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ambiguousthoughtsinsilence · 5 months

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my year of boygenius

Why do we listen to music? Is it just melodic noise that provides background to our daily existence or is it a space where we look for meaning, purpose and beauty? This is a false question, as music can be all of these things, but it is so much more. For many people, the beauty of music gives their life meaning, whether listening or creating it. Most of us will have fond memories of listening to the radio in the car or discovering an album that transported us to a seemingly magical place, expanding our understanding of what music could be and do (e.g. Jeff Buckley’s Grace for me).

Growing up in a relatively small town by the Baltic Sea, one of my favourite activities was to go to the seaside in winter, when it was stripped of human presence, sit down on the staircase of a lifeguard’s lookout and listen to the songs on my iPod. Years before that I had a silver cassette player and a CD player that I always carried with me, along with a CD wallet. Music has always been a comforting presence in my life. But even in this rich history, there are certain albums and artists that have had such a transformative impact on my life that they have become part of who I am. There are not many albums that fall into this category, but this year one of them did appear.

In March, 2023 the record had come out, the first full LP from boygenius. As I listened to it for the first time, I knew it was going to embed itself in my brain as I was going to play it again and again and again. I became obsessed with the record and the three women responsible for creating it - Lucy Dacus, Julien Baker and Phoebe Bridgers.

It was like being a teenage girl again, eagerly watching interviews, trying to find out ways in which to watch their Coachella performances and following a fan account that reposted every live video and tour photo imaginable. People always talk about separating art from the artist, but the songs on the record felt so grounded and rooted in familiarity, like they were made by people that felt real and compassionate and vulnerable. In interviews they would talk about books and artists they admired and how they valued each other, and for someone, who has long felt that romantic love should not be valued more than friendship, it felt almost revolutionary to hear that as a foundation of an indie ‘supergroup’s’ ethos.

In August I had a chance to attend Oyafestivalen with my best friend Tina, who had very kindly gifted me a ticket. boygenius were due to play in the early hours of the evening. This was my first time seeing them live.

‘I want to hear your story / And be a part of it’ / boygenius- without you, without them

Making meaningful connections with other people is probably one of the, if not the most, important things you can do with your life. As I stood on a lawn in Oslo and kept bawling my eyes out, I couldn’t help, but end up in existential ponderings about love, loneliness and human connection and the fact that my closest friend was sharing the gig with me. We live thousands of km apart, but I love her loads and appreciate that she’s a part of my life.

‘And it feels good/ To be known so well/ I can’t hide from you / Like I hide from myself’ / boygenius- true blue

After the concert ended, I sat down by a tree to regain my composure, tear streaked cheeks and red eyes, an emotional outpouring and connection that meant so much to me. A few weeks later, I saw them headlining at Gunnersbury Park, this time sharing it with Tina again and my other friend Peter. This experience was less rooted in existential ponderings and more just an overwhelming sense of joy. It was a scorchingly hot day and multiple people fainted, however everyone around helped to get those people taken care of as quickly as possible.

Queer care and joy was ever present in this audience, people had arrived with wonderfully crafted items of clothing or little references to boygenius lyrics on them. Tina and I handed out pink carnations to the younger girls behind us. There is something strange about loving a band, whose audience seems much younger than you are, but maybe the best kind of music manages to reach something within us that is shared, regardless of age.

As the fireworks went up into the dark night sky, I felt so much joy. This time their music had reached the part of me that felt an immense gratitude for being alive and being able to experience such happiness with more than 20’000 people. This performance felt even more explosive and raw, but also funny and deeply meaningful. It seemed that all of us were treating ourselves to some self-belief.

‘will you be a nihilist with me / if nothing matters, man that’s a relief / Solomon had a point when he wrote Ecclesiastes/ if nothing can be known, then stupidity is holy / if the bore becomes a void, we’ll treat ourselves to some self-belief’ / boygenius - Satanist

The last time I saw them live was thanks to Peter, in a small and intimate acoustic set in Kingston. It was another very special experience as the songs had become embedded in my brain and hearing them acoustically felt quite different from the previous shows with a full backing band, here were the three people who were responsible for all those captivating melodies. They embody a vulnerable compassion and a reliance on friendship that feels authentic, and it is wonderful to see creativity blossom from a place of deep love and appreciation for each other.

The record is an album I have grown to love deeply, because it seems to fit whatever mental state I am in. Without You, Without Them for when I want to remind myself of the love I feel for my friends, Cool About It as a reminder that all of have had to play it cool, when someone has hurt us deeply, Not Strong Enough and Anti-Curse for when my mental health lies somewhere in the bottom of the bin. Whatever I am going through, I can find comfort in knowing that the record is there to give me solace and company, whether I am staring at the ceiling or going on a walk around North London.

#boygenius #personal #personal essay #music #album #albumoftheyear

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arqueete · 6 months

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@prosopopeya tagged me in a thing where you put your Spotify On Repeat playlist on shuffle and post the first 10 tracks that come up (and then tag 10 people), and it reminded me of old LJ memes so I will do this :)

...Familiar Place - Lucy Dacus Without you I am surely the last of our kind

Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs Wait, they don't love you like I love you

Eyes - Rogue Wave But one thing I'm missing is in your eyes

Appointments - Julien Baker I know that I'm not what you wanted, am I?

