Violet Newton
College isn’t always the movie montage people promise. It’s oftentimes the slow, messy and personal process of figuring out who you are when no one is watching. If the upbeat party anthems do not ignite something in you, these more somber and personal tracks might make you feel seen.
The pressure to always have it together
Fiona Apple’s “Paper Bag” feels like a pep talk delivered through clenched teeth. College has a way of turning perfectionism into a survival strategy because if everyone else looks fine, you start believing you should too.
Apple cuts through the illusion with the line, “He said ‘It’s all in your head’ / And I said, ‘So’s everything,’ but he didn’t get it.” This line reflects the exhaustion of explaining your anxiety to someone who can’t see it.
“Paper Bag” reflects the mornings when you pretend to be okay because everyone seems to be, and the nights when you realize they might be pretending too.
Loneliness in a crowd
Jawbreaker’s “Accident Prone” is a song that doesn’t attempt to fix loneliness; it names the ache and lets it exist. The guitars buzz like fluorescent lights, and Blake Schwarzenbach’s voice sounds like someone who was awake for too many nights in a row.
It’s the kind of loneliness that hits in a dining hall where everyone seems to already belong somewhere, or at a football game where you cheer just to fill the silence. You tell yourself that this is what a connection is supposed to look like, but it still feels like something is missing.
Listening to “Accident Prone” in that headspace feels like exhaling for the first time all week. It reminds you that emptiness does not mean failure; it is just part of growing up.
Parties are not always fun
Fall Out Boy’s “The (After) Life of the Party” pulls back the curtain on the hollowness beneath the glitter of social life. The claustrophobic energy of the song mirrors the truth that pretending to have fun can feel lonelier than staying home.
“The (After) Life of the Party” is loud, anxious and heavy — the perfect soundtrack for those nights when fun feels more like a performance than a release.
Good, but not forever
Phoebe Bridgers’ “Waiting Room” is not your typical breakup song. The track is less about the drama of heartbreak and more about the slow, private process of trying to accept that something beautiful has run its course.
When Bridgers repeats, “I know it’s for the better,” it stops sounding certain and starts becoming desperate. It addresses the inner argument every student knows: the one you have when a relationship, friendship or phase of life starts to fade.
College is full of those quiet endings, and “Waiting Room” puts into words the ache of growing past something you still care about.
The bittersweet beauty of growing up
LCD Soundsystem’s “All My Friends” feels like nostalgia in real time. James Murphy sings like someone who has spent a decade running and is only now realizing he is not sure what he is running toward.
The song unfolds like a memory of nights blurred together and faces fading as quickly as they appeared. It is about youth, but it is also about reflection: the realization that the wild nights and messy friendships that once defined you are slowly turning into stories you tell.
“All My Friends” is the sound of acceptance, of realizing that growing up is not about losing yourself, but about learning how to carry all of your past versions with you.
Through tracing a path from self-doubt to isolation to acceptance, these songs form an emotional soundtrack for the years when you’re becoming someone new. They don’t sugarcoat or promise clarity, but they remind you that the mess of confusion, heartbreak and pressure means you’re still changing.
Edited by Sabrina Pan | [email protected]
Copy edited by Violet Newton and Emma Harper | [email protected]
Edited by Chase Pray | [email protected]