One of the more stimulating rises this year has been that of songwriter/producer Dead Emerson, whose saudade soliloquies have garnered considerable attention from both listeners and tastemakers. Like many of his introverted baritone forebears, Emerson single-handedly writes and produces every song– often in isolation in his northern Los Angeles room. But, as reflected in his writing, rarely does this self-sufficiency equate to self-fulfillment. Emerson’s new single, “Sucker Punch,” an absurdist yet irresistibly catchy display of art-pop prowess, illustrates this disconnect to the extreme: a reality so individually-minded where a simple romance with another appears as a non-sequitur.