Records That Raised Me (That I Don't Spin Anymore)
My mother and grandfather are both music lovers — not in the obsessive, identity-defining way that I am, but in the way that there was almost always something playing in the background of my childhood. Music was constant. It was an atmosphere. At 11, I did briefly come down with a severe case of Bieber Fever, but it wasn't until I was around 13 that music became what it is for me today, personal and necessary. There were a handful of artists creating music that made me feel something beyond the surface-level enjoyment. These were albums that I quoted, sang, defended, and memorized to the ends of the earth. Music that made me feel seen and understood at a time when most kids don't have the language to voice what they're feeling. I don't listen to a lot of those records anymore. Not because they’re bad. Not because they’re dated. Not because I’m embarrassed of being 14. They just aren't feeding what I need in this chapter of my life. There was a version of Bre that ...