Shit Talk - Sufjan Stevens I will always love you but I cannot look at you

Blue Rose - Amen Dunes Truth it's not my fault, yeah love came over me

Spell -Dora Jar I was always the one you would toss to the wind

Everything That Rises - Sufjan Stevens Can you lift me up to a higher place?

Goodbye Evergreen - Sufjan Stevens But everything heaven-sent must burn out in the end

Slip Away - Perfume Genius Take my hand, take my everything

Tagging some people who have been on my dash tonight: @lonelyroommp3 @milfmoder @captainseaweedbrains @primeideal @tillamookburn @drdavidhuxley @kaarijafag @howglorygoes @ffrriiddaayy @lichlup

#well obviously i've been listening to the new sufjan album #but aside from that these are mostly songs i like to write to #memes

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gggoldfinch · 4 months

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Lonely Universe • fic playlist

AO3 fic link • spotify playlist link

Undone, Undress Marika Hackman // Brutus The Buttress // Poor Marionette Sarah Cothran // Watering Big Thief // Forget MARINA // Creator, Destroyer Angel Olsen // Paul Big Thief // Never Be Mine Angel Olsen // So Cold Cat Clyde // Lonely Universe Angel Olsen ★ Woe to All (On the Day of My Wrath) Lingua Ignota // Angst Rammstein // Body Terror Song AJJ // …Familiar Place Lucy Dacus // Montezuma Fleet Foxes // The Morning After MEG MYERS // I Love You But I’m Lost Sharon Van Etten // The Night We Met Lord Huron // Bygones Keaton Henson

Disclaimer: unedited photos found on Pinterest

#today on: goldfinch carefully curating the most hyper-specific and multi-layered fic playlists that no one listens to #each song makes sense in y head and I could go into mind-numbing eyeball-clawing hair-pulling detail about each!!!#also the songs are in timeline order. it’s so specific guys I’m not even joking rn #the Star separated the first half from the second half of the fic and playlist #me when tragedy with a dubiously happy ending #this playlist is also a love letter to angel olsen LOL #goldfinch’s music #lonely universe fic

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valentinescowboy · 2 months

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i listen to all the songs that make me think about what you did, then i think about how you will never understand the walls of your childhood bedroom or the grass in your best friends garden like i will

“limp” fiona apple, “a&w” lana del rey, “…familiar place” lucy dacus, “simmer” hayley williams, “limp” fiona apple

#web weaving #parallels #fiona apple #hayley williams #lana del rey #lucy dacus #thinking about: comfort

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taste-in-music · 1 year

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taste-in-music’s top 30 songs of 2022

Hello everyone! Welcome back to my annual countdown of my 30 favorite songs of the year. 2022 had a lot of great music releases, and I’m so excited to recount the songs I replayed throughout the year. Now, on with the list!

This year was so jam-packed I have ten honorable mentions to share before we get to the list proper: tears in the club by FKA Twigs ft. The Weeknd, Destination l’amour by Pi Ja Ma, Little Freak by Harry Styles, Fast Times by Sabrina Carpenter, EMPATHY 4 BETHANY by Saya Gray, Be Cool by Maggie Rogers, This Hell by Rina Sawayama, Heavy Heart by Bartees Strange, Karma by Taylor Swift, and Shotgun by Soccer Mommy

F2F by SZA: “F2F” was a fast favorite that came late in the year, mostly for how pleasantly surprising it was. The 2000s pop-punk revival has been percolating for the past few years, and SZA’s entry into the genre suits her frighteningly well. She’s written on the complications of revenge sex and missing an ex before, but the area-ready bombast of the guitar-driven instrumental elevates it to the next level. It may have looked to the past for sonic inspiration, but it feels fresh.

君に夢中 (Kimini Muchuu) by Hikaru Utada: I didn’t know what to expect when I clicked play on J-pop icon Hikaru Utada’s new album on a whim, but when I heard “君に夢中,” which translates to “crazy about you” in English, I was immediately struck by a feeling of familiarity. It may be because the opening synth riff reminds me of “Boys Of Summer,” it may be Utada’s impassioned delivery, it may be the rattling hi-hats that instate an undeniable groove on the song’s back end. Whatever it is, Utada managed to capture something ethereal on this track, and I can’t wait to explore more of her catalogue in the future.

Flower (In Full Bloom) by Luna Li ft. Dreamer Isioma: Romantic angst never sounded so damn dreamy. On “Flower (In Full Bloom),” Luna Li pleads with a lover that refuses to put in the effort in a relationship, while Dreamer Isioma provides the opposing perspective speaking about how the spark has already died. As the song progresses, the cushy soundscape of twinkling keys escalates to a bitching guitar solo that makes for one hell of a final moment.

Kissing Lessons by Lucy Dacus: If nothing else, “Kissing Lessons” is a marvel of concision. Each detail Dacus compiles, bracelet charms, hair tosses, dreams of buying a three-story house, all come together to form a rich vignette about a young girl’s budding sexuality and growing inculcation into gender roles in just under two minutes. Place those details over a rollicking rock instrumental and you’ve got on special sucker punch of a song that gives you just enough to want to know more. The only choice, then, is to hit repeat.

