There is so much music in the world. But there is so little music that feels like capital-T Truth.
Do you ever put on an album that you listened to in high school, and either think to yourself “Hello nostalgia, I feel like I’m being physically transported back in time to my adolescence,” or “Wow, I can’t believe I listened to this once and loved it, and now listening to it doesn’t make me feel anything”? I started listening to The Good Life’s Album of the Year when I was a junior in high school, and totally identified with it because I was angsty and emotional. But I listened to it recently after a long hiatus, and had a really atypical response: it felt more important and like Truth listening to it now than it did when I was in high school.
A little background information on Album of the Year: The Good Life is the side project of Cursive frontman Tim Kasher, and Album of the Year is a concept album comprised of twelve songs, each representing a month in a year-long relationship. As a concept, the album is golden: each song musically takes on the subject matter it’s dealing with in the lyrics: when the relationship is good, the songs are lilting and calm; when the relationship hits on sour times, the music is frantic and dissonant, or just painfully sad-sounding, like hearts are being ripped out of chests.
But I think what hit me hard this time around was the potency of the lyrics. I loved it in high school because I was dramatic, because I thought I knew a lot about relationships and the pain they cause and the trouble they can be. But looking back, I really didn’t know shit. Now that I’m an adult and have actually had real, serious relationships, the words feel more true than they ever could have when I was seventeen. I understand now how people can trick themselves into a love that isn’t real (“You never fell for me / you fell for how it felt / you fell for being held”), how wanting to fix or save someone isn’t love, how jealousy can be an untameable weed, how there is an irrevocable finality in ending a relationship (“the only thing everlasting / is this vow of silence / well, I guess that’s the vow that we took”). I feel like this is a heartbreak/break-up album that can resonate with everyone who has ever experienced it, regardless of how the details may vary. Or at least that’s how it feels to me. When I listen to Album of the Year, I feel like it was written specifically for me, and that’s something rare and amazing.
This album has just been speaking to my soul as of late, so I thought I should share it’s amazingness instead of keeping it to myself. Listen to some tracks below. Or, if you’re into buying music legally, you can purchase it here on Amazon. You won’t regret it.