I’ve chronicled my musictherapyjourney on this blog quite a bit in recent years. It was a huge part of my life’s story, having been the focus of my studies for more than a decade on and off. Even when I wasn’t actively pursuing music therapy at my university, I still had every intention of obtaining that sweet degree at some point and slapping a fun little “MT-BC” after my name. Heck, if I was feeling really feisty, I could even go back to school again and throw a Dr. in front of my name as well.
Obviously, as I’ve detailed in painstaking detail on this blog, that dream died a hilariously brutal death in the godforsaken city of Fort Wayne, Indiana.
But that wasn’t my first — or only — dream.
When I was a little girl, I wanted nothing more than to be a rock star.
Now why does that sound so familiar?
After my tragic and abrupt exit from the music therapy world, I decided to refocus my energy on making it as a professional recording artist. LORE was intended to be my “Hello!” to the music world. I crafted the eight-song album to be a proper debut, with a smattering of songs from an array of genres demonstrating my abilities as a performer, songwriter, and producer. I redid my socials, pestered my besties with the demos, and even dragged my poor wife into a frozen-over forest for the promo shots. I had every intention of this album becoming a breakthrough of sorts.
Then, release day came. Friday the 13th. It felt poetic, but the moment came and went, and I found myself absolutely paralyzed at the thought of doing any self-promotion. I remembered the tragedy that was me trying to promote my ill-fated Chappell Roan cover, which was inundated with (at least charmingly creative) insults. Putting my original material out there, which I emptied my entire heart and soul into, felt even more vulnerable. Ultimately, I chickened out.
The album languished.
But here’s the weird part.
I actually wasn’t as disappointed as I should have been.
Because the older I get, the more I realize I don’t want to be the next Taylor Swift. In fact, the idea is becoming increasingly terrifying.
It’s not a secret that the music industry sucks. I literally just posted an entire piece about that yesterday. And truthfully, the more I learn about its seedy underbelly, I’m not entirely sure that’s the future I want for myself.
Maybe this is the dream I need to let die.
Last night, I had the most incredible opportunity. I got to meet my lifelong hero, Ann Wilson, the legendary frontwoman of the classic rock band Heart. And I had the chance to ask her exactly one question. Now when the time finally came, I definitely panicked. My initial thought was to ask her about her childhood and being bullied, and what kinds of things she told herself to stay strong throughout those struggles, but I didn’t want to get too dark, especially since I was one of the first in line. I ended up trying to ask her if any neat happy accidents had ever ended up in a Heart song, but I forgot how to articulate the phrase “happy accidents” and flubbed the question so bad that she had to ask me to reword it (not my proudest moment).
What I’m really glad I didn’t ask, however, was the question that was my other first instinct — what is your advice to up-and-coming musicians?
Her answer boiled down to “quit your day job and go all in.”
Which, sure, might have been decent, if a little reckless, advice back in the seventies when she was getting her start. But following that advice as a working class artist in the year of our Lord 2026 is a near definite death sentence. The chances are very slim that you will actually make it. The chances are much higher that you will wind up with this as your sick rock and roll castle:
“Hello MTV and welcome to my Crib!”
Perhaps her disappointingly out-of-touch response was the final wake-up call that I needed to stop pursuing music on such a grandiose scale.
After all, being a rock star was the dream of a child, and at some point, you have to put away childish things.
There’s a verse (1 Corinthians 13:11, to be precise) about this very concept in the Good Book, and I always hated it whenever I heard it in church. I’m a kid at heart and never wanted to grow up (and when I did inevitably grow up, I wanted to skip to the part where I got to be a lazy grandma). I thought the whole idea of having to act serious and proper and “adult” was a silly and unnecessary social convention. Who cares if someone still loves cartoons and toys and goofy jokes after some arbitrary cut-off?
What I’m learning recently, however, is that the verse in question isn’t referring to watching SpongeBob as a grown-up at all.
My wife has been without a job for a good amount of time for a number of good reasons. Because of the circumstances, our roommate and I are not pestering them to be employed at the moment. Still, bills need to be paid, and so my wife has begun to sell off their prized possession — their beloved Pokemon cards.
For years, that was all my wife asked for. Forget chocolates and Hallmark cards, if I didn’t come home with Pokemon cards on Valentines, I was in the metaphorical doghouse. I seriously gave this woman (well, nonbinary woman-shaped cryptid) a bouquet with multiple booster packs taped to shish kabob skewers tucked within it. Pokemon cards were their one obsession.
A few days ago, I was talking with my wife about the sudden change of heart. As it turns out, like many things we cherish, capitalism has soiled the card collecting hobby as well, with scalping running rampant. And more than that, they admitted making sure my roommate and I, their two favorite people on the planet, were fed and cared for was more important than some dumb flimsy cardboard.
Now that is maturity. Now that is growing up.
“Alexa, play Blink-182 ‘Dammit.’”
Maybe the childish things in our lives aren’t crayons and kids’ books. Maybe they’re the things that keep us from what’s actually important in life. No, I don’t want to be a rock star anymore. I want to be a loyal partner to my favorite people. I want to be a good mother someday. I want to build a home and a career I can take pride in. And I want to change the world through music on my own terms.
When I was a little girl, I wanted nothing more than to be a rock star.
It was all I ever fantasized about. I’d put on headphones and my favorite albums and run around the house imagining myself as the artists. I loved watching the VH1 Behind the Music specials about the bands I admired and daydreamed at length about my future episode after I’d inevitably conquered the music world myself. I had entire storylines in my head about my meteoric rise to stardom and my tragic downfall and my against-all-odds battle back to the top, when I’d finally be given my flowers and have my name added to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame at last.
I was a very imaginative child.
But as a certain green-hued witch once sang, something has changed within me.
I don’t want to be a rock star anymore.
I’m done playing the game.
I was originally set out to write about the ways in which the music industry has recently proven itself to be a toxic place, but as I really began to visualize the points I wanted to make with this post, I had a dark realization. The music industry was never a decent place. Even as far back as the days of Vivaldi, the music that actually got heard by the masses was largely composed under the eye of kings and the Church and made by folks who already had money and connections. Sadly, the world is moved by whoever has the most resources, and like a lot of great things in life, capitalism had to take a shit on music as well.
In recent years, it’s become increasingly clear that much of the songs we’ve come to love and cherish throughout the years were brought to life by the worst people you know. The old adage of “never meet your heroes” has never been more true. Almost all of the musicians I looked up to have at least one gnarly skeleton in their closets, and that’s not even getting into the bigwigs behind the scenes who curated what we heard on the radio our whole lives. You know none of that shit was organic. We’re slowly finding out just how interconnected and insidious the folks in power really are. And it’s really, really disheartening. Sometimes I really do feel like Elphaba learning the true nature of Oz and the Wizard.
A charlatan with a knack for manipulating the masses? He’d fit right in with the industry.
“But Jessa,” you say, “you keep saying all this stuff about how the music world is fucked up, but you’re not giving us any real examples of why it’s fucked up.” Well, that’s the part I decided to put in a silly listicle like Cracked back when it was good. There are at least seven concrete reasons why the status is not currently quo. Let’s begin with an issue that’s been plaguing pop music since its very inception, to the point where it’s nearly baked into its DNA. And that would be…
1. Racism
Are you ready for an uncomfortable truth? All modern popular music was stolen from black Americans. From the dawn of the blues, white folks have been ganking the tunes of the very people they enslaved and oppressed. Even before recorded music, minstrel shows appropriated the sounds brought over to the US via the African slave trade and perverted them into gross mockeries. Wikipedia itself goes as far as to describe one of the most famous minstrel songs as “a key initial step in a tradition of popular music in the United States that was based on the racist ‘imitation’ of black people.” And that was pre-record industry. Once people found ways to slap music onto vinyl, the suits in charge bent over backwards to whitewash whatever music that meant. Pat Boone made an entire career out of reworking “black music” into something palatable for the mayo masses. Some of the early Caucasian rock artists did have a deep reverence for the origins of the music they made — Elvis famously attended black churches in his youth and was typically known to respect his musical forefathers. But one would have to be entirely ignorant to believe his relative success compare to artists like Sister Rosetta Tharpe wasn’t in part due to his whiteness. Record execs believed they had to sell a “sanitized” version of rock and roll to America, and that’s how we as a society collectively divorced rock — and pop music in general — from blackness.
But the truth is, nearly every genre of popular music can be traced back to the black Americans who pioneered the art. Rock owes its entire existence to black folks, as does rap. Even country, the genre damn near everyone associates with the very whitest people on the planet, has its roots in traditional African music, with the banjo being an instrument brought over via the slave trade. We would not have music as we know it if not for the black people we stole it from. That being said, racism isn’t the only ugly -ism that plagues the music industry. Sexism is also rampant, and this next point is one that seems to disproportionately affect the ladies…
2. Body-Shaming
Remember back when Britney got fat?
CALL MY 600-POUND LIFE, STAT! WE GOT A FATTY!
Like, look at all that blubber. You could hide a whole ass ham sandwich for later inside those big ‘ol folds, right? Never mind the fact that a slight breeze could probably knock over poor Brit in these pictures, she’s just so fat, right?
It probably shouldn’t come as a huge surprise in a post-Epstein world that powerful men wanted to keep their pretty pop princesses tiny and dainty and girlish. Strong men love weak women, or more accurately, girls. The minute one’s adult curves begin to blossom, young women are inundated with messages that for some reason, this is bad. That pressure is even stronger for female artists who make genres of music where image is important. And let’s be so for real right now, image is important for women in practically every genre because our society maintains that women are primarily a thing to be looked at, not heard. One of the most heartbreaking cases I know in the industry is the story of Karen Carpenter, who ultimately lost her battle with her eating disorder. We missed out on so much potential music because our society pushed a world-class drummer and vocalist to fucking starvation. That is not okay.
My Roman Empire is the way Heart frontwoman Ann Wilson was treated by the industry in the eighties. Because for some reason, the worst men on earth took a look at this woman and thought “whale.”
“OH MY GOD WHAT A SHE-BEAST!”