It’s Raining by Superorganism ft. Dylan Cartlidge and Stephen Malkmus: For Superorganism, there is no sample too silly, no instrumental flourish too strange to throw into their melting pot. Describing “It’s Raining” from their sophomore album World Wide Pop means describing the barrage of baffling moments it throws at warp speed. Frontwoman Orono Noguchi sings about a “cyborg grilled-cheese-sandwich machine” over thunderclaps. English rapper Dylan Cartlidge spits bars about Elon Musk over a backing chorus of what sounds like demented Muppets. Pavement frontman Stephen Malkmus’s lyrics about riding a horse-drawn carriage are ushered in with clip-clopping hooves and a sample of a neigh. These moments come together to form a loopy, loping confection that’s as absurd as it is addictive.

Superfan by Chelsea Jade: On “Superfan,” Chelsea Jade navigates the blurred lines of talking to a crush, a situation where you’re trading adversarial jabs and confrontational quips and you can never tell if you’re flirting or fighting. Ultimately, Jade reveals the obsession lying beneath the surface, identifying herself as a “superfan” trying to play it cool. Driving home the playful awkwardness is Jade’s use of vocal samples throughout, whether they’re narrating along to her conversation or splicing through the chorus with hiccup-y clips of harmonization. It’s a song that cuts through the guise to reveal the vulnerability at its core.

Holding Back by BANKS: In the years since her debut, BANKS has become my go-to artist for electropop bangers that conjure emotional vulnerability and goddess-level confidence alike. “Holding Back” may be an outpouring of memories in the wake of a doomed relationship, but the hard-hitting electronic groove and boosted bass breathe new life into a familiar concept. As BANKS switches between vulnerable coos and full-chested belts, she unleashes the innermost desire for her care to be reciprocated. “I wrote you a melody,” she sings in the chorus, “can’t you see that?”

Whatever Fits Together by Skullcrusher: Skullcrusher has perfected the art of weaving immersive tapestries from whispy sonic fragments, a strummed guitar here, a gossamer synthesizer there, a lyrical fragment about leaving home to tie it all into a single package. “Whatever Fits Together” pulls disparate pieces from their distinct places in the ether to form something transient and melancholy, the mournful tone of Helen Ballentine’s voice balanced by a sunny tambourine. It’s ephemeral, it’s beautiful, it all fits together perfectly.

Another Man’s Jeans by Ashe: Ashe may have broken onto the pop scene with brokenhearted ballads, but there’s always been a confidence and cleverness to her delivery that’s made her stand out. On her comeback single “Another Man’s Jeans,” she douses her witty songwriting with pure funk concentrate and struts through a kiss-off to a situationship with more swagger than she’s ever showcased on tape before. It makes for one of the most fun party jams of the year.

girlfriend by hemlocke springs: I first encountered hemlocke springs via an Instagram Reel where she posted a video propositioning “do u wanna hear the weirdest bridge you’ll ever hear in ur entire life?” The subsequent bridge shows springs hurling her voice up and down the scale with reckless abandon over a spritely synth groove, and wile it might not be the “weirdest bridge” I’ve ever heard, it certainly was one of the most memorable the year had to offer. The rest of the song, a blasé kiss-off to a potential suitor, pulls of the rare achievement for a viral song and lives up to the catchiness of the initial clip.

Spitting Off the Edge of the World by Yeah Yeah Yeahs ft. Perfume Genius: “Spitting Off The Edge of the World” is awesome in the archaic sense, encapsulating the simultaneous awe and terror that comes from facing something so much bigger than yourself. It’s a song that earns it galactic sense of scope from the quiet moments it provides to contrast it, as Karen O and Perfume Genius trade demure, flitting verses before the chorus kicks in on the heels of a larger-than-life barrage synths and guitars. It’s titanic, it’s triumphant, it’s just awesome, (in that it’s also just damn great.)

The Loneliest Time by Carly Rae Jepsen ft. Rufus Wainwright: I remember when this song was released just ahead of The Loneliest Time album and questioning how this collaboration could possibly work. As soon as I heard it, the answer was clear: never question Carly Rae Jepsen. At this point, Jepsen has boiled pop music down to a science, but that doesn’t mean it’s sterile or forced. The string-adorned, disco-inflected groove on “The Loneliest Time” is the perfect landscape for Jepsen and Wainwright to trade verses about giving an old flame a second chance. It all culminates in that excellent bridge where Jepsen enthusiastically declares “I’m coming back for you baby / I’m coming back for you!” I, too, will continue coming back to this song, and Jepsen’s catalogue as a whole, when I need a pick up from my own personal loneliest times.

fairy song by beabadoobee: Throughout her second album Beatopia, beabadoobee’s jaunty melodies and sugar-sweet vocals just barely cover a greater desperation for care and connection percolating beneath the surface. The best demonstration of this is “fairy song,” where a running list of self-care tasks atop perky pianos slowly cracks apart until it fully breaks into a buzzy whirlwind of distortion and beabadoobee’ screams just barely audible in the background. Then, just as the pandemonium reaches its peak, the song pulls itself back together and returns to the chipper atmosphere it began with. Ignoring one’s distress will only take you so far before the weight becomes too much to bear. Sometimes, drinking water and going outside isn’t enough. Letting the mess fly free every so often might just be the key to moving forward.

Cardigan by Sophie Cates: “Cardigan” is my silly pop song of the year, the track I turned to when I needed an instant sugar rush of endorphins. Sure, Sophie Cates rhymes “again” with “again” with “cardigan” with “again” again on the hook, but when it's set against the most instantly catchy melody of 2022, I hardly even notice. That’s not a slight against Cates’s writing though, the other choice details she employs throughout the song paint a vivid picture of a romance that’s lost its sparkle, and the wistful desire for the magic to return. It’s that undercurrent of longing that elevates “Cardigan” from being just a silly pop song to a great silly pop song, one that sticks around long after the initial rush has passed.

