If you know me, you know I love to listen to really sad music. Boygenius, Hozier, Lizzy McAlpine, Phoebe Bridgers, Clairo, Leith Ross, Ethel Cain, Noah Kahan, Lucy Dacus, Conan Gray, Harry Styles, Mitski, etc. These are my staples and go-to’s when it comes to just about any occasion.
I think everyone has their playlists for when they are down or need a serious cry session, but where I seem to differ is the frequency and times I choose to put on my “sad” music. Songs that illustrate heartbreak, loss, nostalgia, misfortune, exhaustion and hopelessness have always been my favorite genre, even when I am not necessarily relating to the messages they are portraying.
When I say I am constantly listening to depressing music I am not kidding. Driving in the car, doing homework, stretching before dance and even getting ready to go out, I’m locked into my sad playlist. Just ask my roommates – I’m never without my tear-jerkers.
Don’t fret though…my music taste doesn’t always reflect my mood. In fact, sometimes a sunny day feels like the optimal time to pull out my sad playlist. This is because I genuinely feel my sad songs. I don’t really know how to explain it without sounding a little bit weird…but it’s the truth. I feel my music.
This doesn’t just happen with any song – hence the constant default to my sad playlist – but with the right mix of strong instrumentals, methodically-blended harmonies and poetic language, I am able to transport myself from wherever I am and simply exist within the realm of my music.
I am not quite sure why this only really seems to apply to songs with more upsetting or negative themes; perhaps it has something to do with the level of passion that is accompanied by loss, anger and sadness that manifests itself in beautifully-filled staffs and complex chords.
On a more niche note (was that first reason already kind of niche…?), I also love to choreograph fake dances in my head to sad songs. I am obsessed with making up really emotional contemporary-style dances, and the more story-telling and sadness there is within the lyrics and instrumentals of a song, the better I can visualize my dream dance. Again, even when I’m not sad, I love to dance and come up with routines in my head, so listening to sad music seems to open up that part of my brain that doesn’t really happen when I am listening to any other songs.
Let’s normalize not matching your music to your mood. I’m not a sad person, but I love to listen to sad music. The lyricism (in my totally unprofessional and completely subjective opinion) is so emotionally consuming and mentally stimulating, the instrumentals tell a story of their own instead of just playing a supporting role and the passion behind each artist feels raw and authentic.
So, if you hear me listening to my sad playlist, don’t freak out or feel the need to check up on me – I’m more than likely just choreographing next semester’s contemporary dance.
Unless I’m listening to “Moon Song” by Phoebe Bridgers – that’s a cry for help.