In these moments, life can feel overwhelming and devoid of hope. But in this collaboration by Christian artists NEEDTOBREATHE and Tori Kelly (which you can find on the companion soundtrack for Prime Video’s new series House of David), we’re challenged to reframe our disappointments. We’re invited to look at life’s dark moments not with despair, but with a faith-filled belief that God’s redeeming work sometimes happens in life’s deepest, shadow-filled valleys.

POSITIVE CONTENT

NEEDTBREATHE frontman Bear Rinehart unpacks the paradox of how God meets us and provides for us in our most desperate moments. “I was standing at the bottom,” he sings. “Piled up ash and broken bone/It was only then I realized/What I needed all along/At the end of me/Finds the truth of You.”

Likewise, Kelly’s part in the song echoes similar ideas about encountering redemption when life feels bleak: “There’s a beauty in the ashes/There’s redemption in the fall/There’s no way that we can rise/Until we’re brave enough to crawl.”

The chorus mingles NEEDTOBREATHE’s soulful, Southern, country-rock style with Kelly’s more pop-focused sound and a backing choir that lends the entire song a very strong gospel vibe: “Cause I’ve got a story (We can sing, we can sing)/From out of the fire (We can sing, we can sing)/We’re gonna rise up/We got victory/Hallelujah (Hallelujah).”

CONTENT CONCERNS

None.

TRACK SUMMARY

Rinehart said of the song and the TV series to which it’s connected, “I heard about the show and always felt connected to the story of David. I could always see myself in his story. Sometimes beauty and brokenness can exist in the same place. The song ‘I’ve Got a Story’ is really my story.”

Kelly added, “‘I’ve Got a Story’ is a song about struggle, perseverance, reflection and triumph. I believe its message is relatable to so many people going through trials and tribulations in their lives. I hope this song finds anyone who listens to it in a moment when they need it most, whether they’re going through a painful time or a moment of victory.”

Fans of NEEDTOBREATHE or Tori Kelly will likely love this gritty, redemption-focused collaboration. And even if you’re not familiar with them, “I’ve Got a Story” is definitely worth checking out if you’re in need of an inspirational, gospel-focused dose of hope.

The post I’ve Got a Story appeared first on Plugged In.

He’s met his dream girl, only to lose her through a series of unfortunate events, often of his own design. He’s made it to church on Sundays even after he’s spent all of Friday and Saturday drowning his sorrows in whiskey bottles.

He finds love only to break her heart. Sometimes, he’s on the opposite end, and he breaks hers. He drinks, and stumbles, and fails. But Wallen doesn’t stop trying. He pledges to change his ways. If you’ll just give him one more chance.

Wallen’s music catalogues it’s a never-ending cycle of failure and redemption. These apologies often arrive in Wallen’s elongated albums stuffed with bumper-sticker advice, a trend which has become increasingly common in country music.

A large portion of the appeal of Wallen’s country music stems from his nonchalant confidence. His songs are designed to convince audiences that he’s relatable, authentic, and (thanks to all that bumper-sticker advice) a role model.

If only it were true.

Outside of his music career, Wallen underwent scrutiny for a video of him saying the n-word during a drunken rant. There was fallout, a brief public hiatus, and what many considered to be a halfhearted apology, but it did little to halt his music’s popularity.

His last two albums have shattered country streaming and sales records. One Thing at a Time is currently the biggest country album of all time and the most popular album of the 2020s by most metrics.

The album is vintage Wallen. Thirty-plus songs that start to feel like one big rhythm of messing up and asking for forgiveness. After a while, it all blends together in a potent concoction of heartbreak, apologies, substance abuse, and drinking. So much drinking.    

POSITIVE CONTENT

Wallen can tell when he’s messed up. Most of the time, he’s quick to recognize when he needs to apologize and admit his mistakes.

“Dying Man” shows a lonesome Wallen who’s desperate and worried about his drinking habits catching up to him. But eventually a new, healthy relationship with a woman saves him from this fate.

