One thing I love about meeting new people is learning what music they listen to. From bonding over knowing the same artists/bands to being struck by how different a person can seem from the music they listen to, I get new music from every new relationship I make. Music and people become associated with one another, a blessing and a curse. For some, hearing Sabrina Carpenter on the speakers in a Target is enough to start the waterworks. Music taste is such a personal thing that it’d be nearly impossible to find a single relationship in which there wasn’t at least one playlist made for or about the other person. So when relationships end, oftentimes a person’s fondness of their ex-partner’s music taste ends along with it. And yet we keep doing it. Love song after love song, “let me put you on” becomes “let’s go to a concert.” I have a distinct memory of finding my high school math teacher’s Spotify page and seeing not one, not two, but THREE playlists he had made for past girlfriends. That’s commitment. As is obvious from reading any piece of writing on WRGW’s blog, music means a lot to us; it only makes sense that we share it with those we love. So how am I able to claim that the reason I barely listen to Big Thief anymore is for any reason other than not being over my ex?
No matter how hard you try, music sticks. There’s a striking feeling of “how dare you” that comes with sharing a music taste with someone you no longer speak to—a sense of resignation knowing that from then on, you have to know that the other person has access to the music you so graciously blessed them with. It’s the plan to go to a concert with someone just to end up standing 6 feet in front of them post-breakup in the pit of The Anthem. Or the ex-situationship’s favorite song being a love song that has to be barred from any playlist you make with your partner. Even if a relationship ends well, there’s no way to say “Hey, I take that back. Can I show someone I actually talk to instead?” There’s this inexplicable feeling between inconvenience and rage that comes with realizing you’re both going to be getting excited about the same albums, the same merch, the same concerts. When I asked my friend about said situationship and its accompanying Jeff Buckley song, she just sighed and rolled her eyes. There is no leftover sadness or longing. Just a feeling of regret and pettiness.
On the flip-side, getting a music recommendation from someone else is just as bad. Liking a song that someone else was obsessed with means anytime you listen to it or tell someone else about it, you’ll know in the back of your mind where it came from. You have zero obligation to go around telling everyone how you learned about an artist, but your brain will always have a hard time separating the two. Personally, there are a maximum of four Travis Scott songs I like. They’re my guilty pleasure, and sometimes the only way I can get through writing a long paper is playing them on repeat. However, those four songs are so strongly associated with my ex high school boyfriend that when I do decide to listen to them, I curse myself for letting someone else introduce me to them, rather than “discovering” my appreciation for them myself.
We all know just how much music can mean to us, but being able to see it with your own eyes is a completely different ballgame– looking at someone’s Spotify post-breakup is wild. You’ll either find it completely wiped clean and devoid of any indication of personality at all, or full of not-so-subtle subliminal messaging very much meant for you and catered toward your relationship’s history. I once discovered a public playlist one day after a breakup with “Ain’t No Sunshine” as the very first track. Making sweet playlists for a partner turns into a game of chicken when it comes to an ex—who can add the most forward song without texting the other person?
For example, my roommate recently went through a breakup. She has a playlist tailored toward her ex girlfriend, and claims her Spotify account has “too few followers” for it to be embarrassing. She and I have spent hours psychoanalyzing her ex girlfriend’s new playlists as she meticulously picks which songs best represent how she wants to come across on a particular day. She told me she tries her best to be “as obvious” as possible. Music seems to transcend the concept of no-contact, as we allow our feelings to leak through the cracks of our social media statuses and curated music profiles.
The art of subtlety, however, can only be mastered by few. It can be hard to avoid the temptation of posting an Instagram note for the world to see—the fact that not only the person you’re aiming it towards can see it, but so can all their friends, gives the pleasure of perception without the effort or guilt of sending that “heyyy” text. When a note is a straightforward message, it’s one thing; when a note is a song, however, the person on the other end has to put in the work to look it up, find the lyrics, and maybe even search what it’s about. They’re forced to put in the work in order to figure out how you feel, all thanks to the songs you meticulously chose to display. All roads lead back to our connection to lyricism.
Music both draws us in and pushes us away, ebbing and flowing just like the relationships in our lives. But all this to say, don’t stop making playlists for other people. Don’t stop sharing your love for music with those around you. At risk of sounding cynical, however, maybe save your favorite artist for yourself.