Bump by Dora Jar: Dora Jar’s music captures the dark whimsy of a fairy tale, but the real fairy tales where the pixie dust and glass slippers come with a hungry wolf or vengeful witch lurking in the shadows. It’s a musical world that’s a little spooky, rife with curiosity, and lit up with a flicker of excitement. “Bump” is one of the best demonstrations of this quality, with Dora Jar describing the wonder of a chance encounter that may escalate into something more. The song is accented with astonished gaps, a swampy chorus of backing vocals, and an air-tight beat. It’s sweet and wondrous and a little claustrophobic, sonically capturing that tight-throated, heart-hammering anticipation to see what comes next.

In The Eyes Of Our Love by Yumi Zouma: “In The Eyes Of Our Love” is good in a way that just feels obvious, providing a breezy yet danceable energy that’s poised to play out the romantic climax of a teen movie from the 90s. Beneath its cheery surface, though, is a tremor of anxiety. Lead vocalist Christie Simpson signs of crumbling walls, splitting lips, and looming storms, worries that accelerate and melt away over the song's duration. Every great pop song grows all the greater with a sense of urgency, and “In The Eyes Of Our Love” threads that needle effortlessly while still being danceable as hell. What more could you want?

Part Of The Band by The 1975: Over the past few years, The 1975 have twisted the anthemic pop-rock that put them on the map to reveal the absurdity and anxiety at the heart of modern life. On “Part Of The Band,” the band’s first single off their 2022 album Being Funny In A Foreign Language, frontman Matty Healy’s musings on social upheaval are equal parts hilarious and insightful. After stuffing the song full of dizzying rhymes, (“vaccinista tote bag-chic baristas” with “communista keisters” especially comes to mind,) Healy finishes on a searing moment of self-reflection: “am I just some post-coke, average, skinny bloke / calling his ego imagination?” With a twitchily elegant backdrop crafted from plucky string swells, chopped-up vocal samples, and quivering synths, it’s a song whose catchiness, cleverness, and creativity lives up to the critiques on display.

ALIEN SUPERSTAR by Beyoncé: It was difficult to pick a favorite track from RENAISSANCE, an album so consistently excellent in its delivery of dancefloor euphoria. In the end, I had to go with the self-love celebration “ALIEN SUPERSTAR.” Every element of this song oozes self-assurance, from the spacy disco instrumental to Beyoncé’s vocals, which switch from sensual cooing to a British accent-inflected declarations to braggadocious belting at the drop of a hat. The result is a track poised to dominate dancefloors across the galaxy for years to come, and who’s surprised? She’s one of one. She’s number one. She’s the only one.

Nothing Gives Me Pleasure by Girlpool: I clicked play on Girlpool’s fifth album Forgiveness without any clear expectations. I certainly wasn’t expecting to be blasted with a wave of distorted synths followed by the most memorable opening line of the year: “Do you even want me if I even have to ask? / Break it to me gently with your fingers up my ass.” It’s an unforgettable one-two punch that immediately establishes the core themes of the album, trying to reconcile the desire for emotional and physical intimacy, and how those desires often conflict with and contradict one another. “Nothing Gives Me Pleasure” walks the power balance in a relationship built on mismatched expectations, trying to sate yourself with sex and coming up short. The soundscape skitters and heaves, the distortion ratcheting up as Harmony Tividad reiterates the title line over and over: “Nothing gives me pleasure like the words I know you won’t say.”

cool by Uffie: Uffie made a name for herself in the bloghouse scene of the early 2010s, a musical moment defined by glitchy earworms, a punkish dedication to keeping the party going as long as possible, and lots and lots of glitter. For her 2021 comeback single with Company Records, “cool,” Uffie evolves the quirky maximalism of her past into something slick, modern, and effortlessly, well, cool. On “cool,” Uffie digs for gold in moments of stillness amidst chaos, chronicling moments of reprieve during a night out: sleepy Uber rides, poolside kisses, eating cereal with her partner. The best demonstration of this comes when, at the precipice of each chorus, all the music cuts out for a moment before Uffie ushers in the razor-sharp groove with a simple utterance of the song’s title, delivered with a blasé surety of someone who’s seen it all. As she sings in the song’s third verse, she’s “got nothing left to prove.”

HENTAI by ROSALÍA: Amidst the raucous genreclash that makes up the rest of the MOTOMAMI tracklist, the gentle pianos of “HENTAI” may initially feel a bit out of place. But if you listen closely, there’s much to discover beneath its deceptively simple surface. First off, the lyrics are filthy as hell, (I know, big surprise for a song literally called “HENTAI,”) but the cheeky references to bike riding and tape making are balanced out by a tender backdrop that knows when to up the bombast. Whether it be the barely-there string flourishes, fluttering vocal runs, or the skittering blast of drums that drives the song’s closing moments home, “HENTAI” provides just enough off-kilter details that make the song transcend from mere sexy piano ballad into only “La ROSALÍA” could provide.