It’s also clear that Wallen has an understanding of Christianity. One Thing at a Time includes song titles such as “In the Bible” and “Don’t Think Jesus” with more subtle references like “Wine into Water,” “I Wrote the Book,” and “Man Made a Bar.”

It’s in these religious reflections where Wallen confronts his mistakes and the man he wishes he was. He admits, “Yeah the good Lord knows I need it/I didn’t write it, but I probably oughta read it” in reference to the Bible.

CONTENT CONCERNS

Yet, the stark reality of Wallen’s understanding of God appears immediately when he says, “Backroads and cold beer/Are my down-home prayer/Can’t get no closer/To the Man upstairs.” He goes on to say if his country lifestyle were in the Bible, then he’d be “one h— of a disciple.”

“Man Made a Bar” re-imagines the opening days of creation when God created man. In Wallen’s version, man gets lonely even after God gives him a woman. So what else does man turn to but building a bar to drink away his loneliness? Wallen’s borderline blasphemy is played for sarcasm. But it’s an alarming revelation of how quickly Wallen turns to alcohol as the solution to his problems.

In a song, sometimes alcohol just means alcohol. But to Wallen, booze is an all-encompassing metaphor. On “I Deserve a Drink,” Wallen sings, “you’re burning hotter than a bourbon with no water/And I want your buzz in my veins.” He goes on to say, “you’re another shot I shouldn’t knock back.” It’s not the only time he compares his lust for women to his lust for drink, temptation and all.

“Wine into Water” takes the biblical miracle of turning water into wine and turns it into a twisted scene of attempted forgiveness. Wallen sings, “But I know something even better I could try, so/I’m out here soakin’ up your porch light glow/With an apology in my left hand/Hope it tastes like a second chance.”

“Last Night” tells an all-too familiar tale of heartbreak. Wallen recounts how he and his lover fight, break up, and get back together. He says, “I know that last night we let the liquor talk …Yeah, you, you know you love to fight/And I say s— I don’t mean/But I’m still gon’ wake up wantin’ you and me.”

“Whiskey Friends” continues the troublesome trend. Wallen sings, “Looks like I did it again/Me and my stupid mouth/Dug myself into a hole in the wall/Now I gotta drink my way out.” In the midst of heartbreak, Wallen’s only friends are, as he puts it, “Jim and Jack,” a reference, of course, to the alcohol brands Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. 

“Me + All Your Reasons” is an especially heartbreaking look into how Wallen attempts to cope with his problems. He sings, “I know you wanna be the one for me/No wonder why you had to run from me/H—, even I done had enough of me/Now all I got to keep me company, is some/Copenhagen, whiskey straight, and/Empty bottle, promise breakin’”

Even though Wallen takes some ownership for his problems, he’s still looking for excuses for his behavior. “Everything I Love” features a Wallen who blames his former love for his heartache.

“One Thing at a Time” shows a retributive Wallen who threatens that: “If you ain’t gonna kiss me/Then I’ll take some whiskey/Some grizzly/Nicotine amphetamines too.” 

You know you’re listening to a Morgan Wallen song if there’s a not-so-subtle whiskey pun worked in to a chorus. “You Proof,” “Keith Whitely,” and “Sunrise” each contain comparisons between Wallen’s lovers and his habit of drinking whiskey. They’re featured so often across the album that it’s difficult to tell which one he loves the most.

“Thinkin ‘Bout Me” and “Single Than She Was” both show a Wallen who’s recently met a girl who’s taken. But that doesn’t stop him from flirting, buying her a drink, and scheming a way to convince her to cheat on her man.

Elsewhere, there are several references to getting high, stoned, and drunk, amidst uses of d—, h—, and s— across the album’s 36 songs.

ALBUM SUMMARY

It doesn’t really matter the genre, 36 songs is too many for one album. And Wallen probably knows this. There’s no intent for someone to listen closely to two-plus hours of Wallen’s music.

In theory, his songs are best reserved for long drives in the sunset or a bluetooth speaker around a summer campfire. The mood is what matters. Coming across as light love songs, it’s supposed to seem like a good time. That is, if you don’t listen too closely.

Under the lackadaisical vibes and casual guitar rhythms are lyrics that glamorize a troubling lifestyle and misguided worldview.