If you’re unaware of her story, she was bullied throughout her life for not being a stick figure, but when she hit 30 and started looking a little more woman-shaped, the record execs panicked, dressed her in all black (which was unintentionally the origin story of my goth phase, as I spent years trying to emulate her style during this era), and attempted to hide her behind her blonde, skinny, more “conventionally attractive” guitarist sister, Nancy. She went as far as using cocaine and getting fucking surgery to get back down to an “acceptable” weight, and I have no doubt that had she hit it big in the year of our Lorde 2026, the suits would be hurling Ozempic at her. Sure, whatever, maybe she reached an unhealthy weight at some point, but let’s be so for real, who the fuck cares? She’s not a model — she’s the greatest living female rock singer, and to reduce her to whether or not she’s overweight is absolutely bananapants to me. Even at her heaviest, I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world as a child, and I was not about to let some misogynistic asshole in the music biz try to convince me otherwise.
3. Payola/Nepo Babies
Did you think your favorite artists actually had a rags-to-riches story?
Yeah, those rarely exist.
I remember a few years ago when Chappell Roan came out and everyone here in the Midwest was excited that one our own “made it big” in the music scene. She was one of us. She lived in a trailer park or something and worked in a drive-thru coffee shop and fought her way to the top through sheer grit alone. She’s the crab who escaped the bucket, and instead of trying to drag her back down, we actually elevated her and celebrated her.
What you probably didn’t know, however, is that it quietly later came out that her backstory was a little bit…embellished.
A lot of details have since come out about the true background of Chappell Roan. For one, her family is not nearly as destitute as we’ve been led to believe. Her grandfather Dennis Chappell, whose name she borrowed for her music persona, was a shrewd businessman who started an insurance company that brings in around $10 million annually. Her mother was a successful veterinarian who had her own practice. And her uncle might be the worst one — Congressman Darin Chappell, whose slimy pro-forced birth policies will likely kill a lot of vulnerable women. In defense of Chappell herself, she’s been vindicated over and over when it comes to parasocial relationships in music (more on that in a bit), and has obviously been the target of several smear campaigns to dull her influence. Still, it’s not a great look to be disingenuous about your upbringing, and I would have respected her a lot more if she’d just acknowledged all the legs up she’d been handed through her birth family’s wealth and influence.
The problem is that Chappell is not an isolated case. It’s pretty well-known by now that pop music juggernaut Taylor Swift was never the “girl next door” unless you lived in a goddamn gated community. Sure, she grew up on a farm if you wanna get real technical, but it wasn’t Old McDonald’s. Her parents were wealthy businesspeople who could afford to literally take out a full-page ad in The Wall Street Journal bragging about their little bundle of joy who’d go on to bring the music world to its knees. Yet fans will point to her as the “poor little girl who made it despite all odds.” The truth is, the odds were always stacked in her favor. That’s what happens when you’re born into money. That’s to say nothing of her talent, as she’s obviously incredibly talented and personally one of my favorite songwriters of all time. But it hurts my heart when I wonder about all the Taylor Swifts trapped in trailer parks whose songs will never get heard.
When you have money, you have safety nets. When pursuing your wildest dreams, there’s a good chance something will eventually go wrong and you’ll have to regroup. It happened to me with my dream of becoming a music therapist. Attempting to make it on a large scale in the entertainment business is an even riskier endeavor for a lot of folks. In many cases, you have to move to where the magic is happening, and just moving to a big city is a risk in and of itself. Rich kids get the second and third and fourth chances working class musicians don’t get, and then you factor in the sad fact that music only gets heard when you throw money behind it. Payola was the industry’s way of paying off radio stations to promote their songs, and despite getting technically banned, surprise surprise, it is still fucking happening in the 21st century. The things the radio feeds you are not organic. It’s all carefully curated, and more often than not, it’s the artists with a sizable amount of lucre who get played. Speaking of lucre…
4. Financially Screwing Artists
A lot of everyday people don’t really realize what a record deal really is. The dream we’ve been sold is that when the right guy hears your music, he’ll be swept away and throw you a deal, and with it comes all the fame and fortune of rock stardom.
What they don’t tell you, though, is that all that money they give you? You have to pay it back. Or perhaps more accurately, pray the meager royalties you earn from your music offset that advance you’re given.
I know a tragic story from my personal life about a dear friend who I casually dated back in college. He was a phenomenal guitarist, one of the best I’d ever heard in person, and he joined up with a band that subsequently “hit it big” and landed a sweet deal with a relatively small label. Sadly, nothing really came of the deal. The label more or less sat on the band and did little to no promotion, and when they were all “surprised Pikachu face” at the fact that no one was streaming their music, they unceremoniously dropped the band — who still had to pay off that advance. On the off chance a “regular person” gets their foot in the door, there’s a good chance someone will be waiting right around the corner to screw them out of thousands or even millions of dollars.
Music does not produce a lot of revenue. We’ve cheapened the very art of music down to something you can stream willy-nilly at any time. There’s no upfront cost aside from the measly Spotify subscriptions we pay, and while that’s amazing for consumers, it absolutely fucks over any chance of the musicians behind the scenes actually making a living. Spotify gives you little over $2 for 1000 streams, and unless you have a ton of followers who stream your material on repeat, that doesn’t add up to much. A lot of artists have to maintain day jobs to stay afloat. When I was working at a traumatic brain injury rehabilitation facility in Ann Arbor, I was shocked to learn that one of my coworkers was the frontman of a fairly prominent mu-metal band. It’s wild how many musicians need outside income. Even very established artists are resorting to selling their life’s work for a lump sum in order to squeeze a little more money out of their songs. The companies buying these songs clearly don’t give a flying fuck about creative integrity, but that obviously doesn’t matter either, because the machine is also known for…
5. Creatively Screwing Artists
It’s not a secret that once the execs have their hooks in you, you’re at their very whim, and when the soundscape changes, you have to change. Going back to my Heart example, back in the eighties, they were basically given a deal that in order to keep being rock stars, they had to play the new MTV game. The band had to trade heavy guitars and introspective lyrics for big synths and songs written by outsiders. Ann even admitted that the music they were forced to make in that time frame was “stifling.” And they’re far from the only examples.
Music today is a numbers game. Pop fans watch the charts the same way football fans watch their favorite players’ stats. If an album doesn’t sell as well as the last one, people are quick to declare that said artist is a “flop.” Folks have already coined the term “Khia asylum” to describe female one-hit wonders, and if their favorite’s newest release don’t top the charts, that’s where they wind up. Never mind the fact that “Milkshake” is a legendary song. Khia has literally become shorthand for “not being able to follow up on your best work,” and fans are so hasty to determine that a woman has already written her magnum opus at 22. Remember how Halsey was so excited to share her deeply personal and experimental album about her health struggles, only to have the entire industry drag her for it? She’s not even allowed to release new music now because that album didn’t do as well as Taylor’s newest release. Record executives are holding our artists hostage and silencing them for having the guts to do something different. We’re punishing creatives for their creativity.
If I’m allowed on my soapbox for just a moment, I just want to say that music should never be about numbers. Music is not something that should be quantifiable. Music is highly subjective and deserves to be regarded for its quality rather than how many average Joes one can dupe into listening to it. This is how we’ve devolved into a place where AI can take over. Who cares about artists anymore? We can just beep-boop anything into existence instantly without the hassle of managing a fully human musician with wants and needs and personalities. That’s what executives want. Notice how you never see bands anymore (except Geese for some reason). That’s not an accident. The more people you have signed, the more liabilities you have. People fuck up, and in our current zeitgeist, that’s not allowed. Which leads me to my next point.
6. Parasocial Relationships
This is more on the fans than the industry itself, but it bears noting that the industry does little to curtail this phenomenon, and in some cases even encourages it. People get obsessed with their favorites. I’m not talking my childhood obsessions with Shania Twain or Bon Jovi or the aforementioned Heart. Those were innocent fascinations stemming from the fact that I was a lonely undiagnosed autistic child with no friends, and the music became a sort of surrogate friend to me.
But that’s not what this is.
I hate using her as an example again, but fuck it.
I mean, she is the music industry.
It’s not a secret that Taylor was madly in love with Matty Healy of The 1976. But when the Swifties found out that their beloved mother was seeing a skeevy dude who did some questionable shit in the past, they had the entirely normal response of writing an open letter to her explaining why she, a grown woman, should dump him. It, uh, did not go over well with her. She’s lucky her fans didn’t go even further, unlike one of Bjork’s fans back in the 90s. He was pissed his sweet little innocent muse was dating (gasp!) a black guy, and that was enough to send him into a violent spiral. He ended up killing himself on camera, but not before sending a bomb to Bjork to punish her for her transgressions. Mercifully, the package was intercepted before it could reach its final destination, but the case is a cold, bitter reminder of how dangerous these parasocial relationships can get.
I blame my fellow Michigander Eminem for some of my fears regarding parasocial relationships in music. In case you’re too young to know the real origins of the term “stan,” “Stan” was the name of a song that essentially told the tale of a young man who was obsessed with Eminem. He begins the song with a simple request for a letter back from the rapper, but it soon escalates into the fan committing murder-suicide — and blaming Eminem. That was my worst nightmare for years as an artist. I never want my music to contribute to human suffering, and it’s so easy for one unhinged person to latch onto you and your songs. Charles Manson took Paul McCartney’s innocent little ditty about a playground slide and interpreted it to mean “slaughter a bunch of people.” If Paul’s not even safe, I don’t know who is.
7. Grooming
I saved what might be the most disgusting part about the industry for last. The music world is brimming with predators. From the earliest days of rock and roll, the greats were busy dating, raping, and even marrying little girls. As a former little girl myself, and one who was really into classic rock, I spent years turning a blind eye to the fact that my heroes were out there hurting kids like me. It’s hard to think about the fact that famous groupies like Sable Starr were literally just children who were taken advantage of. So many rock stars were complicit in the abuse of her and so many others. It’s almost easier to list prominent rockers who haven’t had liaisons with underage girls.
Jonny, please, don’t let me down.
