It’s midnight on a Monday, and I find myself sitting in the same place I find myself most nights. I am lying on the couch, nursing my fresh cup of coffee as I listen to the scratching of the well-loved record spinning under the needle of my record player. Playing softly so as not to wake my partner up, Noah Kahan laments about life and some sorrows I find myself living.
My partner once asked me why I listened to Noah Kahan. He was confused as to why I enjoyed listening to songs that eventually always resulted in at least one tear streaming down my face. I struggled to explain why I listened to his music; I had no option but to listen. I struggled to explain why I listened to his music because it was something people typically either understood or didn’t. I would never be able to change anybody’s mind. You cannot tell someone how to heal. You cannot tell someone how to cope. I cannot explain why Noah Kahan sometimes seems the only real thing in my life. I cannot explain that sometimes Noah Kahan appears to be the only person who can articulate exactly what I feel. This artist somehow found a way to express life in a way I never could. This artist somehow found a way to express my life.
In my opinion, regarding suffering, we only really have two options. It is released or internalized. Internalization has never been my strong suit. I have cycled in my life through multiple addictions, whether they were substances, alcohol, working out, or throwing myself into school and work. The one I settled on was music. The sweet yet painful melodies made me realize aspects of myself. The melodies were my solace in times of heartache. Music gave me redemption.
Don’t let this darkness fool you
All lights turned off can be turned on
The song changes on the record, and my attention is again focused on the daydreaming that was just occurring in my head. The now-playing song, Call Your Mom, by Noah Kahan, drones in the background of my thoughts. It is a song about suicide. It is a song of desperation. It is a song about the potential loss of a loved one. It is a song of fear, pain, and suffering. It is a song of hope. It is a song that I can relate to. The song changes.
You said my heart has changed, and my soul has changed
And my heart, and my heart
That my face has changed, and I haven’t drank in six months
On the dot
The never-ending story of the battle and struggle of loving someone with alcoholism. The song changes again.
’cause everyone’s growing and everyone’s healthy
I’m terrified that I might never have met me
Oh, if my engine works perfect on empty
I guess I’ll drive
Noah Kahan perfectly details the struggle of either having depression or loving someone with depression with his rusty folksy voice.
As I sit here on my overpriced leather Ikea couch I begin to notice a few things. I notice that this moment of peace in the storm, listening to Noah Kahan singing might be the realest thing in my life at the moment. I notice that although Noah Kahan sings of soul-crushing life events, the songs never stop playing. They continue to progress through the album in the same way that life must also continue on—until all at once and often very suddenly, they both must stop.
https://www.azlyrics.com/n/noahkahan.html
Hey, I really enjoyed reading your post. I connected to what you wrote myself. I started listening to Noah Kahan with my sister when she was struggling with depression. I think you captured how music can make us feel different emotions and take us to other places and memories. The post is beautifully written.
This was such a wonderful read! I resonated with it so much and your voice you wrote with is amazing.