Anyone who listens to and adores music can attest to the fact that certain songs and albums and artists have the power to transport you to a past memory or feeling or person. Music acts as a time capsule, an auditory representation of the ticket stubs and programmes and Polaroid photos that we shove into shoeboxes and store under our beds. Last spring, I started to become more conscious of standout moments and the tracks that came along with them, and I began creating a playlist for each month where I gathered the songs that I was listening to on repeat. I saw Phoenix play Field Trip at the beginning of June, and that month’s playlist inevitably included a few of their tracks. I added Stevie Nicks’ ‘Edge of Seventeen’ to October’s playlist after MUNA covered it flawlessly. I reread It by Alexa Chung in September, and at her mention of Jackson C. Frank’s ‘Blues Run the Game,’ I promptly added it to my early fall collection.
January’s playlist is one I’m going to hang onto for a while. It has been a long and eventful month, and these tracks have kept me company through a desperately needed fresh start, giving me something familiar to keep my eye on amidst a sea of change. Temporarily relocating to another country is no joke, and I am loving the leather jacket weather and new faces and streets that already feel familiar, but I’m also enjoying hanging onto my old pastimes, monthly-playlist-making included.
The first – and most obvious – track on this month’s list is The Vaccines’ ‘I Can’t Quit.’ I have already written a rather gushy post about how much I love it, and it was essentially all I listened to for the first week and a half of January. If it doesn’t end up being my most played track of the year, then Spotify should probably re-evaluate its numbers. I’ve also included the band’s second single, ‘Nightclub,’ which I inevitably adore. The riff is fantastic, the lyrics evoke vivid imagery, and sometimes it actually does make my head feel like a nightclub. My love of The Vaccines is nothing new, but with the release of Combat Sports on the horizon, it is definitely heightened.
Another notable addition for January is ‘Wish That You Were Here’ by Florence + the Machine, which I have somehow overlooked until now. It was playing at the bakehouse one day while I was sipping a flat white and journaling the last couple hours of the afternoon away, and as soon as I heard the first few notes, I rushed over to the counter and asked Abby what it was. Obsession ensued, and I have been listening to it while staring forlornly out of windows ever since.
New for me is Sufjan Stevens, who has been on my radar ever since I adopted Call Me By Your Name as my new favourite film. I’ve seen it three times, because apparently I enjoy pain, and the soundtrack has become some of my go-to listening material. Most of December was spent listening to ‘Love My Way’ by The Psychedelic Furs on repeat while attempting to be a better dancer than Oliver (hint: I’m a worse dancer, if anything). Now I’ve moved on from the upbeat tracks, and Stevens’ ‘Visions of Gideon’ seems to be stuck in my head at all hours of the day. I’m not complaining, but I would appreciate it if I could listen to it once without bringing up all the heartbreak that comes along with both the song and the movie.
The last one I’m going to mention is ‘Crying Lightning’ by Arctic Monkeys, because being in England has caused me to fully embrace the tendencies I had at fourteen, when this band was all I seemed to listen to. The group seems to be making a comeback, and the excitement surrounding festival dates and a potential album announcement is enough to make the remnants of my teenage heart flutter. I’m going to fully embrace singing the lyrics to this track every time I get Pick n Mix at the movies, and I’m probably going to make the pilgrimage to Sheffield to find all the AM-related monuments I possibly can, and I’m going to love every second of it all, no matter how dorky it is.
Creating space for my favourite songs of each month brings me immense joy, and starting fresh for 2018 feels very good. I like how unique every playlist is, I like how none of them really make sense, and I like that each track reminds me of a certain day or moment or feeling. The year has only just begun, but I’m already seeing a lot of change, and I’m happy to have the constant companionship of so many outstanding songs.
Babbleogue. 