Kepler Orton is a journalism freshman and a content writer for KCPR. The opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect those of Mustang Media Group.
Recently I’ve started my mornings by shuffling Lizzy McAlpines new album “Angel,” lingering on “A car wash and a new pair of pants,” “Over country” and “The moon” while I brush my teeth. Once I begin walking to class I’ll rotate to “trees for the woods” by Amie Blu, and maybe even “Never Going Back!” by Phoebe Bridgers. By the time I have my breakfast and start sipping my second coffee of the day, Adrianne Lenker’s “No Machine” will be serenading my next assignment.
To some this probably sounds like their nightmare music rotation — to me this is just an average Tuesday.
Believe me, I’m also confused. I’ve frozen on aux way too many times to count: scrolling from playlist-to-playlist, searching for a song that won’t “kill the mood” or make my friends look at me with tears in the corners of their eyes, and I’m stuck.
Is something wrong with me?
For as long as I can remember I have always been a casual sad music consumer. I have spent long car rides with “For Emma” by Bon Iver, walks in my neighborhood joined by “Salt Circle” by Eliza McLamb and afternoons cleaning my room serenaded by Nora Jones’ “Don’t Know Why” on vinyl.
There’s something about a sad song that is both beautiful and satisfying. In the moments listening to the calming strum of an acoustic guitar or the down beat on a piano, something in my mind softens. For an artist to explore some darkness by creating such lovely art, I can’t help but admire and honor its existence.
Sad music has also always had such a powerful calming effect on me because it often voices stories I can relate to or learn from. Listening to Julia Jacklin’s “Motherland,” her lyrics, with themes of homesickness and a desire to return to her youth, make me feel seen. Hearing Briston Maronry’s recent “Summer Song,” I was transported into the childhood summer of heartbreak he retells, reminding me of the fleetingness of the season.
Songs like these don’t depress me, they actually stabilize me. I think a lot of people view sadness as an emotion with a big negative connotation — something to be scared of — when in reality sadness and sad songs are simply reflections of the human experience.
I was once called “scary” for listening to Ethel Cain’s “Sun Bleached Flies” late one night, and I’ve been banned from playing “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac in front of my friends, so I do understand that my particular music taste isn’t for everyone.
For me, listening to a sad song doesn’t immediately alter my emotions. Sure there are times when I put on a sad song to match a particular mood, but there are also many times when I play these songs simply because I like them.
Maybe I’m crazy, maybe my sad song tolerance is just far above everyone else’s or maybe I have horrible taste in music. Ultimately, music is experienced differently by everyone, and I simply can’t stop myself from putting on Phoebe Bridgers’ “Motion Sickness” to start my mornings off on the right foot.
