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 really needed to hear these, she's just not me anymore.

I first heard Foster The People's "Pumped Up Kicks" on the radio around 2011 or 2012. I liked it so much that I remember going home to look up more about them. Instantly, I was hooked. This was the first band that made me love music, not just the musician (sorry Biebs), but the actual artistry behind it.

That discovery led me to create a Tumblr account, which you will almost certainly be able to notice that my favorite artists I want to talk about here are indeed "Tumblr indie-sleaze" as I've so kindly heard it put before.Foster The People drew me into their sound with the bright, indie tunes over lyrics with a darker undertone. At the time, it felt so clever and conscious.

For Christmas that year, my mom gave me a signed copy of their debut record, Torches. It remains one of my prized possessions to this day. Even though I don't play it often now, it was a touchstone for my deep passion for music and the first record I can remember playing start to finish, over and over.

From there, I fell deeper into the indie scene: Arctic Monkeys, The 1975, Mac DeMarco, Young the Giant, and many more. 

When I first fell in love with Arctic Monkeys, they were still carrying the grit of their early work before transitioning into the more "lounge-esque" style that we saw with 2013's AM. I remember pre-ordering that vinyl and feeling electric when it arrived. To 14-year old me, they were absolutely magnetic; like they were wearing the condensed essence of rock and roll.

I saw them on tour in 2013 in Kentucky. It was my first concert.

 Now, when I revisit them, I feel a little more distant. Their sound changed. I changed. I was 19 by the time their next record dropped, and something about it no longer felt like it was for me. 

And then there was The 1975. I became a fan when their self-titled debut came out and introduced me to their hit "Chocolate," but it wasn't until their 2016 record I Like It When You Sleep, for You Are So Beautiful yet So Unaware of It that I was fully invested. The shift from black-and-white aesthetic sadness to milennial pink vulnerability reeled me back in completely. I even convinced my mom--who has to be dragged out of the house for concerts--to go see them with me.

I still love these bands.

But today they feel like grade school best friends, people who shaped me deeply but grew into entirely different lives. They were stepping stones. They were identities I tried on while I was figuring myself out. And while I genuinely loved the music then, my emotional needs aren't the same fifteen years later.

I don't reject these bands, but the soundtrack has changed.