As hard as it is to admit, some of my personal favorites have been under fire for their relationships with young girls (although thankfully not Jon Bon Jovi). John Frusciante is hands down my favorite guitarist, but it’s difficult to divorce his music from the fact that he made a great chunk of it with admitted PDF file Anthony Kiedis. I love the lyrics “Show love with no remorse” from the song “Dosed,” but a part of me is glad I never tattooed it on myself because I know in my heart of hearts that the line was penned by an absolute creep. Brand New was one of my favorite emo bands for years, but after hearing about Jesse Lacey’s controversies, I feel icky revisiting them. I’ve never heard a song, Christian or secular, that quite sums up my faith like “Jesus Christ,” and I can’t even listen to the song without feeling gross anymore. Even the female musicians aren’t immune. I admire Sia as a songwriter, but you gotta admit her relationship with Maddie Ziegler was weird as hell. This is the kind of stuff that rightfully got Michael Jackson scrutiny. And speaking of which, while I love the man’s music and feel for his experiences as a child, that’s not an excuse for the way he behaved with children.
And the list goes on and on and on.
We have our Diddys and R. Kellys. We have our Phil Spectors and Dr. Lukes. When you give people unbridled power and access to vulnerable folks, abuse happens and the cycles continue.
That’s part of why I wanted to write this piece. The music industry is a dark, seedy place, and the older I get, the more I want no part in it. Let’s be clear — this is in no way a statement that I want to discontinue making music. Rather, it’s a statement that I’m done chasing “rock stardom,” whatever that even means in this day and age. It’s a trap, full stop.
So if we’re saying “fuck the music biz,” what even is the alternative?
Real music.
The future of music isn’t in the music industry. It’s in the hands of everyday artists who use their instruments to tell stories and move hearts. It’s in open mics, karaoke nights, and punk shows. It’s in some kid opening up a MacBook for the first time, screwing around on GarageBand, and discovering a passion he never knew. It’s in a small girl picking up a guitar for the first time and finding the way the notes fit together.
The mainstream media can have its robots and nepo babies. Real, authentic music will thrive in the dark recesses of every small town with a dive bar or coffee shop.
Here’s a confession: I was originally planning to spend this month locked in my apartment with nothing but my laptop and recording equipment in order to bully myself into making an entire EP in a month’s time. I had a whole plan of action and everything. I was going to do a collection of covers of my favorite recent Chappell Roan and Taylor Swift songs and name it The Rise and Fall of the Life of a Midwest Showgirl Princess because I’m already extra as hell so why not lean into it? And I figured with how relevant both artists are right now, at least someone important would hear my project and like, give me a bunch of money to make music forever.
That’s how record deals work, right? They didn’t teach me that stuff in music school.
But here’s the eternal problem I run into — I’m an extrovert through and through. I’m actually stupidly extroverted at times. I envy the cute quirky introverts that just need like, a book and a cup of coffee to go, because I need at least thirty solid minutes of conversation every hour on the hour or I die. So I decided I’d try to appease both the part of me that wanted to record music and the part of me that wants to hang out with folks by throwing my gear into a sack and schlepping it over to my friends’ places.
And that’s when the real magic started happening.
I’d break out my laptop, load up the DAW, and my friends would hover over me excitedly as I cooked up silly little beats for them to mess around with. None of us are actually rappers, but we like to write raps about stuff and pretend we are. I think the first song in what would eventually become The Kalamazooligans project happened at Luke’s place. He’s a writer, one of my closest friends, and a frequent collaborator of mine. He wrote a really heartfelt verse about finally finding companionship in the karaoke scene, and our mutual friend Willy made up a chorus inspired by a “live laugh love” sign (featuring Kim Jong Un — don’t ask) Luke had hanging up in his living room. Then David (who’s one of my Fairale bandmates, actually) rounded out the second verse, and I took the last. Suddenly, we had an entire song we literally pieced together with nothing but Logic, some Apple Loops, and that Focusrite Scarlett audio interface every fucko with a podcast owns (myself included).
They make them bright red to match the flags that come with having a podcast.
Was the finished product “good” by the standards of the music industry? Absolutely not even close. This is not Top 40 radio. Max Martin (my Swedish pop hero) would not touch these songs with a 39-and-a-half foot pole. The average listener would probably be surprised to learn that anyone involved in the making of this music was actually a professional-ish musician. But something special happens when people who have no business creating art say “fuck the rules” and do it anyways.
Outsider art is art made by folks with no connection to the “legitimate” scene, aren’t properly trained in their field, and/or often have stuff like mental illnesses and other disabilities working against them. In other words, not your glamorous ideal of an artist. Outsider art includes visual art as well (an infamous example being controversial cartoonist Christine “Chris-Chan” Weston Chandler), but on the music side of the loosely defined genre, you have guys like Tiny Tim, who somehow broke into the industry as a niche act armed with nothing but a ukulele and a wild falsetto. There’s the elusive proto-singer-songwriter Connie Converse, whose tragic life I actually immortalized in this very blog. Even Brian Wilson, the legendary freaking Beach Boy, was considered an “outsider” by some metrics, although this is debated. These are all characters I find infinitely more fascinating than the manufactured pop star image being pushed by the mainstream music machine.
Wouldn’t you rather read about thisdude?
I’d like to think the future of music rests with the outsiders. Whether they realize it or not, people tend to gravitate toward artists who have a fascinating backstory. It’s why Taylor Swift managed to captivate so many people despite being born rich and pretty — she was still able to sell herself as the girl-next-door underdog with a guitar and a dream. Fans have been revisiting the drama between bands like the Beatles and Fleetwood Mac for generations now. I feel like artists today are too sanitized and “professional.” We need musicians with personality. We need musicians who take chances. We need freaks, geeks, and weirdos making the music no one else would dream of. We need outsiders.
When I was studying music therapy, my eventual dream was to help everyday folks make music they could be proud of. I knew firsthand how healing the process of music creation could be, and I wanted to share that with my clients. Obviously, that dream died a horrible death — but maybe it didn’t. Maybe this is what I was meant to be doing this whole time. My friend group has been alight with ideas, and my phone has been blowing up with requests for new songs and beats to work with. Everyone is so excited to cook up fresh material, and it’s revitalized my love of creating music like nothing else. The crew even dubbed me the “Mother of Beats,” and I gotta say, after everything I’ve been through with music, it feels good.
I think our culture needs to rethink its relationship with music. Music isn’t only for attractive people, rich people, or able-bodied/neurotypical people. It’s the birthright of every human. Kids are always humming little songs to themselves — until society beats it out of them and says they’re not “good enough” to be singers. I’m fucking sick of that mentality. In a world where you can literally just beep-boop a “perfect” song, get dirty and create something yourself. Make it messy. Get your imperfections all over it. Who cares if it doesn’t sound radio-ready? The grit and grime are what makes it special.
I’m excited to see where The Kalamazooligans ends up. I hope it inspires more “outsiders” to get their hands dirty and create. Perhaps it’s a lofty goal, but I want to start a creative revolution, even if it never leaves this Midwestern college town with a silly name. If I can make my own corner of the world brighter, more whimsical, and more musical, I know I’ve succeeded.
For literally over half of my life now, Taylor Swift has been an integral part of the soundtrack. Like, I did the math and everything — she’s been around for 19 of my 32 years on Earth. I’ll admit my relationship to her and her music has evolved significantly over the almost two decades I’ve been listening to her. At first, she wasn’t really on my radar because I was in my “too cool for country” phase every young rock fan gets at some point, but other girls my age liked her music, so she would soon enough osmosis her way onto my little yellow iPod. Even though I wasn’t a Swiftie at that point, I felt like I got her. After all, I, too, was a cute little blonde girl with an acoustic guitar who liked to make up songs.
Me at my Swiftiest.
As I got older, I started to truly appreciate her songwriting for what it was, and I found myself mimicking a lot of her stylistic signatures in my own songs. At one point, I played an open mic and someone complimented me on the “fantastic Taylor Swift cover” that was in fact an original song of mine. Taylor’s writing was deeply personal in a way nothing else I’d heard at the time was and I loved that. I loved the idea of writing something of an autobiography with every song and every album. I loved how she wove pieces of her lore into her music and almost gamified the art of dissecting it, introducing new generations to the crafts of lyric analysis and songwriting. And I loved that suddenly, it was cool to be a cute little blonde girl with an acoustic guitar, because it was never cool to be anything like me growing up. I was an outcast, but I saw myself in Taylor the way I’d also seen myself in one of my other musical heroes, Ann Wilson from Heart. And just like Ann gave me permission to be a badass rocker chick, Taylor gave me permission to be this quirky, confident, guitar-slingin’ poetess.
I guess that’s why I’m kind of mourning the Taylor I used to see myself in, because I’m finding it increasingly difficult to relate to the Taylor on The Life of a Showgirl. The album was released earlier this month to much fanfare and a strangely lukewarm reception from the fanbase. A lot of Swifties ate it up, which is to be expected. But some were entirely put-off by the controversies surrounding the album, such as the excessive limited edition merch, which many fans viewed as a shameless cash grab, or the lyricism, which some fans saw as an artistic regression at best and an indication that maybe she was a sucky songwriter the whole time at worst. There are literally listeners wondering if ex-boyfriend and former co-writer Joe Alwyn had ghostwritten the entirety of the widely beloved folk-tinged sister albums folklore and evermore. And then you’ve got the sociopolitical elephant in the room.
That’s the elephant.
Yes, there are even Swifties convinced that Taylor had defected to the right-wing grift, citing some suspiciously tradwifey-sounding lyrics in a few songs. Don’t get me wrong, we’re going to delve into all of these controversies in this review, and I will say that some of the criticism is unfounded, while some is definitely valid. Because of the divisive nature of this album, I also want to divide my review into “music” and “lyrics,” as I feel the lyrics really need to be digested on their own. This is a strange Taylor album in that I feel the music is actually stronger than the words this time, thanks to the contributions of the man who essentially codified popular music for the 21st century, a certain Swede by the name of Max Martin.
The most famous man you’ve never heard of (unless you’re a fellow r/popheads weirdo).