Take “Ain’t That Some” as an example. At its core, it’s a song about being from the country and having a good time. Wallen sings, “Ain’t that some C-O-U-N-T-R-Y s— we been doin’ since we was yea high/There’s folks out there ain’t T-R-Y’d this …”

It’d be easy to listen and conclude, sure there’s a little profanity, but that’s about all, right? After all, it’s a rule of country songs that anytime a word is spelled out in a song, you must sing along.

Most of the songs across One Thing at a Time are like this. Light profanity, a few casual mentions of smoking, flirting, and kissing, with references to drinking that are characteristic for the genre of country music.

The post One Thing at a Time appeared first on Plugged In.

For six albums over the course of the last decade or so, Canadian singer-songwriter Abel Tesfaye has inhabited his dark and brooding alter ego, known as The Weeknd. In 2023, he suggested that this album, Hurry Up Tomorrow, would be his final outing with that stage name.

Indeed, the album does smack of finality, all 22 songs of it spanning nearly 90 minutes of dreamy and disconcerting synthesizer-fueled confessions and intro sections. It’s not an easy listen, musically or lyrically. But it is at times a mesmerizing one.

The Weeknd seems to have reached the end of the road, with many songs here focusing on death and a longing to step into that release. We hear harsh profanities at times, as well as some admissions of meaningless sex and despair over broken romances.

But as it progresses, The Weeknd’s focus gets unexpectedly spiritual, with several songs focusing explicitly on God’s grace, mercy and redemption, and The Weeknd’s desire to fully experience those things.

The overall result is a jarring journey, spanning the distance between suicidal ideation to the hope of finding peace with God.

POSITIVE CONTENT

Album opener “Wake Me Up” hints at where The Weeknd will arrive about 21 songs later. There’s a longing for deliverance from spiritual threats (“It feels like I’m dying/Wake me up, these demons/Keep creeping, don’t fear them.” And in a prayer-like moment, he sings, “I’m feeling like I’m paralyzed/Cleanse me with your fire/Open up my eyes.”

“Cry for Me” yearns, “I hope that I live life for a reason,” and admits the isolating emptiness of fame, a theme that turns up repeatedly on the album: “‘Cause the stage too a toll/Been faded on the floor/In this penthouse prison, I’m alone/ … Every time I hit the road, it takes a little piece of me.” “Drive” likewise recognizes “fame is a disease.”

Paralyzed and on the verge of drowning in a bathtub, The Weeknd sings, “Trying to remember everything that my preacher said/Tryna right my wrongs, my regrets filling up my head.” A bit later we hear, “I’ve been baptized in fear, my dear/I’ve been the chief of sin/Washing my soul within/ … Like Paul, I’m the chief of sin.”

“Open Hearts” admits the difficulty of being open to love: “Where do I start/ When I open my heart/It’s never easy falling in love again.” “Given Up on Me” contrasts The Weeknd’s selfishness (“I’ve been lying to your faces, yeah/I’ve been always wasted, it’s too late to save me”) with a desire for salvation (“Save me, save me, save me”) and confusion about why someone (God?) won’t just let him die (“Why won’t you let me sleep?/ … Why won’t you let me die?”). “Take Me Back to L.A.” laments having a numb soul (“Now I can’t even feel the breeze/ … Now I have nothing real left/I want my soul”).

“Big Sleep” seems to voice regret over squandered time (“Well, you used up your borrowed light/And you wasted your borrowed time”) before reciting a version of a common children’s prayer (“Now I lay me down to sleep/Pray the Lord my soul to keep/Angels watch me through the night/Wake me up with light”).

“Give Me Mercy” is so drenched in spiritual language it could practically be sung in a contemporary church service: “Every time I lost my way, I lost my faith in you/Fightin’ my temptations, put my body through abuse/Devil’s tricks with paradise/None of it is true, fighting for you light.” And then this confession and prayer: “Hope that you see me when I’m depleted/Give me mercy like you do and forgive me like you do.” Later, The Weeknd talks about trading sin for grace: “Ghost of my sins passing by/ … Give it all away just to feel your grace.”