Simulation Swarm by Big Thief: Despite Big Thief’s fifth album Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You dropping all the way back in February, I found “Simulation Swarm” shamefully late in the year. But as soon as I heard it, I knew it would be on this list, and pretty high up too. Adrianne Lenker crafts songs that are immediately familiar, like I must have been listening to them from childhood. The details she employs throughout "Simulation Swarm” balance beauty and malice, painting the dark fairy tale and casual terror of modern life “crystal blood like a dream true,” “swallows in the windless field,” “river of light who I love / That I sing to in the belly of the empty night.” Set against a locomotive folk instrumental, “Simulation Swarm” feels like a gentle hug from the abyss, voicing the ability to face danger and walk forward with hope.

Till We Run Out Of Air by Hatchie: I thought I knew what to expect going into Hatchie’s sophomore album Giving The World Away. Early singles like “Quicksand” and “This Enchanted” delivered another helping of the joyful shoegaze pop she’s been delivering for years. It’s a sound I’m always willing to gobble up, but there was an echo of something greater hovering right beneath the surface. With the final song on the album, Hatchie delivered a falcon punch of a finale that transforms that spark into a fireworks show. With its susurrus of swirling, watery synths and arena-ready chorus, “Till We Run Out Of Air” plows right through me with each repeated spin. It’s a song enraptured in the fine line between destruction and exhilaration, tracing the final moments in a romance with larger-than-life bombast. Perhaps the best encapsulation of this euphoria comes at the precipice of the chorus. “Open the curtains and let in the light,” Hatchie sings, before a glowing blossom of synths barrels the listener right into the song’s most anthemic refrain. It’s like the light at the end of the tunnel finally breaking through the darkness at just the right moment.

doomsday by Lizzie McAlpine: On her second album five seconds flat, Lizzy McAlpine elevated her personal songwriting with a cinematic scope. This approach is immediately introduced on the album’s opening “doomsday,” a slow-burning ballad chronicling a breakup though the lens of hindsight. McAlpine circles through deathly metaphors throughout the song: pulling the plug, violent ends, her partner as a “murderer” initiating their split on Halloween, the sample of a bone being split in half. This ghoulish gravitas of is backed up by an orchestral swell that makes the melodrama feel earned. These compounding elements build up the song’s momentum until McAlpine’s final revelation slams into you at full force: “I would’ve married you / If you’d stuck around / I feel more free than I have in years / Six feet in the ground.” The relationship may be dead and gone, but McAlpine makes it clear that she’s only getting started.

Lullabye by Grace Ives: Throughout Janky Star, Grace Ives concocts idea-stuffed soundscapes that vacillate between the anxieties and thrills of young adulthood. The earworms come so casually that they even materialize in the album’s moments of brevity. “Lullabye” is a perfect example of this. As the album’s closer, it shows the chaos winding down, giving way to moments of reflection. Ives’s breathily narrates the “lovely mess” of her life: watching movies on repeat, casually attempting gymnastics moves in the kitchen, and swapping confessions with a loved one late into the night. Set against gauzy landscape of synths, skittering drums, and chirpy backing vocals, I turned to the casual wisdom of “Lullabye” all the times this year when life got overwhelming. “No it’s nothing to be sad about,” Ives sings in the song’s closing moments, “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.” It’s a welcome reminder of the power ruminating on small joys can hold.

Say It by SASAMI: On her latest album Squeeze, SASAMI took to flipping white male-dominated genres like punk and metal to articulate her own rage. One of the best examples of this is “Say It,” an unapologetic frenzy of glitchy rock scuzz. In an Apple Music interview, SASAMI stated that the song was “about the pain of someone not communicating with you,” carried out as she trades places with a bassy, distorted mirror of her own voice. Situated atop a strutting groove concocted of squealing guitars, grumbling bass, and booming drums, it all comes together to form something equal parts cathartic and terrifying. “Say It” might be one of the best rock songs the year had to offer, but amidst the ruckus, it’s first and foremost a call to throw your repentance to the wind and speak your mind.

Yuck by Charli XCX: If you’ve been on TikTok for the past year or so, odds are you’ve come across the idea of “the ick,” the moment in a romantic relationship where something as simple as watching your beau chase a ping-pong ball across the floor flips your feelings of adoration into disgust. It only makes sense that one of pop’s most forward–thinking artists would capture this cultural phenomenon with masterful specificity and simplicity. Over a bouncy synth-heavy beat, Charli XCX lays out the moment when her love interest’s gooey romantic devotion starts to drive her away. Throughout “Yuck,” she takes romantic tropes like puppy dog eyes and bouquets of roses and flips them on their head. The result is the definitive song to throw on when the candy hearts get cloying. After spending the last few years of her career pushing pop to its very limits, her latest album Crash was a welcome reminder that even without all the hyperpop flourishes, she can still write damn good and effortless catchy bangers like this.

Free by Florence + The Machine: How do you persevere in the face of suffering? seems to be the question Florence Welch fixates on most throughout her projects with Florence + The Machine. She’s turned to several places in the past: making a break for freedom on her breakout hit “Dog Days Are Over,” self-destructive love on rock bangers like “Ship To Wreck” and “Shake It Out,” and reconciliation on her previous album, High As Hope. While the definite answer for such a question may never materialize, Welch has recognized how music can be one of the most potent salves for such woes. Her 2022 album Dance Fever provides several welcome additions to Welch’s growing catalog of musical catharsis, but it was “Free,” a free-spirited banger co-written by Jack Antonoff, that ended up hitting me the hardest. “Free” taps into something primal yet graceful, a raucous recognition that sometimes, the most inspiring feelings of freedom come hand in hand with singing at the top of your lungs. “For a moment, when I'm dancing,” Welch declares with titanic vocals over a propulsive drum beat and glittering keys, “I am free.” This relief may be temporary, but for the moment, it’s nothing short of magical.

