I’ll never forget the first time I heard “The Only Exception” by American pop-rock band Paramore. I discovered the song while mindlessly browsing YouTube one day after school, and I knew I immediately had to download it onto my iPod Touch. It’s a sweet guitar ballad that unpacks the emotional scars of witnessing broken portrayals of love throughout childhood, and the hesitant, difficult acceptance to open yourself up to someone in the aftermath: “And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist / But darling, you are the only exception,” lead singer Hayley Williams sings on the track. I remember listening intently as her captivating voice dove into the complex inner turmoil of being content in one’s loneliness, and then suddenly being faced with someone who was finally worth risking it all for. I was only nine years old, and I had no experience to relate to it yet, but it struck a chord within me like no other. The song reflects a bittersweet journey into emotional acceptance, with the last line serving as a heartfelt mantra for the narrator, gently repeated over and over: “I’m on my way to believing.”
Paramore ended up serving as a cardinal figure in my life as I grew into my teenage emo phase (was it ever really a phase, though?). Amongst all the other notable names that I grew to love during this hormonal, angst-filled era of my life, Paramore was the one that truly painted my adolescent experience. I found solace within the signature blistering pop-punk on their debut All We Know is Falling and their breakthrough album Riot!, the carefree alternative rock and new wave on their self-titled record, and even the sleek, dreamy synth-pop of After Laughter. The lightning-bolt drumming, sweeping guitar riffs, and spunky, dynamic vocals all became key components in the soundtrack of my coming-of-age experience. As I wrestled with my overwhelming teenage feelings, questioning my place in this world, longing to break free from authority and find my purpose, I felt represented and consoled by the band, which had formed when the group’s members were high schoolers themselves. But amongst their lengthy and colorful discography, there’s one record that spoke to me the most along the way, which is their third studio album, Brand New Eyes.
Following the triumphant rollout of Riot!, which featured career-defining hits for the band, such as the revengeful “Misery Business,” or the ever-catchy “That’s What You Get,” Paramore knew they needed to maintain their newfound commercial success. Brand New Eyes is a compelling collection of more mature, intelligent, and confessional songwriting, but it also stands as a time capsule of turmoil for the group. After a slew of canceled shows, and a cryptic blog post from the band’s website that stated they were having “internal issues,” fans speculated that the group could be on the verge of breaking up. Brand New Eyes gave listeners a glimpse into the inner group conflict, which was primarily due to uncommunicated frustrations amongst the members. Williams later confessed to MTV News in 2009, “We were all growing up, and sometimes, when you’re growing up, you’re not always growing together.” Giving context to the struggles that the band was going through at the time of the album’s conception is crucial to fully understanding the content and overarching message of the record. Williams and lead guitarist Josh Farro (who ended up leaving the group in 2010 along with his brother, drummer Zac Farro) were at the center of the drama, which was mostly due to issues in the two’s romantic relationship which came to a head in 2007. The music that followed painted a clear picture for fans, as they were also two of the main writers for the record. The result is equally as stunning as it is uncomfortable, given the circumstances. Their internal anguish manifested into blazing guitar riffs, beating drums, weighty bass lines, biting lyrics, and menacing vocals. “Next time you point a finger / I’ll point you to the mirror,” Williams urges the subject, presumably Farro, on the track “Playing God.” The lead single, “Ignorance,” stands as a direct confrontation from Williams to her bandmates: “The friends who stuck together / We wrote our names in blood / But I guess you can’t accept that change is good,” she cries out. “Feeling Sorry” is an urge to move forward instead of relishing in self-pity: “You can’t run from your shame / You’re not getting any younger / And time keeps passing by, but you wave it away / It’s time to roll over.” Even the album cover, which depicts a dissected butterfly, stands as a portrayal of these themes of interpersonal struggles, meant to symbolize unity amidst brokenness. Williams explained in a blog entry, “To me, it represents the fact that broken pieces…individual pieces can still make one big picture. [It] doesn’t matter if they all have their own purpose as long as they stand together,”