“Red Terror” seems to be a message of hope and encouragement from The Weeknd’s mother from the other side of the grave: “Hush, my child, you’re mine/ … You’re still my child, don’t cry/Death is nothing at all, it does not count/I only slipped away into the next room.”

Album closer “Hurry Up Tomorrow” is likewise saturated with prayer, confession and a longing for heaven: “Wash me with your fire/Who else has to pay for my sins?/ … So I sing heaven after love/I want heaven when I die/I want to change/I want the pain no more.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

For all of that positivity, however, we have some significant content issues to deal with here. Five songs include harsh profanity, including f-words, s-words, “b–ch,” “d–n” “h—,” “p-ss” and the n-word.

Sexual references aren’t frequent, but when they show up, they’re harsh and in your face, including a reference to oral sex, a use of the f-word in a sexual context and some leering moments (“Tryna see you with your clothes off” in “Niagra Falls”). That song also includes a line that references getting high before having sex with someone.

Those issues certainly earn the album’s parental advisory for explicit content. But they’re arguably not the most problematic. Throughout “Hurry Up Tomorrow,” we get repeated references to death. The end seems very near in “Baptized in Fear,” where The Weeknd only narrowly avoids drowning in a bathtub: “I fell asleep in the tub, I was there with paralysis/ … Water fill my lungs, vision blurry/Heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower.”

In “Reflections Laughing,” we hear, “If you let me drown/I’ll die in your arms again.” Likewise, “The Abyss” is possibly a man’s thoughts after jumping off a high place but before he hits the ground (“I don’t like the view/From halfway down/Just promise me that it won’t be slow/Will I feel the impact of the ground?”

And “Without a Warning” likewise laments the vain emptiness of fame and perhaps hints at suicide: “I don’t suppose tomorrow’s coming.” And the song’s most problematic track, “Timeless,” includes profanity, drug references and this line encouraging someone (it’s not exactly clear who) to take his or her life: “If I was you, I would just cut up my wrist.”

ALBUM SUMMARY

It’s safe to say that, in the words of Taylor Swift, The Weeknd has “a lot going on at the moment.” Confessional prayers for mercy smack up against harsh profanity and, more darkly, allusions to death and suicide.

Some of those spiritual moments are, frankly, quite remarkable. Somewhere along the line, it seems as though Abel Tesfaye has had an experience of Christian theology of sin, grace and redemption that goes deeper than we normally see in popular music. Those moments here were a pleasant surprise.

That said, I can’t help but wonder that, when people listen to this album, which of its messages will be stronger: the spiritually redemptive ones, or the darker musings about death and suicide. For someone in a vulnerable place, it wouldn’t be hard for me to see how this album could tragically open an inviting door to self-harm instead of pulling someone away from those choices and giving him or her hope.

I’m reasonably sure that Tesfaye—and perhaps some in-the-know superfans, too—might balk at that suggestion, saying that I’ve missed the point of the dramatic persona he’s created and what he’s trying to accomplish through this character. But in a world where adolescent rates of anxiety, depression and suicidal ideation are currently at historic highs, I’m not sure every vulnerable listener is going understand that artistic intent—even if there are some strong redemptive moments woven into the lyrics as well.

When an artist says, “If I was you, I would just cut up my wrist,” he needs to acknowledge that some unstable listeners might just take him up on that suggestion.

The post Hurry Up Tomorrow appeared first on Plugged In.

His follow-up to 2023’s wildly successful debut, I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy (Part 1), doubles down on Swims’ strengths. Namely, his genre-busting style paired with earnest, vulnerable and confessional lyrics. Teddy doesn’t look or sound a bit like Taylor Swift. But his songwriting style borrows from her approach, even if it’s unintentional, by blurring musical boundaries and inviting fans to relate to his heartbreak, his struggles and his occasional triumphs.

Stylistically, Swims’ sound simmers like a big ol’ pot of savory gumbo, with lots of ingredients. At times, his soulful, smoky voice recalls Adele’s powerful pipes. Other times, a bit of CeeLo Green sneaks in. Is he country? Pop? R&B? Neo-soul? The simplest answer is yes.