Taylor going back to work with Max was already a shift for her, as her previous handful of albums had been handled by Jack Antonoff, former Fun guitarist turned pop producer extraordinaire. Because of Max’s involvement with 1989, an album many Swifties regard very highly, myself included (as it was the first album of hers I bought), expectations were beyond high for this album. It was supposed Taylor’s triumphant return to the effervescent pop the fans were craving after the 31-song sobfest that was The Tortured Poets Department. What we got, well, it’s complicated…
1. The Fate of Ophelia
Our opener is fun, if a little underwhelming. It’s got a fun groove, although I was hoping for something a little more uptempo and major key. It feels somber for what’s supposed to be the big hit from the album. Some interesting music theory stuff — she adds an extra four-beat measure to each musical phrase, creating a sort of disorienting feeling. It’s not a bad thing by any means, and I enjoy when she plays around with the rhythm in an unusual way. Like, it’s easy to forget she has more thanonesong in 5/4 time. Lyrically, the song claims her man had rescued her from “the fate of Ophelia,” which, if you’ve experienced the classic Shakespeare play, is suicide by drowning after her man accidentally kills her dad and tells to fuck off to “a nunnery,” which was old-timey slang for a brothel. (At least that’s what my high school English teacher said.) This is obviously very dark material, but Taylor doesn’t get too into the nitty-gritty details, which keeps this song enjoyable as a fun pop song. My only gripes with the lyrics are the lines “Pledge allegiance to your hands, your team, your vibes,” which takes me out of the song entirely and reminds me I’m listening to Taylor wax poetic over this guy:
Like no offense, he seems like a nice enough dude. But I think I like her songs more when I can’t put a face to it. It allows me to insert my own story into the narrative and connect to it more. Which is why I’m thankful I’m polyamorous and recently starting seeing an athlete myself (and one of his sports is football), so at least I have somebody to dedicate all these “football man songs” to in my head. Someone in a Reddit thread suggested changing the “your team” line to “Pledge allegiance to your hand between my thighs,” which is a much sexier image than anything “Wood” conjures up (don’t worry, we’re getting there) and fits the rhyme and rhythm perfectly. I think that’s the direction I would have gone in had I written this myself.
Music: 5
Lyrics: 5
2. Elizabeth Taylor
This one starts off pretty soft, which is why the beat dropping in the chorus is almost a jumpscare, but I’d argue it’s in a good way. The music is lined with twinkly piano and cinematic strings, evoking the glamour of a bygone Hollywood era, apropos of its inspiration, the illustrious Elizabeth Taylor. I definitely give Taylor (Swift, that is) credit for introducing her young audiences to older media, and it’s actually pretty neat that Liz’s legendary film performances are getting a bit of a boost from this track. Like how cool is it that some Gen Z kid might check out Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and fall in love with the art of acting or filmmaking all because of some song?
I’m not in love with this one, but it’s solid as one of Liz’s White Diamonds. It’s one I would go out of my way to listen to again, just not on repeat.
Music: 6
Lyrics: 5
3. Opalite
Ooohah oh oh oh…Ophelia’s outta the water and springing to life in this one. There is no word to describe the vibe of this song besides euphoric. It is pure sonic bubblegum. It almost has the cadence of a joyous Christmas song. This is the effervescent pop the people were asking for. I can almost hear a little Abba in her delivery at times. The intro guitar is soaked in a dreamy delay and the rhythm is a little “Circles” by Post Malone, which isn’t a bad thing. The musical climax has a quartet of Taylors stacking harmonies a la The Beatles. I sincerely believe that this woman has the potential to go down in history as the millennial Paul McCartney. (Lord knows he has some “glitter gel pen” songs.)
The lyrics talk about lifting up a lover after a dark time. This song made me think of my girlfriend, Olivia, who suffered a series of unfortunate events prior to meeting me, of which the climax was her girlfriend abandoning her in time of need. I always loved how relatable Taylor’s songwriting is, and this is one of her most relatable songs on the album. I know there’s some discourse online about the unfortunate implications of the onyx vs. opalite metaphors in the chorus, essentially claiming the lines are gloating about stealing a white man from a black woman (since Travis’s last few love interests have been black). I don’t think those lines are an indication that Taylor is racist, although maybe she needs more non-white friends in her life to point out when something like this might come across icky. There are more glaring lyrical issues on this album than a line that was likely not racially motivated at all. Also interesting is the fact that opalite is an artificially made stone, which some folks online have analyzed to mean who the hell knows. All in all, though, this is a lovely little tune, one that lives up to its name as a gem.
Music: 8
Lyrics: 8
4. Father Figure
This one seems to be a fan favorite, but it was pretty forgettable in my opinion. Let’s be real, it’s probably about her fighting for her masters, but it’s framed as an older Svengali-type figure speaking to a young protege. He offers her protection and success in exchange for loyalty, but the partnership sours by the end. It’s told from the perspective of the “Father Figure,” interestingly enough, not the protege, and it’s lined with mafia references (“You’ll be sleeping with the fishes before you know you’re drowning”). Nothing about this track really stands out to me except the key change toward the end as the protagonist threatens the protege for her betrayal. The shift reminds me of how the key changes in “Getaway Car” as the narrative flips. These songs could almost be considered sister songs with the crime metaphors, but it lacks the sparkle “Getaway Car” had.
One of the overarching themes I keep bumping into, in addition to the fact that Taylor is no longer relatable, is the fact that this album is chock full of missed opportunities. “Father Figure” is one of the saddest wasted moments on the album because Taylor had gotten explicit permission to interpolate George Michael’s song of the same name, but squandered it. I would have loved for her to lean into the 80s vibe and more directly reference the original song, which feels absent aside from the one shared line at the start of the chorus. Overall, this had the potential to be so much cooler than it ended up being.
Music: 3
Lyrics: 4
5. Eldest Daughter
Even if you’re only a tiny bit versed in Tay-lore, you know about Song 5. (Not to be confused with “My Song 5” by her besties in HAIM — a great song in its own right.) Song 5 on any given Taylor album is often regarded as her most personal song of the batch. The tune widely considered to be her magnum opus, “All Too Well,” was Song 5 on Red. Introspective ballads “The Archer” and “You’re on Your Own, Kid” were also Song 5 on their respective albums, as were the heartbreaking “Dear John” and “So Long, London,” both about devastating breakups. So Swifties had every reason to expect Ms. Swift to absolutely fuckin’ do it to us this time around. And what we got was “Eldest Daughter,” a track arguably soiled by “hip” lingo, a missed opportunity to address the valid struggles of a firstborn daughter, and the real life context behind the song being Taylor’s big overblown romance with Travis Kelce of all people. Needless to say, most Swifties were not satisfied.
But I am not “most Swifties,” and I hesitate to say it, but “Eldest Daughter” might not just be my new favorite Song 5, but my new favorite Swift-penned song altogether. I think the problem is a lot of Swifties aren’t in the target audience for this song. It’s not for happily single Gen Z kids who are just now making their way in the world. It’s for a jaded Millennial who finally found real, fulfilling love in a world that’s become increasingly hostile in the time since they’ve been alive. It makes me think of my own wife, an “eldest daughter” (well, technically an only daughter, but the familial pressures are still there). I’m the “youngest child” in this case, and while I know I’m not a “bad bitch” or the most exciting option out there, I’m my wife’s teammate. We’d recently overcome a lot of both interpersonal and external conflict together when I first heard this song, and the line “I’m never gonna leave you now” hit me like a truckload of frozen turkeys because my wife had said that exact sentence to me verbatim. I have plans to record a covers EP in lieu of NaNoWriMo this year, and I want to include this song on it because it literally feels like something I could have written myself. And that bridge. If you listen to this song for no other reason, listen to it for the bridge. It rivals “This Love” as my favorite Taylor-made bridge of all time.
Music: 10
Lyrics: 10
6. Ruin the Friendship
Okay, my crackpot theory is that this song — or at least parts of it — was originally penned during the Speak Now era, and was shelved until recently. I realize I have very little to back up this theory except that sonically and thematically it fits very well with Speak Now, and suspiciously enough, the friend whose death is mentioned in the song had passed back in 2010, which would have been around the time that album was being written and recorded. But this groovy little track feels nostalgic for a number of reasons, and not just the breezy instrumental that sounds like a 70s-tinged version of early Tay. This feels like a return to form for her with the confessional lyrics about an unfamous guy in a high school setting. This is the sadder older sister of “Teardrops on My Guitar” due to the cruel twist ending of the would-be love interest dying in the final verse. Taylor gives her advice, having experienced this pain — just “ruin the friendship,” rather than always wonder what could have been.
I think the reason some folks have taken issue with this song is the implication that the love interest has a girlfriend in the song, and Taylor seems to regret not making her move regardless. I guess that can seem a little insensitive coming from the woman who wrote “Girl At Home” chastising a man for trying to cheat with her, noting that he has a “girl at home” he should be with instead. I don’t see it that way, though. Humans are messy, and sometimes, the thoughts we have after a loss aren’t exactly neat or even “nice.” Maybe it’s not exactly “politically correct” to wish you’d just kissed that guy who had a girlfriend and now he’s dead so you can’t, but that’s the nature of the human experience. The beauty of music is that it can encapsulate all of those conflicting feelings.
Music: 7
Lyrics: 6
7. Actually Romantic
Taylor Swift is one of my all-time favorite songwriters and an artist I admire deeply. That being said, she doesn’t always have the best ideas. Take, for example, responding to Charli XCX’s “Sympathy is a Knife” with…this. For context, that song is about Charli’s insecurities when it comes to being around Taylor. And I mean, who wouldn’t be insecure around her? She’s tall, conventionally attractive, talented, wildly successful, and at one point was very entrenched in Charli’s world, having dated her now-husband’s bandmate in The 1976. So Charli had to be around THE Taylor Swift on the regular for quite some time, and she was understandably feeling kind of…down about that. So she wrote a song about how Taylor’s larger-than-life presence makes her feel comparatively lesser.
And Taylor’s response was basically “Yeah, you’re right, you do suck compared to me. And I bet you’ve got a big lesbian crush on me too.”
*Chappell Roan voice* And we both have a crush on Regina George!