The album also highlights another point of contention between Farro and Williams — their differences in religious beliefs. While Paramore has never overtly branded themselves as a Christian rock band, they have subtly referenced their faith in their music (songs from previous albums such as “My Heart” and “We Are Broken” have been suggested to be written about God). However, Brand New Eyes was the first record that featured multiple songs written by Williams about questioning her relationship with and her perspective on the existence of a higher power. In the opening track, “Careful,” Williams sings, “The truth never set me free, so I did it myself,” which Farro raised criticisms about being “ungodly,” as it directly opposes a scripture from the Christian bible. “Playing God,” while allegedly being written about bandmate Farro, also condemns those who uphold religion as a guise for self-righteousness: “You don’t deserve a point of view if the only thing you see is you,” Williams calls out. The track “Turn It Off” describes Williams’ personal struggles with her faith during times of hardship. The first line of the song, “I scraped my knees while I was praying,” perfectly articulates what it feels like to find that first crack in the glass, to question something so ingrained in your upbringing and identity. As someone who was raised in a Catholic household, it was really important for me to hear my favorite band explore these themes openly and validate those who may be going through similar struggles. Growing up in a religious environment where those beliefs are instilled in you from a young age, questioning them for the first time feels terrifying. There’s a sense of guilt for daring to challenge something so sacred that can feel like a betrayal of oneself, but I’ve realized over the years that asking these questions only stems from an intrinsic need for autonomy and personal truth. In a diary entry featured in the deluxe edition of the album, Williams wrote about her thoughts while writing the song, and I think she says it best: “What I’ve found is there is beauty in the ‘figuring out’…I hope I never have life figured out for myself. I want to be in a constant state of learning and growing up and I hope God can always show me from the bottom there are more ways to look up.”
While Brand New Eyes certainly has its moments of hostility, there’s a thread of optimism and resilience woven throughout the album. “Brick By Boring Brick” pushes listeners to embrace reality and to “keep your feet on the ground when your head’s in the clouds” (one of my personal favorite lyrics from the band). There’s an infectious happiness that permeates through songs like “Where the Lines Overlap” and “Looking Up,” which both serve as a reflection of the band’s journey and a celebration of their personal growth, despite their hardships: “God knows the world doesn’t need another band / But what a waste it would’ve been,” Williams exclaims on the latter track. “Misguided Ghosts” is a delicate acoustic track about not knowing your place in the world and accepting the uncomfortability of change. Finally, the album’s closer, “All I Wanted,” delivers a powerful yet haunting vocal performance from Williams, where she pours her heart out in a raw display of longing and desire.
Brand New Eyes has been one of my favorite albums for nearly a decade of my life, but its significance for me has only deepened as I’ve grown into adulthood. It’s a nostalgic piece of music for me, and yet, it’s never been more relevant. I see my past and present in this record. There’s nine-year-old me, who fell in love with the vulnerability and hopefulness of that one song she found on YouTube one day, or 13-year-old me, tormented by the agony of teenagehood, who found solace in the blistering angst and melodrama and, now, 21-year-old me, on the brink of college graduation, about to turn the page to a chapter of my life that is yet to be written. While the album does have its share of positive and uplifting lyrics woven throughout, it still carries an undercurrent of anger, spite, and pain – and truthfully, that’s what it’s best for. Brand New Eyes is for the days when I’m aching to be understood, when I’m searching for comfort amidst the chaos, when I want to sit and immerse myself in my misery, for when I’m torn between utter joy and absolute hell of growing up. In times when I’ve struggled with losing friends and questioning the relationships in my life, I can find my frustrations manifested into the more heavy-hitting tracks, such as “Ignorance” or “Playing God.” When I’m feeling hopeless and confused about my future, I know I can turn to “Misguided Ghosts” to remind me that there can be peace in the unknown. And of course, there will always be “The Only Exception,” which only resonates deeper now that I’m a twenty-something navigating the horrors of modern dating. I’m still on my way to believing, and that’s okay.