Perhaps a bit like Jelly Roll, both stylistically and in terms of his face-tatted appearance, Teddy Swims defies easy categorization. And that, perhaps, helps explain his massive appeal: His breakthrough hit “Lose Control,” which Plugged In reviewed almost a year ago, remains in the Top 10 on Billboard’s Hot 100 mainstream hits chart, having logged a whopping 75 weeks there as of this writing.

Listening to Swims’ latest 13-song album, it’s not hard to understand his appeal. But some elements to his emotional storytelling need to be approached with caution.

POSITIVE CONTENT

Swims sings, really, about just one subject: romance. This album treats us to the good, bad and ugly in that thematic arena. On the positive side, “Not Your Man” wisely recognizes that he needs to walk away from a reckless, deceptive woman, and not to look back: “This ain’t how you treat somebody you say you love/ … I’m not your man.”

“Bad Dreams” recognizes that a woman helps Swims keep his inner shadows and struggles at bay: “Without you/I keep slippin’ into bad dreams.”

A couple of tracks sing the praises of a woman’s committed love, with Swims even wondering how he got so lucky: “You’re so beautiful, spiritual, more like a miracle/Part of me’s scared that you might be invisible/Too good to be true,” we hear on “Are You Even Real.” Likewise, “Black & White” finds him willing to let down his defenses and take a chance with someone special (“You’re the first one I told the truth to/Something’s changing inside of me when I look at you”)

“Northern Lights” fondly reminisces about a long-lost love. “Guilty” gushes that Swims is guilty “of having only eyes for you.” More sweet sentiments turn up in “If You Ever Change Your Mind,” “Hammer to the Heart” and “She Loves the Rain.” The latter finds Swims singing, “[She] finds the beauty in broken when no one else can see/Well, maybe I got a shot of her seeing good in me.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

Despite quite a few earnestly romantic moments throughout the album, we hit a few rough patches, too—and one song in particular that we need to unpack.

Perhaps in an effort to reach a broader audience, the song “She Got It?” (featuring collaborations with Coco Jones and GloRilla) packs in more explicit problems that the rest of the album’s other 12 tracks. The song finds Swims crudely objectifying a woman’s backside (“Two first-class tickets just to fit that a– in/ … Can’t buy this honey, and that s— ain’t free”). Later he adds, again blending leering lyrics with harsher profanity, “It’s so g–d–n beautiful/And you need two hands when you hold it.” Guests Jones and GloRilla pack in more still more suggestive lyrics and profanity, including uses of “b–ch,” “a–” and a couple more s-words.

Also problematic is the song “Funeral,” which plays with imagery blending sex and death: “Put that poison on your lips/Baby, take it slow/Lying in your arms/What a way to go.”Mildly suggestive references to sharing a bed, getting tangled up in sheets and being wowed by a woman’s body turn up in quite a few tracks, such as “Funeral,” “Are You Even Real” and “Hammer to the Heart.” Likewise, we get some passing references to drinking and getting high on the tracks “Black & White” and “Guilty.” And a smattering of mild profanities, such as “h—” and “d–n,” turn up as well.

ALBUM SUMMARY

Teddy Swims neither looks nor sounds like your typical pop superstar. But his passionate, personal music—often about love gone wrong, or (occasionally) right—obviously connects with a broad fan base.

In terms of content, this album represents that classic glass half-full, glass half-empty conundrum. It features some introspection, some tenderness and what seems to be a genuine longing for lasting love.

But then you’ve got some decidedly toxic stuff to slosh through as well, especially “She Got It?” Whereas most of the album’s problems are relatively tame by 2025 standards, that track revels lustily in objectification, with a surprising of harsh profanity tossed in, too.

The latter song certainly tempers my temptation to heap too much praise on Teddy Swims’ latest effort. There’s some nice stuff here, both musically and lyrically. But there are some nasty elements to steer clear of, too.

The post I’ve Tried Everything But Therapy (Part 2) appeared first on Plugged In.