It’s a really disproportionately mean-spirited song when Charli’s main beef with Taylor was “you’re too cool for me to be around.” But here’s the thing — if you divorce it from the real-life implications of the song, it’s actually probably the best track on the album. It has a laid-back guitar-driven instrumental and the same chill chord progression as the 1988 Pixies classic “Where is My Mind?” (Which, in Taylor’s defense, chord progressions cannot be copyrighted, so the discourse around whether or not she copied it has been driving me bonkers.) I decided to learn it on guitar myself after it came out because it was stuck in my head, and I found when I sing the song, I picture this batshit bananapants bitch from my town’s karaoke scene who screwed over all my friends and I’m not sure wants to have sex with me or murder me. It fits her way better in my opinion.
Music: 10
Lyrics: 1 (when they’re about Charli)/100 (when they’re about crazy karaoke bitch)
8. Wi$hli$t
We’re getting to the real depths of this album with this track, which I’m truly disappointed was not a Kesha feature (if she can bring back the dollar sign for “Kinky,” she can do it for a Taylor collab). My disappointment goes far beyond the lack of Kesha, though, as this song is a total snoozefest. Trite chord progressions, the same tired twinkly synth, and weak breathy vocals really work together to make this song musically forgettable, but I haven’t even touched on the lyrics yet. Other people want yachts, exotic destinations, and complex female archetypes with fat asses, Taylor croons, but she just wants a suburban white picket fence life with her man. I take issue with the entire concept of this song for two reasons. For one, the whole “I just want babies ever after with my true love” trope feels icky in a world where white women’s bodies are increasingly being viewed as nothing more than baby factories to combat the “Great Replacement,” a theory endorsed by Elon Musk and Charlie Kirk, among others. I hate the fact that the conservative movement has all but co-opted the idea of wanting children and a family — I’m as left-leaning as it gets and I want to be a mother more than anything, and it’s actually really offensive to conflate right-wing talking points with having a family. Unfortunately, though, it is a common assumption these days, and I don’t think it’s too far-fetched to believe a lot of high-ranking right-wing elites are squealing at the thought of Taylor going full tradwife. I think the more glaring lyrical issues, however, lie in the “let them eat cake” attitude of the pre-chorus coming from a literal billionaire. Like, no Taylor, most normal people don’t give two fucks, flying or otherwise, about chopper rides or Balenciaga shades. I care so little about Balenciaga, I had to look up how to spell it. Most people just wanna eat, Taylor.
Music: 1
Lyrics: 1
9. Wood
On her old song, “White Horse,” Taylor declares that she is “not a princess” (and this ain’t a fairytale). On this song, she also demonstrates that she is also not Prince. I’ve never listened to an artist sing about the birds and the bees before and finished the song wondering if they’d ever even lost their v-card, but Taylor here is delivering the unsexiest slop I’ve ever heard. I know she can do sexy, and well. We have “Dress,” of course. But this song falls flat. I wish she’d just lean into the silliness of the lyrics and deliver us an irreverent Sabrina Carpenter-esque banger, but she needs to sell it to us. You can’t half-ass camp. No more “ah-matized.” Taylor, you told us back on “Father Figure” that your “dick’s bigger.” Well, give us that big dick energy on this track. Lean into the absurdity of sexuality. Make it equal parts horny and corny.
It’s hard (heh) to focus on the musical aspects of the song when the lyrics are so egregious, but a lot of the discourse surrounding this song that isn’t about Travis Kelce’s penis is the fact that the intro sounds suspiciously like the intro of the Jackson 5 classic “I Want You Back.” It’s musically different enough that I don’t think she outright copied the Jacksons, but I definitely think she is intentionally aping that sort of sunshiny vintage 70s style. That being said, like the similarities in “Actually Romantic” to the Pixies track, these are not really things you can sue over, but then again, with how horrifically litigious the music industry has been post-“Blurred Lines,” one might actually be able to make a case against this song. I don’t believe in the concept of copying music anyways, as it’s a deeply derivative art form — everyone wants to emulate the rock stars they looked up to — and that is why I’m not going to give Taylor crap for this one. There are much worse sins happening within this song.
Music:5
Lyrics: 1 (for making me think about Travis Kelce’s penis for waaaaay longer than I wood have liked)
10. CANCELLED!
I feel like at least in the music criticism circles I frequent, this has been the most controversial song of this batch for its lyrical content. Which, depending on who you think it’s about, makes this Reputation-tinged song either kinda icky or downright sinister. Some folks think it’s about Brittany Mahomes, a noted Trump supporter, and feel it’s further indication that Swift is drifting right in her politics, or worse, that the “Miss Americana: Social Justice Warrior Princess” persona was nothing more an act (which definitely sucks if true). Personally, though, I feel it’s about Blake Lively, her fellow statuesque blonde best frenemy, whose friendship soured when…I’m not sure. Something about her recent film It Ends With Us. I haven’t been following it closely because frankly I don’t care. Blake doesn’t seem like the worst person, if you sweep that whole “getting married on the site of terrible human atrocities” thing under the rug.
Literally two seconds on Yelp could have averted this, guys.
Here’s the thing, though — Blake apologized for that transgression. Does it make it okay? Absolutely not. Was she dumb for doing it? Totally. But we live in a society where you do one stupid or insensitive thing and your entire life is ruined forever. And Taylor could have made this song about that concept and done an amazing job at it…but she didn’t. It feels like a giant missed opportunity to call out the trigger-happy ridiculousness of cancel culture. I do like the song sonically to the point where it may be my favorite on the album musically, and I actually like it more when I give it a new backstory. Like, imagine it as the backdrop to a character’s face-heel turn, like in Mean Girls when Cady goes full-on Plastic. That’sthe shit this song was meant for.
11. Honey
The most forgettable one. The concept is cute — basically talking about how words that were once used against you passive-aggressively actually sound nice from the lips of a lover — but it just falls flat both musically and lyrically for me. A nothingburger of a song, sadly.
Music: 2
Lyrics: 4
12. The Life of a Showgirl
The final song, and one I wish was a little more glitzy and schmaltzy considering the lyrical content, but I’m pretty pleased with this one as an album closer. It features Tay protege Sabrina Carpenter, best known for doing “unhinged and sexy” way better than Taylor could ever dream (as evidenced by, well, “Wood”). The ladies recount the tale of Kitty, the titular showgirl who made a comfy living by being “pretty and witty.” This is the first and only time Tay brings in an “outside character,” which is a damn shame considering some of her best work has been written about third parties as opposed to herself. Who can forget the brilliant trilogy that was “cardigan”/“august”/“betty” from her acclaimed folklore album? Taylor has a way of getting us invested in the lives of these fictional people, and I feel like her songwriting on this album could have benefitted from incorporating more characters like Kitty. Hell, I would have loved to have seen an entire concept album about Kitty and her struggles. Add that to the pile of missed opportunities for this album.
All that being said, this was a fitting finish to the album, especially the glistening outro, which feels like it opens up into one of Taylor’s widely celebrated Eras shows, complete with the crowd going wild. In a way, it feels like the older, wiser sister of Speak Now closer “Long Live,” a track that also celebrates the spotlight and the hard work it takes to become practically immortal through your art. In typical Swiftian fashion, she pulls out the plot twist in the bridge — she and Sabrina were not discouraged by Kitty’s blunt honesty about the harsh realities of showbiz, but instead chose to pursue the dream with their whole heart. It’s a bittersweet ode to the ups and downs of life as an entertainer, a calling that, while difficult at times, can be a rather fulfilling one indeed.
Music: 7
Lyrics: 8
In summary, I feel this album is a solid effort from Swift, albeit one that could have used a little more polishing and “reading the room” before seeing a proper release. These songs would have been well received from literally any other artist, but I understand how lyrics about having friends dripped in “Gucci and scandal” feels out-of-touch from a powerful billionaire when most listeners are struggling to afford groceries. I would have also loved to see Tay explore Kitty’s story more — there is an entire backstory there I’m dying to learn more about. All in all, this album is an enjoyable excursion, though maybe not one I’ll listen to all the way through again. There are some great moments, but also some very clear nadirs as well.That being said, many of the songs are on repeat for me at the moment, and “Eldest Daughter” may just be my new favorite Swift-written song ever, so this album may be one that takes a little longer to fully appreciate.
5/10
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Ah, Taylor. I don’t even have to write her last name and you already know who I’m referring to.
It’s me, hi!
Unless you’re just getting back from a year-long sabbatical during which you traversed the steppes of Uzbekistan with nothing but a backpack and no phone, you probably well aware that Ms. Swift just dropped a new album. And it’s…just okay. It’s nothing to write home about, especially when compared to her masterful previous works, and the lyricism seems to have regressed significantly. I’ll probably write a full review of the album in the next week or so, but I wanted to touch on one of the biggest talking points that’s come up during this album cycle. And it’s probably the talking point that’s been driving me the most bananapants.
Which is just how hilariously clueless the general public is when it comes to music.
Okay, that might have sounded a bit mean coming from a bitch with a music degree and decades of experience, so let me reword it a little nicer — the vast majority of the population has no idea how music theory actually works, especially in the context of copyright law. Now I’m not a lawyer, but I do know a little bit about what can be copyrighted and what can’t. Still, I want to focus more on the music side of things rather than the law side, because that’s the more fun side, right?
I guess you could count this thing as a percussion instrument.
Anyways, let’s start here — you got these songs. There’s the questionable Charli XCX diss track, “Actually Romantic.” Among the many complaints about the song, particularly that it’s disproportionately mean-spirited, is the observation that it sounds suspiciously like the 1988 Pixies single “Where Is My Mind?” Then you have “Wood,” Tay’s tacky ode to her man’s…manhood, which people have said sounds suspiciously like the legendary Jackson 5 hit “I Want You Back.” And the song I consider lyrically the strongest of this batch, her title track collab with my current celebrity girl-crush, Sabrina Carpenter, shares a similar feeling to “Cool” by the Jonas Brothers, who were famously her associates early in her career. So what the fuck, Taylor? Are we blatantly ripping off other artists now?
And here’s the part where I get to say “Well, ACKSHUALLY” and defend Taylor’s compositional choices (even if some of the lyrical choices are much harder to defend — looking at you again, “Wood”).