American Teenager by Ethel Cain: On her debut album Preacher’s Daughter, Ethel Cain chronicles a journey of adolescent ennui and religious turmoil through sprawling, atmospheric ballads. Before she gets into all that, she also proves that she can write a teen pop anthem for the ages. “American Teenager” is the first official song on the album, and while it may be shorter and more immediate than its predecessors, it’s no less deftly crafted. Cain harnesses the larger-than-life, anthemic synth pop of the 80s, accenting the soundscape with shining synths, booming drums, and a bright saxophone solo. While the song relishes in altruistic Americana imagery of crying on the bleachers and whiskey-fueled rebellion, Cain also acknowledges the darkness lurking beneath the jubilation on the surface. The opening verse describes her neighbor’s brother being shipped home in a coffin, “another red heart taken by the American dream.” Still, despite this darkness, there’s a hope at the core of “American Teenager” that catapults it into the stratosphere, that suggests that maybe someday, those promises might come to fruition.

touch tank by quinine: I first came across “touch tank” as a fragment on TikTok, a looping clip of quinnie lip synching along to the first few lines of the chorus: “He’s so pretty / when he goes down on me.” And what an attention-grabbing set of lines they are, it’s not everyday that you stumble across a sweet, unassuming bedroom pop song explicitly discussing cunnilingus. But it isn’t just the refreshingly matter-of-fact references to sex that make “touch tank” stick in the memory, it’s the atmosphere of intimacy quinnie builds around those lines. In its final form, “touch tank” builds an aqueous wonderland of small yet palpably intimate moments, freshly laundered t-shirts, discovering new tattoos, choosing to be gentle. “touch tank” is a tribute to those early stages in a relationship where you’re poking and prodding with care, trying to reach tender places without drawing blood. Rounded out with warm guitars, cooing flutes, and just a twinge of vocal distortion, it’s a song that feels lived in, welcoming, drawing you deeper into its depths with each repeated spin.

What were your favorite songs from this year? Did I miss anything? Leave a comment or tag some in the reblogs and let me know.

This year has been an absolute whirlwind, and I hope you all have some good memories from it. Here’s to a safe, healthy 2023!

#songs #song recommendation #taylor swift #SZA #lucy dacus #carly rae jepsen #beyoncé #charli xcx #florence + the machine #ethel cain #taste in music 2022 faves #taste in music

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 2 years

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s2 prompt: sometimes mulder goes to scully's in the middle of the night just to check that she's there/safe bc he fears she might've been abducted again

shaking sobbing throwing up he WOULD. my thought process for this literally went Prompt -> a conversation with @fortes-fortuna-iogurtum -> listening to Lucy Dacus Fool's Gold on loop for like three and a half hours btw, in case you wanted to know adjskandksnsj. you probably won't get the full experience unless you listen to that song tbh

all glittering fool's gold

It's New Year's Eve and Scully is at home, alone. She'd wanted to be, because after a week tired and trapped in a hospital and another three with her mother and Melissa trying very hard and failing even harder not to baby her, she opted out of going to watch fireworks tonight. Anyway, she keeps flinching at the sounds of bottle rockets being shot off that leak in through her windows, keeps flinching every time she looks through the front window, doesn't want to sit there like she used to, because that — that, she can remember.

There's little sparks of color above the skyline, little showers of light that will burn out before they hit the ground. Scully watches the glimmers that she can see with a soft, too-long robe — one of Missy's, maybe — wrapped around her and one hand wrapped around a half-full glass of wine. Usually, she wouldn't stay up until midnight unless she was out with friends or with family; those aren't the kind of traditions she places much stock in. But it's fifteen minutes until the new year, and she is feeling the loss of three months.

Lights, brighter than fireworks and far, far closer, flash through the front window she's been trying to avoid and Scully's entire body tenses up. It's so bright. It only takes her a few seconds to recognize the brightness as a car's headlights, though, and just a few more to recognize whose car it is. She forces her muscles to relax, manages a deep breath and ignores the fluttering of her heart. She's tired but doesn't want to sleep, she's brought this on herself by staying up and by drinking, even if it was only one glass; she can and will rationalize her way out of her own panic.

She tips her head in wonder with no one to see and leaves the rest of her glass of wine in the sink. She double-checks through the peephole, double-checks that her robe is wrapped securely around her, and swings the door open before Mulder can even lift his hand to knock. His eyes go wide, flickering hazel and he stares at her for a long second. This is the first time they've seen each other since she convinced her mom to let her go back to her own apartment.

"Hi," he says quietly, at thirteen minutes until the new year, and she silently lets him in.

"Hi," she says back, watching him sidestep around her while hiding something behind his back. She shuts the door, leans back against it. "What are you doing here?"

Mulder shrugs. "I thought I'd come wish you a happy New Year." He toes off his shoes and she finally notices that he, too, is in much more casual clothing than usual.

The familiar denim shirt he'd let her borrow once when she spilled coffee on her blouse in the car is partially hidden by a leather jacket she doesn't recognize, that he must have gotten while she was gone. Scully blinks at the thought, tips her head again and wants to ask what he's hiding from her, whether by his presence or what he's holding behind him.