A Grammy nomination for Best New Artist. The double Platinum certification for his album, Stick Season. The accompanying two-year tour that’s grown to resemble Taylor Swift’s unending Eras Tour.

Kahan’s rise from obscurity to acclaim is slightly odd considering his background. Born in a small town with less than 2,000 people, Kahan’s upbringing was relatively quiet, simple, and normal–at least to him.

Kahan has cited his family as the primary influence on his personality and his music. For Kahan, conversations at family dinners shifted from the latest Boston Red Sox game to how to cope with depression in the brutal winters of the Northeast, or “stick season” as it is referred to by its residents.

Stick Season (Forever) captures the essence of storytelling: tragedy, heartbreak, and the search for hope.

His popularity is in part due to the nostalgia his music awakens for fans of folk music. Rather than incessantly trying to be cool, his songs are painfully honest and, at times, brutal in their transparency.  

As he relays his personal battles with depression and anxiety, his methods of coping include binge drinking, getting high with friends, drunken fist fights, and lonesome nights with lovers. And at the height of his success, Kahan is finding that his problems and questions haven’t gone away.

POSITIVE CONTENT

As his career has developed, Kahan channeled the conversations he had as a kid into his music. He credits his family’s openness about mental health as a driving force behind not only his lyrics but the proceeds of his concerts benefitting mental health organizations.

The fingerprints of his support for mental health services are dotted across the entire album, especially on such songs as “Orange Juice,” “Growing Sideways,” “Homesick,” and “New Perspective.”

In interviews, Kahan has shared his struggles with sobriety, medication, and his personal mental health. He’s sought professional help and found release through making music. Even though some lyrics feature his characteristic anger and bitterness, there are also glimmers of hope and compassion.

At times, Stick Season peels back the curtain on Kahan’s relationships to reveal his growth, such as when he says, “It’s okay, there ain’t a drop of bad blood / It’s all my love, you got all my love.”

“Everywhere, Everything” features a deeply dedicated version of Kahan as he sings, “I want to love you till we’re food for the worms to eat/till our fingers decompose” emphasizing the unbreakable bond of his love.

Aided by voicemail recordings from family members, “The View Between Villages” is Kahan at his most transparent. He’s returned to the place he grew up and reflects on how much he’s changed as well as the people and places he once knew so intimately. Through the song’s emotional swells, we feel Kahan’s pain but also his hope at second chances.

CONTENT CONCERNS

The title track, “Stick Season” serves as the thematic statement for the album. In this song, Kahan telegraphs the hopelessness and anger that persists in his life. He smokes weed, he gets drunk, he comes home for Christmas expecting his friends to help him. He’s clearly hurting, and his version of solving his pain is futile.

Stick Season (Forever) is the extended version of Kahan’s original album. With an additional 16 songs, the album balloons and features a lineup that would rival the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. Kahan re-records several songs with popular artists such as Post Malone, Gracie Abrams, Hozier, Kacey Musgraves, Brandi Carlile, and Gregory Alan Isakov.

Several of these new versions of his songs feature additional verses by the accompanying artist with added concerns.

In “Dial Drunk,” Post Malone contributes the line, “F— that, sir, just let me call” when talking to a police officer who has arrested him for participation in a drunken fight at a bar.

In “Northern Attitude,” Kahan and Hozier sing about their unabashed commitment to stereotypical Northeast behavior such as, “getting stoned” and “getting lost, getting high.”  

The songs: “Come Over,” “Orange Juice,” and “Growing Sideways” make up a trio of reflections on sobriety and addiction.  There are references to misusing medication originally prescribed for depression and relying on alcohol to soothe one’s pain. In a moment of honesty, Kahan sings, “feels good to be sad” and “So I took my medication and I poured my trauma out.”

He continues to describe trips to visit his therapist saying, “We argued about Jesus, finally found some middle ground” and “I divvied up my anger into 30 separate parts/Keep the bad sh-t in my liver and the rest around my heart.”

For Kahan, there are three responses to his trauma: fight, medicate, and ignore. Usually in that order. The album mirrors this pattern. Songs about his fights for meaning are bookended by songs about the futility of medicine as a salve. And that eventually leads to songs where he ignores his pain altogether in a last ditch effort to make it all go away.