Thank you SO MUCH for making me picture Travis Kelce’s rock hard redwood tree…
In the Western music tradition, you’ve got 12 notes: A through G, plus the sharps/flats in between. It’s important to note that out of these 12 notes, only a handful sound good together. Those notes that sound good together form the “key” of any given song. The key is essentially the artist’s palette of colors. Those are the notes you can put in your song that will actually sound like they fit in the song. Anything outside of the key will sound off and even unsettling at times. That being said, you can use notes that don’t fit into the key, but it takes a certain degree of finesse and theory knowledge to pull off nicely. But for the most part, you’ve got maybe seven notes to work with, which, ya know, ain’t a lot.
Let’s get to chord progressions. What is a chord progression? Well, have you ever listened to “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga and Luis Fonsi’s “Despacito” back to back? Even though the genres of the songs are completely different, the “vibe” is still eerily similar. And that is because they share the same chord progression. There are many, many more examples. “Africa” by Toto. “One of Us” by Joan Osborne. “Peace of Mind” by Boston. “Fuckin’ Problems” by A$AP Rocky. “Alone” by my freaking favorite band of all time, Heart. And that’s just one famous chord progression. The progression the Beatles used in “Twist and Shout” was practically ubiquitous in the 50s and 60s, and the blues as a genre likely wouldn’t even exist without the 12-bar progression we know and love. And — this is important — you cannot copyright a chord progression. If I wanted to write a song that uses the exact same chord progression as Taylor’s “Love Story,” I could — and I have. Heck, she has even plagiarized herself in this regard. Go listen to “Shake It Off” and “Eldest Daughter” one after the other and tell me the latter doesn’t sound like a more somber, slowed down version of the first. That’s because they use the same three-chord progression.
Did Tay lift the chord progressions for her new songs from preexisting songs? There’s a chance, but even if she did, you have to remember that musicians have been gleaning ideas from each other for time immemorial. Everyone is influenced by someone. But there’s also a decent chance she just sat down at her piano or with a guitar and those are the chords that naturally came out. Because, like I mentioned earlier, they just sound good together. Our ears are conditioned since birth to listen for patterns in music, and you’re so used to hearing a V chord resolve into a I chord (that’s historically the most common way to end a musical phrase — the authentic cadence). So when you go to write a song, that’s what you naturally gravitate toward.
There is a great deal of discourse around the supposed lack of originality on this album, but I don’t think that’s a fair critique. I think there are plenty of valid critiques when it comes to this album, but I don’t think this is one of them. You could argue that Taylor opened herself up to more scrutiny in this area when she went after Olivia Rodrigo for rights on a song that only marginally sounded like hers (and like, only if you squint). At the same time, I don’t like any criticism of “copying” in songwriting unless it’s a particularly egregious example. Music, at the end of the day, is a social art, and musicians are going to keep borrowing from each other like they always have. As one of my favorite writers, Austin Kleon, says, it’s okay to “steal like an artist.” I’m allowed to have influences. You’re allowed to have influences.
And I am announcing that I am very gay for this woman.
The world came to a crashing halt, all because the biggest pop star on the planet teased some new music. Fans, celebrities, corporations, and motherfucking Elmopaid homage to Swift in their own ways. Even one of my personal heroes, Nancy Wilson of Heart, got in on the Tay love, posting this picture with the caption “life of a showgirl.”
To be clear, Nancy is the woman in the mirror, not the tiny adorable pupper.
With the announcement of the new album casting an orange glow over the world, it’s easy to miss the fires that have been raging the entire time. Trump’s Big Bonkers Bill is gutting healthcare for millions of Americans who rely on it. Public radio and television, one of the last bastions of true journalism and free speech, is also being gutted. And you have that quadruple-divorced fucko who swears she knows so much about the “sanctity of marriage” trying to take away my right to have a wife and family, so I mean, it’s fucking personal now. Then you throw on everything happening in Ukraine and Palestine and it’s fucking exhausting. The world’s on fire. Innocent folks are dying, and everyone’s freaking out over a Taylor Swift album?!
But — and hear me out, here — that might not be a bad thing.
I’ve written on this site about the concept of “glimmers,” which are functionally the opposite of triggers. While a trigger is an event that causes you to feel uncomfortable or afraid, a glimmer is an event that brings intense joy. They’re the tiny moments that make life worth living. A lot of glimmers come through art. Think about the last time a song gave you chills or the plot of a film or book moved you. Those are glimmers in action.
It’s easy to write off the creative and performing arts as vapid and unimportant, but art is a rebellion against a world that tries to quash any anti-conformity and critical thinking. Art is an invitation to think deeper — something the oligarchs don’t want us to be doing. Even mainstream art like Taylor’s is punk as hell in times like these, as it unites folks together. Music gives people hope. It inspires. It galvanizes. I think that’s part of why the elites are keen on eliminating things like arts education and pushing AI to make things instead of training up human artists. Art is dangerous. Creativity is dangerous. Hope is dangerous.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this image popped up on my feed while I was doing research for this post:
This is a simple but true statement, and I’d apply it to both your own work and other people’s works. If an artist’s music helped you in any capacity to enjoy your time on this planet, if even one song paints the planet just a little brighter for a moment, it served its purpose. And that purpose is to be a sort of analgesic to the pain of everyday life. That’s what I believe Taylor understands so deeply, and that’s what I hope to embody in my own creative endeavors. The life of a showgirl is to serve glimmers and bring hope.
In a world that is intent on snuffing out anything whimsical, beautiful, or different, embrace that spark that makes life worth living.
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—until my girlfriend and I had a conversation on AI. Which is not unusual, since she’s a pretty staunch advocate against it. I’m fairly neutral on it, to be fair. I think it opens up lots of exciting possibilities, and it’s a tool like anything else, but at the same time, there are multitudinous problems with it that no one seems to want to address. Hell, I experimented with it against my better judgment and realized it was making my imposter syndrome so much worse. The unfortunate truth is we’re just going to have to learn to adapt to this somehow. There’s no putting this genie back in the bottle.
Christina would never.
But it’s disheartening, because the advent of AI might be the final nail in the coffin of the music industry. And that is what has been bothering me lately.
And the sad truth is, the state of music has been in decline since the dawn of the internet. In fact, Suno is just finishing a job started by Napster all those years ago and continued by Spotify to this day.
Back in the 80s, everyone and their mother knew who Michael Jackson was. You only had a handful of radio stations in any given town to listen to, and if you wanted to hear a particular song any time you wanted, you had to go out and buy it. The albums would be prominently on display in your local Kmart. Even grandma was familiar with Bruce Springsteen’s ass.
That’s America’s ass.
Television isn’t as much of a special interest to me as music, so I don’t really care as much about its history, but you can see this kind of monoculture in TV throughout the years too. In the beginning, you had ABC, NBC, and CBS (and DuMont, the weird fourth one no one remembers). Everyone in your city was watching The Andy Griffith Show at the same time on the same channel and having this shared experience. Then cable came and divided everyone. If you were into sports, you went to ESPN. If you were into music, you went to MTV. If you’re into watching Amish people do mundane things, you went to TLC. Even the big cable networks splintered eventually — from MTV you get MTV 2, MTV Tres, VH1, VH1 Classic, CMT…
And none of them are playing music at any given moment.
With more technology, you get more options. But I’m starting to wonder if that’s a good thing.
We’re seeing a shift in music especially. We no longer have a monoculture, and I blame this on how easily accessible the entire catalogue of music is nowadays. If you want to listen to nothing but obscure pirate metal for the rest of your life, you don’t have to go on a wild goose chase hunting down every obscure pirate metal album ever made by every band that’s ever done obscure pirate metal. It’s as easy as going to a specialized Spotify playlist. And let’s say you want to listen to nothing but obscure pirate metal about your cat for the rest of your life. With AI, that’s entirely possible.
Why on earth would anyone seek out new music if they can just beep-boop an entire playlist tailored to their specific taste with lyrics reflecting their own life?
I think that’s what bothers me most about the future of music and how it has been intertwining with AI. I’m not scared of it taking my job necessarily, at least not in the traditional sense. I know human-made stuff is still largely superior. I’m really not even so afraid of the environmental stuff, since the planet’s borked anyways (I’m an optimist). It’s the death of culture and interpersonal connection that scares me. A survey said 62 percent of people actually prefer chatbots to humans. There are people straight up dating AI bots. How much more isolated are we going to allow ourselves to get?
My prediction is that eventually, this AI bubble will burst — but not without seeing huge reforms to the music industry. I can’t see the current model lasting much longer. I can see a return to smaller, more intimate shows as people get sick of how overflooded music platforms are with AI slop, low-effort music, and whatever the executives are trying to feed us. At least the true music fans will pivot that way.
Humans have a thirst for something real. It’s why American Idol always pushed artists with sob stories. We love when the art we consume comes with a captivating backstory, and entering a prompt and pushing a button was a cool backstory — the first thousand times it happened. Like, if you told someone in 2018 that a robot wrote the music for this song, that would be some neat Futurama shit. But the fact that technology can beep-boop songs from scratch is old news now, and people don’t want manufactured backstories. There was already a recent backlash against a band that was revealed to be AI. People are quick to turn on an artist when they sense disingenuousness. Remember that author who penned an autobiography that got noticed by Oprah, only to have it all come crashing down when it was revealed the story was fabricated?
The hidden controversy is the sensory nightmare that is that book cover.
I think the music industry is going to change in a lot of ways in the upcoming years. My hope is that we musicians don’t become obsolete and that the human need for connection and genuineness is stronger than the fleeting coolness that is AI. And I think we do have a need for real, human-made music. You can’t replace the camaraderie of your local punk scene or the chills a live orchestra brings or the sheer joy of going out to karaoke. Music in our souls. It’s what humanity sounds like.
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I’ll admit it — I’m a poptimist. I was converted back in seventh grade, when I first heard the Swedish pop duo Roxette.
What’s with Swedes and perfect pop music?
