The older I get, the harder it is for me to latch onto new music. This isn’t because I dislike the genres that dominate the Top 40. If anything, the past few years have found me more eager to appreciate what’s going on because some of it is really good. Even then, I feel like I come from such an independent approach to discovery that I’m often unable to connect with others. I’m months behind, or in the wrong ballpark altogether. Other times I get into the more complicated realm of being able to appreciate what the music is doing but am not able to love it on an emotional core. I think most prominently of Taylor Swift’s excellent 2020 albums “Folklore” and “Evermore,” which have deliciously designed ballads with some of the best songwriting, but I’m lacking that impulse, that willingness to get lost in them.
More than anything, that is what I’m lacking with new music. It’s that mysterious in-between where it exists as something else. Your mood will change while singing along, feeling goosebumps as the harmonies kick in. I don’t know what it says about me that I’ve rarely felt that from newer works. Even when I purposely searched for great music, I’d listen to something like Chloe x Halle and miss the point entirely. In fact, my lack of deeper appreciation for the “great” albums has largely made me feel embarrassed for even trying.
The last time I actually connected with a new artist was Billie Eilish. I arrived at the tail-end of a summer where the “Bad Guy” memes were reaching peak obnoxiousness. “You Should See Me in a Crowd” was becoming overplayed in TV commercials. What usually turned me off somehow drew me closer. Who was this artist whose style existed outside of the mainstream yet WAS the mainstream? What was with that fashion, those deeply personal lyrics about depression? So much about her seemed curious and she came to epitomize what I loved about a modern subset of culture: the open discussion of mental health.
I’m sure there are examples to compare to, but it’s baffling how “When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?” ended up becoming one of the most successful records of the year. It sold millions of copies, won Album of the Year at the Grammy Awards. She was only a year off from performing at both The Academy Awards and The Democratic National Convention (and all before 20). She was a superstar who seemed very likely to tell you about her social anxiety, never desiring to conform to norms. She was going to continue making music with brother Finneas that was esoteric, finding her able to whisper her deepest thoughts in these haunting melodies. Even her more recent material feels like a continuation instead of any self-conscious shift. If anything, she seems even more depressed.
A lot of my love for Eilish likely stems from my own antagonism. For most of my life, I’ve intentionally reveled in being confusing. It was a coping mechanism I used to determine how closely people were paying attention to me. I loved when I was reprimanded, second-guessed, considered weird. It was my way into a conversation, and I had various tricks to do it subtly. I didn’t do this often to condescend, but more because of how indirect I find people. Sometimes it came through humor, other times details that have a deeper interpretation for those willing to think about it. It hurts when I desperately want to seem smart but play dumb because of my insecurity of being perceived as the smarter person in the room.
When I listen to this album, I hear something familiar. This isn’t just being weird to raise a few eyebrows. There is a lack of pageantry to Eilish’s need to push the boundaries of production. As songs deteriorate into sonic landscapes, there feels like this meditative purpose. It’s the synapses running through the mind, comprehending these images with manic force. Every glitch on the record is anxious, every swoon is a bittersweet mix of remorse and reflection. There is some genuine processing of emotion in these tracks, and it works much better than simply processing it through a clean pop hook. It may seem farcical to some as a result, but I never personally doubt Eilish’s intent. Her ability to shift between humor and sadness is breathtaking, reflective of a mind struggling through so much, trying to see something better in this world.
Again, I’m sure there are other artists who have been this transparent with their emotions, able to create a sound that speaks to Generation Z’s fears. Before this pandemic, things were already fear-inducing thanks to this concern that they’d never amount to the successes of prior generations. The world was on fire, the economy tanking, and politics were losing faith in reality. Why even care? What makes Eilish’s embrace of themes like drug addiction and suicidal ideation is not that she seems hopeless, but that she’s just like them, trying to find a reason to be happy. Sometimes you have to laugh at macabre ideas, sarcastically take the blame by uttering “Duh” as the perfect way to undercut people who don’t understand you. Of course, Generation Z are the bad guys. They don’t have enough power to say otherwise.
The future is scary and weird, and few albums have openly embraced that to me like “When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?” Again, I am by no means a connoisseur of youth culture so I could be far off, but this feels like a turning point. This feels like the rallying cry for a generation who were already exhausted before they got out of high school. While Top 40 still hangs onto this hopeful, empowering style that plays well in stadiums, there has to be something said for artists like The Weeknd headlining The Super Bowl and the increasingly shocking antics of Euphoria earning Zendaya a deserved Emmy Award. There is a cry there for attention, and the question really is what do we do with it? Do we listen, or do we keep acting like everything’s okay?
The pandemic is maybe the closest that this conversation has come to a breakthrough, if just because it’s forced everyone to grapple with these themes in their own lives. The contingencies that once were considered reliable are now questioned. Will there even be a job for most of us when the world returns to normal? Will we be able to be in a crowd, enjoying a concert, and not hyperventilate? There’s something to be said for recent reports that the world is currently undergoing a shared depression, in part driven by the fact that America is approaching the one-year anniversary of quarantine life becoming necessary. There are others discussing how a lack of peripheral relationships is creating their own unique form of isolation.
I don’t even know how we keep moving forward. I applaud those who have a better idea than me. Still, I love that there’s a growing notion that it’s okay to be sad, to admit that you’re not having a good day. I can’t credit Eilish for this, but I’m sure her music has, like me, served in some part as a therapy that lets you know you’re not alone. Groups like BetterHelp have made mental health care more accessible than ever. There is an effort, and I think it’s what’s helped give this record some legs in the past year. Despite its dreamlike production, it doesn’t reject reality but instead asks why we behave the way that we do. For a record that has a fraction of antagonistic humor, it’s quite mature.
I personally wonder where Eilish’s career will go from here. Unlike most sophomore stories, it does feel like she’ll follow her own path, regardless of if her next record sales as much. Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if she follows in the tracks of another personal favorite (Lorde) and takes an extended break from the spotlight. Still, I love how she’s slowly sprinkled new releases whenever she’s felt like it, performing quarantine performances in her living room in some of the most lo-fi ways imaginable. It makes every new release a wonderful surprise, and I look forward to what she has to say in her new doc The World’s a Little Blurry (2021).
It is impossible to determine how well this album will age. Maybe it will seem farcical to future generations who are mysteriously happier and have their lives better together. Maybe that’s because of the mental health conversation improving to a degree that we cannot imagine. Otherwise, I think that this is one of the few times where an album feels indicative of a mood so perfectly that it takes listeners back to a moment. If nothing else, it still stands out even as more media embraces sadness a little more. I don’t like this record because it’s depressing. I like it because it feels authentic and hopeful. I wish I could say that about many other recent albums with four multiplatinum singles.
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