There’s something magical about revisiting music you love–no matter how long it’s been, or how many times you listen to it mindlessly while cleaning–when you truly revisit a song, it always seems to take a different form.
I stumbled upon Phoebe Bridgers in late 2020, just on the cusp of a new year. Immediately, it was as if I was stuck in a trance. My room was filled to the brim with Phoebe Bridgers’ music and nothing else. It was the soundtrack of my mornings, tearfully making tea and journaling at a time when I believed that New Years Resolutions were something I could actually commit to this year (spoiler alert: I didn’t.)
There are many a Phoebe Bridgers song that I’ve cried to; I mean, she’s known for her Elliot Smith-inspired writing and emotional instrumentals. However, one song that’s always stood out to me was “Scott Street” off her debut album, Stranger in the Alps. For some, the track sticks out like a sore thumb in the album’s tracklist. It’s one of the record’s most soaring instrumentals–with a string-driven climax accented by the most random of sound effects: a bike bell, a train whistle, and a car airhorn. In the context of the entire album, it seems like it would be the perfect finale track to a generally stripped down, acoustic record. Instead, Phoebe Bridgers situates it right in the middle.
Whether or not this was intentional, or if there’s a larger-than-life reason as to why she placed it at the fifth spot, I argue that the song is one of her best. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to perfectly encapsulate the soft pain of reminiscing. In the track’s story, Phoebe Bridgers puts audiences in the middle of a conversation with an ex-lover as they detail what’s changed since they last saw each other. In a way, she wrestles with the fact that things are no longer the same. When you dissect the lyrics, one could argue that it’s not even a conversation–she’s the one asking the questions. She prods, “What about your sister; what about the band?” and the other person just responds blankly. Then, a stark jump into a line that many quote from the song: “Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?”
The song then builds into its unforgettable climax: a swelling of strings, Bridgers’ soft vocals layered behind the aforementioned bike bell, train whistle, and airhorn. She closes the conversation with a bittersweet goodbye: “Anyway, don’t be a stranger.”
In Scott Street, there is no promise of another conversation. Bridgers decides that maybe, the past isn’t worth clinging to. She buries this under the guise of small talk, of sisters and bands that aren’t the way they were anymore. Despite everything, she settles for a relationship just above strangers: acquaintances. Anyway, don’t be a stranger. It’s a lyrical masterclass of saying little but meaning much. Because of that, it immediately became my favorite among the tracks of her discography, and a go-to song when thinking aloud at 4 AM.
But just like most music you hyperfocus on, the magic wears off after a while. I never fully let go of Phoebe Bridgers–at this point, I was a self-confessed die-hard Phoebe Bridgers Superfan–but she took the backseat to other music I ended up enjoying and loving.
However, every once in a while, there’s a point in your life where you come crawling back. Maybe it’s two years and two exes later, and you’re sitting in a new room with furniture that’s barely a year old. But 4 AM is still 4 AM. I open Spotify, search up Stranger in the Alps, and there she is: sitting awkwardly at the fifth spot on the list like she always has. I press play and close my eyes. I say hello.
Happy birthday, Stranger in the Alps.
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Header image: Phoebe Bridgers via YouTube
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