Prior to Roxette, I was firmly in the “rockist” camp. This music journalism term refers to the belief that rock music is superior to pop music in artfulness and authenticity. That was one-hundred percent me at the ripe old age of twelve. You’d think I was a grizzled boomer man instead of an innocent millennial girl judging solely by my music taste. I preferred Boston to Britney Spears, Led Zeppelin to Lindsay Lohan, and ELO to whatever *NSYNC was doing at the time. I looked down upon my fellow tweens for their shallow taste in music, convinced my favorite artists were leagues ahead of theirs.
Then, I heard “Listen to Your Heart.” Not the bullshit DHT version (I will stand by that opinion). The real version by Roxette. I remember being taken aback by the bombast, the emotion, the sheer magnetism of the hook. It had everything I liked about my rock music, but with a pop veneer. I had to investigate, which led me to dig deep in their discography. Their songs were so…catchy. It lit something within me that’s been burning ever since. There had to be an art to creating pop music, because Roxette had mastered that art.
I then fell down an even deeper rabbit hole of pop music, uncovering songwriters like Max Martin, Kara DioGuardi, and (unfortunately) Dr. Luke, who’d go on to shape my entire worldview as a songwriter in my own right. I challenged myself with creating music that was as catchy as theirs. This elusive concept of “catchiness” became my lifelong obsession. To this day, I get a twinge of glee when someone says they get a song of mine stuck in their head. That’s always been my goal, and while I’m still a rock girlie at heart, my love of pop tints all the music I touch.
So why have I fallen out of love with pop music in recent years?
I initially chalked it up to aging. After all, studies have shown that your taste in music solidifies after 30, which is why your mom still listens to hair metal (which, to be fair, is an underrated genre). But there had to be more to it. Since the dawn of popular music, old folks have complained that the younger generation’s new music was too loud, too brash, or too risqué. The Silent Generation complained about Boomers and their heavy metal, the Boomers complained about Gen X and their grunge, and Gen X complained about Millennials and their rap. But I found I wasn’t offended by the pop music the younger generation was putting out. In fact, it was offensively inoffensive, too bland and soft to really stand out. It wasn’t brazen or daring enough, nor was it, dare I say, catchy.
I recently went to a karaoke night at a bar that’s frequented by Gen Z patrons. After all, I live in a college town, so many of the local hot spots are hangouts for younger folks. Although I still look fairly young for my age, I was almost certainly one of the oldest people there. You’d think karaoke night would be the time to sing your favorite party anthems, but to be honest, the song selections were a total snoozefest. One sad slow song after another. I had to leave, it was just getting me down.
When did pop music get so…somber?
I blame the almighty Lorde.
Amen.
In the early 2010s, we were still experiencing a boom in silly mindless party songs, which, while not exactly lyrically groundbreaking, were sheer poppy fun. We had guys like LMFAO creating bops like “Party Rock Anthem” and ladies like Kesha and Lady Gaga with their array of club bangers. Then, the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” of Gen Z hit and wiped out that scene as fast as Nirvana had dissipated the hair metal that came before. That song was “Royals,” and it set the bar for everything that came after it. Suddenly, pop wasn’t “fun” anymore. It was much more subdued. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and “Royals” is certainly not a bad song, but it made “avocadas and bananaes” the standard for female vocals, and — worst of all — it killed off the big choruses and catchy hooks I loved.
My wife and I have a joke about the trend of sad repetitive trappy songs. It sounds like musical Xanax, we always say. And it’s true. One of my favorite newer artists, The Band CAMINO, has a song I really love called “Roses.” “Why you wanna be a sad boy?” they ask in the first verse. The whole song ponders why we as a society have to be so sad all the time when you can just “stop and smell the (fuckin’) roses.” I get it — life sucks sometimes, and then you die. But pop music is supposed to be an escape from all that negativity. There’s a time and a place for sad bops, but when all you’re being served is sad bops, it gets a little tiring.
I think that’s the real reason it’s been harder for me to get into recent pop. We’re still living in a post-“Royals” world, but I do have hope that things are turning around. This summer, the newest generation of pop girls set the world ablaze. Olivia Rodrigo is bringing rock-tinged pop back to the charts. Charli XCX engineered an entire movement with her Brat album (and got a nod from President Obama of all people!). Sabrina Carpenter’s newest song has been on repeat for me this past week, and I don’t foresee it leaving my Spotify “on repeat” playlist for a while. And don’t even get me started on Chappell Roan. What we need is a pop music revolution. A femininomenon, if you will.
So let’s stop being sad and play a song with a fucking beat!
If you’ve been following my music career, you’d know I recently released a cover of Chappell Roan’s pop masterpiece “Good Luck, Babe!” It was a labor of love — I adore the song and wanted to explore a more rockish guitar-driven take on it — and I also wanted to drum up some hype around my own music. After all, The Oceanography EP and my other covers weren’t getting attention, and what’s the point of making music if no one listens to it except you? So when I recorded “Good Luck, Babe!”, I sent a little prayer to God or whoever is up there listening that this cover would get me noticed.
You have to admire the creativity of some of these.
Apparently my stupendous bundle of joy was rubbing a lot of TikTokers the wrong way. I hadn’t gotten this amount of hate on anything I’d posted since my now-deleted post about guitarists drowning out the homophobes at a pride event. And even then, those hate comments were driven by bigotry, not anything I’d actually done or created. They would have gotten up in arms over anything I could’ve posted because I’m a queer woman, so their opinion isn’t valid. They just suck as people. In a way, getting hate comments on my music is worse. I can handle being called a dyke. It’s when you come after something I put hours of love and hard work into that I get a little perturbed.
But through this whole debacle, I’ve learned quite a bit about conducting yourself online as a musician. The second you decide to put your work out there, you’re essentially signing up to be a professional musician, and that requires a degree of, well, professionalism. Here are a few tips and tricks for dealing with haters on the internet.
1. Remember it’s them, not you.
Nothing anyone says online to you is about you. More than likely, they’re dealing with some shit too. Remember the human. They probably had a rough day at work or are going through relationship issues, and they’re looking for a punching bag to take out their frustration. Insulting some guy on the internet is the perfect way to relieve that stress — you don’t have to see this musician you just insulted in real life. They’re just a face behind a screen. Remember these folks are probably just salty because of something that’s going on in their own lives. I know it’s more satisfying to lash out and insult them back, but it shows a lot more maturity to restrain yourself from doing this.
2. Like their comments! Or better yet, thank them!
Nothing deescalates online drama quite like being the bigger person. These folks are looking to rile you up. Don’t let them. Instead, “like” their comments! And if you want to take it one step further, thank them. A simple “Thank you for listening anyways” with a smiley emoji will catch them off guard. This is how I dealt with a lot of the recent hate I’ve gotten. People don’t know how to react to that, so they simply shut up. Kill them with kindness, as I always say.
3. They are talentless fucks.
Okay, I’m gonna be blunt now. Anyone who leaves random hate comments on a musician’s page clearly doesn’t know what it’s like to be a musician. Which immediately makes you cooler than them. In fact, that’s probably why they’re lashing out — they know they can never stand up to you in real life because playing music is cool as hell. Folks can’t handle when other people are more talented than them. Aussies call this “tall poppy syndrome” — when your flower grows to new heights, others will be scrambling to cut you down to their level. Don’t let them.
4. Remember that great art is divisive.
There’s a whole montage in Bohemian Rhapsody where critics’ comments of the band Queen are highlighted. This is the Queen, the band that brought you such legendary hits as “We Will Rock You,” “Don’t Stop Me Now,” “Radio Gaga”…you get the idea. It’s hard to believe now that they’ve reached almost godlike status among music lovers, but not everyone liked them at first. I recently read an enlightening comment from a DJ. He said that the music he spun frequently got both positive and negative reviews. You know what records didn’t get plays? The ones no one cared about enough to hate.
5. Laugh about them.
One musician on Reddit said he puts bad reviews on his upcoming concert flyers like a movie poster so he and his fans can have a chuckle about them. I think this is brilliant! If I saw a band embracing their negative reviews like that, I’d assume they had a good sense of humor before I’d assume they sucked. Even better is editing down the hate comments until they become rave reviews and using those. “This is good!” and “This is so fire” are definitely contenders for good bad reviews for “Good Luck, Babe!” No one needs to know the second half of those reviews, and you’re technically not lying. It’s all in good fun.
6. Keep releasing new music!
Don’t let haters discourage you from posting your music. You have a unique voice, even if other folks don’t see it yet, and the music scene is better for having you in it. Every other artist in existence has had to deal haters, and even some of the greatest albums of all time had their critics. There’s only one you in this universe, and the world is missing out if you give up because of some small-minded asshats on the internet. Ignore the haters and do you. That’s the best you can do.
When I was a kid, I kept magazines by the family dinner table. I couldn’t eat unless I was reading something — anything! Usually I’d read about video games I was into, but sometimes I’d read about music. One of the features I always enjoyed in the music magazines was a featured artist’s list of their favorite albums of all time. Maybe it’s because I enjoy lists, I don’t know. Is that an autism thing? It might be an autism thing.
Anyways, I liked to imagine I was a famous musician being interviewed by one of those magazines, and I liked to consider what my answers would be. Now that I’m much older and have a platform of my own, I can just, you know, make my own list. I mean, what’s stopping me? So here’s my official top ten albums of all time. It’s not going to look like a lot of music critics’ top ten albums, as my taste in music is notoriously bad. I mean, Bon Jovi of all bands was my obsession for much of my life. But taste is subjective, am I right? And for better or worse, these are the albums that shaped me as a musician.
1. Bon Jovi – Slippery When Wet
I already mentioned Bon Jovi, so why don’t we start with there?
I remember the first time I heard this album. It was shortly after I discovered Bon Jovi due to the everywhere-ness of “It’s My Life” in 2000. I was very little at the time, but I loved that song. My much-older sister was a teenager in the ‘80s, so she remembered Bon Jovi’s initial run, and she still had her favorite cassette tape from back then. Starting up the tape and hearing synth intro of “Let It Rock” for the first time was nothing short of euphoric. I’d never heard anything like it. And then the bombastic vocals and heavy guitar came in, and I was absolutely in love.
