In Hear This, The A.V. Club writers sing the praises of songs they know well. This week: Some of our favorite songs with “year” in the title.
It’s understandable why a year’s success is measured by what’s changed instead of what’s stayed the same. After all, people like to focus on how they’ve grown instead of what naughty old habits are still kicking around. But sometimes it’s nice to take comfort in the constants, even if they aren’t the most traditionally adult activities.
At the end of 2014 I declared “Year Of The Sunhouse” one of my favorite tracks of the year. I stand by that statement, as the song’s hook routinely gets stuck in my head, and Michelle Zauner’s lyrics still resonate as deep as they did a year ago. When confronted with someone condescendingly asking Zauner if she’s still, “Playing basement shows with the band / Doing the music thing?” her retort is an emphatic, “Yes, I fucking am.”
It’s this moment that I’ve come back to time and again over the past year. As I enter the upper-half of my 20s, it’s increasingly common for people to find my proclivity for DIY basement shows and late-night band practices to be a signifier of my own stunted growth. These interests are seen as tied to people’s younger years, but have long since been abandoned.
But, for all the personal growth as I’ve undergone the past year, those activities—and the ideals imparted from them—are so baked into my personality that I’m not sure what a version of me would look like without them. Sure, maybe it’s not particularly becoming to duck down in basements of seedy punk houses for a 15-minute hardcore set once you’re a grown-up, but I don’t know any other way. And, to be honest, I hope I never do.