identification in the melancholy blush of ’80s dream-pop and indie rock, and so it goes for Chappell Roan, who, on her new single “The Subway,” treats an open wound with the sounds of the Cocteau Twins, the Sundays, and the Cranberries. Roan has an uncommonly good ear: Unlike many of her contemporaries, she’s able to load her music with references without it ever feeling like she’s just slapping on her logo. Such is the case here—perhaps you can hear shades of Robin Guthrie’s skyward-soaring guitar, or Elizabeth Fraser and Dolores O’Riordan’s Celtic lilt, or Patch Hannan’s gentle rhythmic chug, but no single reference ever threatens to overwhelm.

That’s because, in just a few years, Roan has established herself as one of pop’s most distinctive writers. All the hallmarks of her style are here: the blunt nods to modernity (“I saw your green hair”); the frank sexuality (“Till I can break routine during foreplay”); the dryly theatrical humour (“I’m movin’ to Saskatchewan”). And, of course, an insistent, driving melody that reveals successive hooks with the fluidity and efficiency of synchronized swimmers. Roan’s real magic trick is in her ability to weaponize familiarity and novelty in such a way that a song like “The Subway” sounds totally fresh, even if it feels like you’ve been singing along with Roan’s cry that “she got away” for your whole life.