Slippery When Wet also contained “Livin’ on a Prayer,” which was an immediate favorite of mine. I wasn’t sure what the hell a talk box was, but I knew I liked it. And how singable the chorus was! It would become my blueprint for creating earworms as a songwriter. There’s magic in that “woah-oh,” I’m telling you.
2. Def Leppard – Hysteria
After my mom confirmed her daughter’s bizarre interest in hair metal by giving her a Bon Jovi tape, she passed down even more of her and my sister’s music. Among the albums I received was Hysteria by Def Leppard. I was never as obsessed with Def Leppard as I was with Bon Jovi (and no one was as obsessed with Bon Jovi as me), but they still ranked high on my list of bands for that era. I loved the melodic nature of their music. You’d have this big, in-your-face chorus followed by some of the most captivating melodies. “Animal” is a great example of that.
My favorite from this album is “Run Riot,” which has the singability that I enjoy in a song. And the harmonies are glorious, owing in part to the amazing production of Robert John “Mutt” Lange, one of my favorite producers of all time. He knew just how to layer vocals and really create a lush soundscape with them. And speaking of Mr. Lange, he had a pretty big hand in the third album on my list as well.
3. Shania Twain – Come On Over
Before there was Bon Jovi, there was Shania.
Shania Twain was my idol. I loved her so much as a toddler. My own mother would get jealous because I’d draw pictures of Shania and not her (sorry Mom). I wanted a horse because I saw a picture of Shania with a horse. And of course, I listened to this album on repeat. I’m shocked I didn’t wear out the tape!
It would be easier to name the songs that weren’t bops on this album, because nearly all of them slap. (Wasn’t a huge fan of the title track, but everything else is a gem.) My burgeoning sense of humor really appreciated “That Don’t And Impress Me Much,” and I’d often quote it. “So what, you think you’re Elvis or something?” “Black Eyes, Blue Tears” was another favorite, albeit a pretty dark song for a three-year-old to truly grasp (it’s about domestic abuse). I loved the use of the talk box (again!) on it. And of course, Mutt’s penchant for strong harmonies is all over this album — he was the producer (and Shania’s husband), after all.
4. Taylor Swift – evermore
I’m skipping ahead quite a bit chronologically, but Taylor felt natural to bring up next. After all, Shania walked so Taylor could run. evermore came during the pandemic, when everyone was in a weird place already. Its sister album, folklore, was released less than five months prior, but aside from “this is me trying” (my neurodivergent millennial burnout anthem), none of the songs on that release resonated with me as much as the songs on evermore. Something about evermore just hit me hard.
Nothing comes close to the heartbreak of “tolerate it” or “happiness,” and the sweet tribute to Swift’s late grandmother, “marjorie,” is sure to leave you weeping, especially when the long-deceased woman’s ethereal voice echoes throughout the end of the song. One of my favorite bands, HAIM, features on “no body, no crime,” the catchiest murder ballad since The Chicks’ infamous “Goodbye Earl.” I’m also rather fond of “ivy,” with lyrics telling the story of a married woman’s tryst with another person who I am convinced is another woman. (She never said the song was autobiographical. I’m not a Gaylor, I swear.)
5. Jimmy Eat World – Futures
Confession: prior to about 2009, I didn’t listen to modern music. Anything made before 2000 didn’t really appeal to me, which meant I missed out on all the good emo bands. But a good friend’s then-husband was cleaning out his house and had a stack of CDs to give me, and Futures was among them. I remember the first time I listened to it en route to Chicago for a marching band field trip. I was absolutely blown away. The music, the lyrics, the entire vibe of the album — it completely flipped my perspective on 21st century music. Suddenly, I had a thirst for discovering other alternative and emo bands, which lead me to artists like Brand New, Weezer, and the neon pop-punk bands of the late 2000s.
The album itself is almost a concept album of sorts, dealing with addiction and longing. I couldn’t yet relate to the addiction part, although that would come later on in my personal story. But the longing was something I related to as an angsty teenager. I could listen to songs like “Kill” and “The World You Love” and cry about the fact that Dylan Martin from my church’s youth group would never love me back. I still love this album though, and Dylan and I are good friends now, so it all worked out in the end.
6. Weezer – Pinkerton
In making this list, I nearly forgot about Pinkerton. I’m sure Rivers Cuomo would rather me forget about it, as he was famously embarrassed of it. But it was a crucial part of my lovesick, sexually frustrated teen years. Looking back, the album is essentially Incel: The Musical, but I related to the lyrics quite a bit at the time, as someone who often found myself falling for guys who were less than interested in me. The songwriting on this album made me feel less alone.
“Why Bother” could have been the theme song to my failed teenage crushes. “Why bother, it’s gonna hurt me; it’s gonna kill when you desert me.” And the simple acoustic track “Butterfly” is possibly one of the most beautiful songs ever written. It evokes the image of catching a butterfly only to watch it wither in captivity. It’s a poignant metaphor for holding onto a love that is ultimately bad for the other person. Sometimes it’s better to let go, which was a painful lesson for me to learn. Rivers was there too, and that’s why I love Pinkerton. It’s so real and raw in the way it handles interpersonal relationships.
7. Heart – Bad Animals
This was another cassette tape given to me by my mom, who I credit for my taste in music. I remembered hearing Carrie Underwood cover “Alone” as part of an American Idol performance, and my dear mother was like “You’ve got to hear the original.” She pulled out this tape and my mind was instantaneously blown. I’d never heard a voice like Ann Wilson’s in my life. The sheer power behind her vocals gave me shivers. And to learn that the rhythm guitarist of the band was also a woman — that changed everything for me. It was the first time I’d seen another female guitarist. Suddenly, I had someone to look up to in music who looked like me! Representation frickin’ matters.
“Alone” is obviously the standout track from this album, the power ballad that made me fall in love with power ballads. I recorded the music video onto a tape, which my autistic ass watched every single morning before school. I wanted to be like the Ann and Nancy Wilson. They were so beautiful and talented and effortlessly cool, unlike me at the time. I’m not as famous as the Wilson sisters, and I probably never will be, but I’d like to think I made that little girl proud. I’m certain the sheer amount of comparisons I get to Ann Wilson whenever I sing Heart at karaoke would make younger me beyond happy, and that’s what matters.
8. John Frusciante – Shadows Collide With People
I’ll admit I was a little torn between including this album versus one of the Red Hot Chili Peppers albums that has influenced me. I discovered John Frusciante through his work with RHCP — I still remember hearing “Dosed” from their album By The Way for the first time and being mesmerized by the beautiful guitar work. It made me want to further explore Frusciante’s work, which lead me to this particular solo album, which I found in a record store or a Goodwill or somewhere. I don’t remember exactly how I happened upon it, but it was quite serendipitous that I did. It ended up becoming my favorite album of all time, carrying me through one of the hardest years of my life.
“Carvel” is an absolute gem of an opener and the reason I pestered my old band to buy me a Carvel cake while we were on tour. The “Carvel cake” in the song is meant to represent drugs, and as someone who very nearly averted an addiction to alcohol, I found myself relating to a lot of the lyrics. The instrumental tracks on the album are eerie and unsettling in the best way, and the ending track, “The Slaughter,” is one of my favorite songs of all time, closing the album on an optimistic note. “I know my pain’s a life away,” Frusciante croons, and I feel it. The worst is over.
9. Chappell Roan – The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess
This is easily the most recent album on this list, as Chappell Roan’s meteoric rise to fame was only within the past few months. But this album gives me so much hope for the future of pop music. I was in a musical rut for a long time, and I was starting to become worried that, like many thirtysomethings, my taste in music had solidified. I wasn’t sure if it was my getting older or new music getting more boring that made me give up on discovering new artists. After all, I remember going to karaoke at a bar full of Gen Z college students, and their song choices were decidedly overwhelmingly subdued. The younger generation grew up on the likes of Lorde and Billie Eilish, who, while very talented, mostly make bummers, not bangers. What we needed was someone to inject pop music with a bit of fun. What we needed was a femininomenon.
I have a hard time picking one or two favorites from this album chiefly because they’re all incredible. “Casual” is ethereal and heartbreaking, culminating in Chappell screaming at her would-be lover “You can go to hell!” in the final line. The sheer passion in that delivery gave me goosebumps the first time I heard it. And the horny lesbian anthem “Red Wine Supernova” is an obvious standout, with candid lyrics and witty references to “wands” and “rabbits” (if you know, you know). It’s such a bop, even Melissa Etheridge referenced it at one of her recent shows. Melissa walked so Chappell could run.
10. Jessa Joyce – The Oceanography EP
And finally…me! It’s probably an unusual choice to put your own album on a list of albums that changed your life, but I can’t think of an album that changed my life more. Sure, it didn’t take off or become as successful as I would have liked, but it proved to me that I could do it. I could record an album! My 2013 spring break was spent locked in my office at the newspaper I worked for at the time, utilizing the Mac desktops there for the GarageBand feature. I had a shitty Blue Snowball mic and a whole lot of caffeine and nicotine in my system (as I hadn’t yet been diagnosed with ADHD and that was my form of self-medication). It was released to Bandcamp with little fanfare, but I felt accomplished. Ten years later, using the knowledge I’d built up about music production and improved equipment (and Adderall), I re-recorded the entire project and released it to Spotify and, well, everywhere else.
“Oceanography” was a song about my longing for a particular guitar-playing guy to like me. It’s about that feeling of wanting to know everything about someone because you’re just that fascinated by them. The folksy “Smiles & Anchors” was dedicated to another guitarist, the title of the song taking its name from his band. The angsty alt-rock “Off the Deep End” was about a completely different guitarist and how I shouldn’t like him, and “Song of the Sea” was about a breakup with a fourth guitarist whom I dated in college. The album could have been called Songs About Guys Who Play Guitar Better Than Me. But they’re all part of my story, and I still love the songs to death, even if those guys aren’t in my life anymore. That’s the beauty of music I think. It’s a snapshot of a time in your life, and Oceanography represents so much of my history. That’s why it’s on this list. I am who I am today because of my lived experiences, and songwriting is my humble way of documenting those experiences. It’s my way of screaming into the void — I was here. Isn’t that what music is all about?
JESSA JOYCE 