My journey with the music of the 2010s

An ode to beats and ballads that shaped my years as an introverted pophead

It isn’t easy summing up a decade.

As an internet critter who peruses the world wide web for my next ear worm, my Google recommendations have recently blown up with ‘the best albums/songs of the decade’ lists by Pitchfork, Billboard, and every other publication that has its toe in music. Upon combing through them, however, I realized that I only barely relate to these lists. This is not to undermine the influence songs and albums on those lists have had on me, but as a nine-year-old in 2010, Robyn’s Dancing On My Own didn’t impact me. Upon a quick review of my Spotify time-vault playlists, I decided it was time I gave my thanks to the artists and songs that moulded my musical tastes and, consequentially, me.

This is my personal memento of tunes that I grew up with.

‘Teenage Dream’ — Katy Perry

Teenage Dream is an interesting song because my perceptions of this song have changed quite a bit as time has gone by. At the time of its release, it felt like just another catchy pop song. It would have its time to shine and then, like many of its contemporaries, get buried deep in playlists and slowly fade into the past. However, this song seemed to tug itself back into my earphones. Something about Perry’s free-spirited drive and in the sun and blindly optimistic outlook seemed to keep it bouncing around. As an eighteen-year-old, I now seem to understand what she felt when her hair flowed through the California breeze. In a time when things don’t necessarily seem to be going the way they’re supposed to, this song has become the poster child for a generation that misses simpler times. It has become a staple in car rides where, just for a few minutes, one can find themselves void of all the muck and mires of reality and travel back to when teenage crushes and day trips were the headlines of the day. For a generation that seems to be losing its youth to the tragedies of reality, escapism is the teenage dream, and Perry’s promise of staying young forever does a fine job of fulfilling that longing.

‘Rolling In The Deep’ — Adele

There aren’t many songs that build up tension and anger in the way that Adele’s Rolling In The Deep does. From those muffled strums that stir up the air in the to the drums that kick in four lines into the song, anyone listening to the song can feel her anger seeping out as the restraint in her voice slowly gives way. Up till that point, my 10-year-old self knew heartbreak only through the lens of Taylor Swift’s tragic country ballads. I had never seen the other side of heartbreak until, like the chorus of this song, the anger, and pain that comes with it hit me straight across the face. “You’re gonna wish you — never had met me”, warns Adele, the song has now transcended into a masterful balance of ferocious chaos and unfiltered emotion. She had truly encapsulated what it meant to feel betrayed, heartbroken, and uncontrollably angry, all in one ethereal song that, nine years after its release, still feels as modern and relatable now as it did at the beginning of the decade. It’s such a momentous achievement that I sometimes forget that all this was accomplished by a 21-year-old.

‘Carmen’ — Lana Del Rey

Lana Del Rey is no stranger to controversy. Her early rise to fame can be attributed to her rather vintage style and bold lyricism. Sugar daddies, psychedelics, and genitalia tasting like cola; you name it and it was fair game. At best, she was a reflection of the untouchable glamour of the 70s cinema and, at worst, was a shell of a star with nothing more to offer than an overhyped aesthetic. However, for just a moment on her seminal major-label debut Born To Die, you catch a glimpse of a side of her most people didn’t know existed. As the hidden gem on the album, Carmen serves as a cautionary warning for anybody who believes in the fallacy of money, glory, and power. “You don’t want to be like me” sings Carmen, “I’m dying, I’m dying”. Above her, the stories of Marylin Monroe, Elvis Priesly, and Amy Winehouse loom like ominous road-signs. When I look at someone like her, I wonder how it must feel to be on top of the world. To be the envy of society. To be happy. Little did I know that she looks at someone like me, wondering how it feels to be innocent. To be at peace. To be alive.

‘Royals’ — Lorde

I hadn’t heard anything like Royals before. That’s the best way I can describe it. It’s a song that, like Ella herself, isn’t set out to meet expectations and appeal to mass audiences. In fact, its success can be attributed to how it subverted unquestioned societal norms. Released the same year that Blurred Lines highlighted pop’s negligence of seemingly obvious moral boundaries, Royals powered through the summer of that year with nothing but a reverbed drum arrangement and that voice. “We’ll never be royals” she sings, hinting at the impossibility of having the privilege of excess money and its perks. In an industry that seemed to glorify wealth, Lorde’s minimalism cut through that fallacy like a knife. She wore her lack of wealth like a proud badge of honor, thanking it for having kept her on the ground while the rich flew high above, only to be destined to crash. The song, ironically, topped the Hot 100 for nine weeks. The possibility then emerges that, all this time, pop had lost track of who it was making music for. Royals reminded the industry that, indeed, it was supposed to make music for human beings.

Getaway Car — Taylor Swift

Snake, b**ch, and white supremacist. These are just some the labels Taylor Swift has reluctantly worn throughout this decade. However, even she couldnt’ve foreseen that, in 2016, the newest addition to that list of names would be ‘cheater’. A three month fling with Tom Hiddleston had transformed her into the very person her songs abhorred. Getaway Car perfectly encapsulates what it feels like to be this person. It captures the sadness of imagining what a younger version of yourself would think if they saw you. The narrative of the song establishes a chaotic, tragic tale that ends with three broken people. The man who was robbed, the man who was betrayed, and the woman who, at the end of it all, was back where she started, alone. As you hear her sing, however, you are shown someone who is asking for redemption after her desires get the best of her. “I wanted to leave him; I needed a reason” she explains, hoping that her honesty would somehow cleanse her, even as she knows, very well, traitors never win. For someone who had built her career by being ruthless to her exes, there had never been a better reason to punish her. Yet, there’s something about watching a perfectionist set themself on fire for the whole world that really hits you. Swift is the kind of songwriter who can, as she drives into the sunset in her getaway car and leave you in the dust, somehow still make you feel empathetic for the villain. In the era of the cancel culture, the world could use a little bit forgiveness.