"I didn't expect you to still be up, honestly," he admits. "But, on the off chance," he sees her look and shoots her a fireworks-bright smile before holding out a bottle. It's champagne, and not the cheap kind, either. "Happy New Year!"

Scully laughs in surprise that she didn't expect to light her up so much. "I didn't think you'd stay up, either," she says, taking the proffered bottle and pointedly not looking at the price label on the bottom. She doesn't want to know. "Thank you," she adds, a little softer, leads the way to the kitchen and casts a look to make sure he follows.

"Ah, what's the point of an extra holiday if not to stay up late?" He jokes. "Hey, Scully?"

She looks over her shoulder, reaching blindly and familiar to grab two glasses. Everything in her home is exactly as she kept it; she doesn't need to look. She doesn't have champagne flutes, so she pulls down another long-stemmed wine glass and quickly pours out what was left in hers and rinses it. "Yes?"

Mulder watches her with searching eyes, a way she would be annoyed by from anyone else, but she knows it's more out of care than anything else. "How are you doing?" He asks, a little hesitantly, like he knows that she'd yelled at Melissa last week for asking too much. She wonders if they talk about her and hopes they don't. They are the two people in the world who can get to the bottom of her best.

She shrugs, holds the bottle out to him and he takes the hint, pops the cork. "I'm fine," she says, something she's getting very used to repeating. It's true, aside from the way she froze when she saw his headlights through the window and except for how she's trying not to pay too much attention to the gunshot-like sounds of fireworks.

It's nine minutes to the New Year, and Scully hands Mulder a glass and takes her own and doesn't even tense up when she sits near the front window. The pop-pop-pop of pyrotechnics isn't like thunder and lightning, she can't calculate how close it is by time passed. She curls her feet underneath her, tries not to sit closer to Mulder than she has, no matter how glad she is he's here. Maybe she was wrong about being alone on the way into a new year that feels like it's coming too suddenly. Nine minutes, three months; it's more time than it seems like.

She takes a sip of overpriced, gesture-of-affection champagne, and it's warm and fizzly down her throat. Like fireworks, she thinks. "I'm glad you're here," she blurts suddenly, lifting her eyes to his. He'd spent good money on her for no reason and come to check on her on New Year's Eve, when she hadn't even known she needed it.

Mulder barks out a raw little laugh, equal parts joy and desperation. "I'm glad you're here, Scully," he says, grinning at her with circles under his eyes that she didn't notice at first.

He looks worn down, she feels uncertain. There's a little bit of light in both of them, though, and a part of her wants to blame the alcohol. Champagne can intoxicate you faster than beer; she thinks of the fireworks outside, their light illuminating the sky and then flickering out on the way down. She wonders if Mulder understands what she's saying; she is better now that he's here, and that much is not bubbly alcohol.

He looks away after a moment, busies himself with his own glass. Scully studies him for a moment, the sadness and hope in his eyes that's always been there but that's more obvious now, the way his hair sticks up in front — he's clearly gotten a haircut recently, and she wants for just a moment to run a hand through it — how he sits, relaxed but somehow still tightly coiled much the same as she is. The shadows under his eyes, like they've escaped from inside him; she wonders how much she seems the same if he were to look at her this way.

Another sip, like a bubbly sweet swallow of courage, and she puts her hand on his arm. Mulder looks up at her, a little more surprised than he really should be, because they've touched each other so easily and so much until recently. "You look tired," Scully notes, with a hint of a question.

Mulder chuckles, looks at her hand on his wrist like he wants to slide his own hand back and hold it, and maybe she wishes he would. "Insomnia will do that to a person, I hear." He couches it in a joke, but she hears more than that.

When they travel, he's usually asleep before she is, unless it's a particularly compelling case. She can fall asleep practically anywhere, be it a plane or an airport or a rental car, but she's seen him practically melt into hotel beds before. If she were to knock on his door in the night — which she's only done once, when he got a concussion and she needed to check on him — she's more likely to be greeted by a soft snore than anything else. She isn't an insomniac herself, or at least she doesn't think she is, but she's found that he usually rests easily. It was something she noted on their first case, even, when the plane was half full and he stretched out across an entire row of seats and slept for most of the flight.

She frowns, searches over his face for an answer that doesn't require a question and finds none, except for the way he's looking at her. "Mulder, since when do you have trouble sleeping? You've never been an insomniac."

He shakes his head, smiles in a way that she doesn't like because she can tell, deep down, that he's forcing it. He swirls his glass, takes another drink, tops off both of their glasses from the bottle. "Since uh," he mumbles, "Since you were taken." It comes out fast, tumbling past his lips like a confession, and he won't look at her. "I still can't really-" he breaks off, shrugs. When he finally looks at her, it's with sad eyes and a soft smile. "It doesn't matter."

Scully bites back the urge to snap that it does, it does matter, and finds that she's suddenly reeling just a little bit. She knows he'd kept her cross, her mother had said that he'd worn it, and that rocked her hard enough as it is. Mulder, who's never had faith in the things she does and vice versa, wearing the symbol of her faith. Mulder, not sleeping because of what happened to her. It hits her then how much her abduction has affected him, how much he hasn't shown for the sake of putting her first. Maybe the alcohol is making her emotional, maybe it's the ball dropping in her heart at the same time it drops in Times Square, but she wants just a little bit to cry.

"Happy New Year," Mulder whispers, and she glances at the clock and watches the two hands come aligned. The new year has come, far too fast, and she'd nearly missed it. She doesn't feel any different.

Beside her, Mulder downs the last of his champagne. On the other side of her, outside the window, a resounding, crackling rocket goes off, light and sound at the same moment, and she jumps, squeezing her eyes shut against the flash of fear and squeezing the stem of her glass in one hand. Mulder's hand finally meets hers, and she flicks her eyes open, too wide, too irrationally afraid — she doesn't know why the fireworks are setting her off — and he's staring at her with more concern, more gentleness than she knows what to do with.

"I'm okay," she says, carefully so her voice won't shake. "Just startled me. They're not supposed to set those off in residential areas," she adds with a lightness she doesn't feel. Reluctantly, she pulls her hand from his, stands to take both their glasses and finish the rest of hers on the way to the kitchen. She has to turn her back, has to compose herself.

"Since when do people follow those kinds of rules?"

He follows her, of course, into the kitchen while she stands over the sink and drinks the last of her glass of champagne. She's saving the rest of it for the next time she wants that brightness. She wants to laugh, maybe, at the fact that Mulder bought her something so expensive. She wants to cry, maybe, because she doesn't understand why he would do that. She doesn't understand why he's here, even if she is glad of it.

She turns around, faces him once she thinks she can. "Mulder, why... why are you here?" She asks, not sharply, but maybe a little rougher than she means to. She just wants to understand.

His eyes go big again, the way they had when she first let him in, and the expression is endearing. "To... to celebrate," he shrugs. "New Year's, fireworks." He pauses, looks at his feet, looks back at her, eyes tracing over her face and her stature and then back to meet her gaze again. "You're here," he says. "I wanted to check that you're- here, and alright. To... remind myself," he admits.

"To remind both of us," she murmurs under her breath, and she doesn't know if he hears it because he doesn't respond. "Mulder, do you think-" she stops herself, rubs the tip of her nose.

He's watching her, waiting for her to finish her sentence, and she's not sure if it's a good idea, but she doesn't think she's going to sleep well tonight — she's lived here long enough to know the fireworks won't stop until the sun comes up, or maybe longer — and he won't either, he'd just admitted it himself. He doesn't sleep well, anymore, which probably means he doesn't sleep.

She wraps her arms around herself, feeling empty-handed and wanting, more than anything, for the warmth she'd felt with that first sip of champagne again. "Do you think you would sleep better with me?" She finally manages, her voice quiet and questioning.

Mulder visibly stops short, stops breathing, stares at her like she's speaking another language. "What?" He breathes, like he's panicking, like she had a moment ago.

Scully shrugs, leans her head to the side. "I'm going to have trouble sleeping, too," she admits, hiding another flinch and instead glancing toward the glitter falling down in the corner of the window that she can see from here. "You could stay here tonight," she offers, as more aggravatingly, terrifying bottle rockets go off and make her think it's doomsday instead of the dawn of a new year. "That way we... you can know that I'm here."

Mulder stares at her, mouth hanging half open. "Scully, you... really?"

She nods, because it's all she can do and if she tries to talk again, she's either going to start giggling or start crying. There's something borderline ridiculous about all of this, something that would be comedic, would be unimaginable with anyone but the two of them. She doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to make it for her sake even though it already is, but she hopes he understands. Barely over a month ago she was presumed dead, then almost dead. Fireworks are newly terrifying and bubbly white wine is possibly the best thing she's felt since waking up.

"Okay," he says, eyes full of something that might be exhaustion, might be longing, might be hope.

She checks the lock on the door again, glances at the lock on the front window — but then, what did that ever matter anyway? — and feels as if she's letting go of something she's had in a chokehold, or maybe it's letting go of her. She looks at Mulder, studying her like she'd been studying him, like she's a mystery he can't unravel; like she's one of his x-files, and she is now, isn't she?

The couch is soft when she sinks into it, in a way she hasn't noticed until now, and Mulder's eyes are even softer. There's a fleeting moment when a small, quiet part of her wants to kiss him, but mostly, she just wants to be near him. Another burst of fireworks resounds outside and she flinches again, feels her pulse pick up for a few beats, and she glimpses just for a second the look in Mulder's eyes as he watches her. She doesn't like seeing the pain in him any more than he likes seeing it in her.

In the morning, she'll blame the alcohol, or the fireworks or full moon. She'll blame her own human need, or the forces that did this to her, or the fall of man, but right now she is coming up empty-handed, and there's something warm fizzing in her chest when she closes her eyes and tucks herself against Mulder and he puts his arms around her.

"I've got you," he whispers against the top of her head, and she huffs a warm, sleepy chuckle.

"Yeah," she replies, feeling the knot in her gut start to unclench. "Mulder."

"Scully?"

"I'm here."

Outside, fireworks light up the skyline, a fizzy kind of fool's gold.

#champagne as a metaphor for love? fireworks as a metaphor for hope/fear's juxtaposition?#something like that???#idk just. the vibes of fool's gold is so much and so them somehow???#i simply like Soft and Cuddles that is all #Lu writes #txf #the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #txf s2 #mulder and scully #msr #txf fanfic #msr fanfic #userscully #i feel like I'm the only person who tags you in fic? if anyone else wants to be tagged when i write stuff just lmk #anyways :)

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