The cyclical nature of addiction and loss isn’t something reserved only for Kahan. Several songs, such as “You’re Gonna Go Far” and “Call Your Mom” serve as conversations between Kahan and his various partners sifting through the remains of their relationships. As they accuse each other of failing, fall in and out of love, and navigate their vices, they ultimately realize that there’s more than enough blame for each of them. 

“Your Needs, My Needs” touches on the haunting guilt of watching someone you love wither away in the wake of their excess and painful lifestyle. Kahan visualizes his former love as a ghost slowly dying, “To see a friend, to see a ghost/bitter-brained, always drunk/rail-thin, Zoloft/subtle change, shorter days.”

Across the album there are several uses (and variations of) the s-word, as well as instances of of misusing God’s name.” There are also several references to sex such as “we’d shake the frame of your car” and “There was heaven in your eyes/I was not baptized.”

ALBUM SUMMARY

I didn’t have to look hard to notice it.

I was at a Noah Kahan concert in Colorado. The audience was typical for a folk show; men and women on dates, college students, fathers with their daughters, mothers with their sons all dotting the concert hall.

Yet, in pockets of the room, I saw dozens of grown men softly crying. Their emotions stirred by something unspoken beyond Kahan’s lyrics and performance.

Fervent listeners of Kahan are drawn to his music through his shared language of how we deal with anxiety, loneliness, being homesick, going through breakups, and self-destructive tendencies. These and more make up the common experiences of Gen-Z and Gen-Alpha, which happen to be Kahan’s primary fanbases. 

In my opinion, most of Kahan’s songs contain enough nuance and self-referential mythology of depression and anxiety that would go over a middle school or high school student’s head.

That said, as Kahan would likely agree, words have power. These songs are deep pools of reflection. A caution to any listener that diving too deep could unintentionally trigger strong emotions if you personally struggle with depression, anxiety, anger, or broken relationships.

Stick Season (Forever) poses other problems too. The songs commend behavior that searches for blame other than ownership. Whether it’s a failing relationship or an addiction, Kahan’s worldview is centered on pointing the finger rather than looking in the mirror first.

The lasting images of Kahan’s album are the symbols of nature and the seasons of change. After all, “stick season” isn’t intended to last forever. Each year, spring will arrive and with it so will the promise of change and new seasons.

But what if it doesn’t?

Kahan’s made it clear that he’s entrenched in his past and bound to his mistakes. If we’re not careful, we’ll become just like Kahan, trapped in our own stick seasons forever.

But his music—and perhaps the nature of music—holds out hope, too.

After the show ended, I couldn’t help but notice the way people left the concert. They were together. I’m not sure how each person entered the concert, but no one was leaving alone. What Kahan had done brought these people closer together. There were arms after arms wrapped around each other as groups split up under a Colorado moon.

Music will do that sometimes. Give words to the indescribable feelings of pain. Though, as Kahan would likely be the first to say, the feelings of relief and reprieve after a concert rarely last. In a few hours, you’ll be left searching for something meaningful all over again.

The post Stick Season (Forever) appeared first on Plugged In.

These days, new dance crazes find a fertile ground for viral critical mass on social media. And that’s definitely the case with the hand motions and dance moves for Rosé and Bruno Mars’ absolute smash global hit “APT.” Do a search on any video platform and you’ll find thousands of videos of young people, old people, pets (with human help) and, who knows, maybe even aliens doing this dance.

Those videos have helped propel this savagely infectious earworm collaboration between Rosé and Mars to nearly a billion streams on YouTube alone. Listen at your own risk, really, because this is a tough one to get out of your head once it gets loose.

POSITIVE CONTENT

None.

CONTENT CONCERNS

The chorus of the track—which is what the dance is based upon—is a repetition of Korean word for apartment, “apateu.” That’s innocuous enough without context. But as Rosé explained to Jimmy Fallon in December 2024, “apartment” is actually a Korean drinking game.

The balance of song is silly, gushing flirtation—albeit mildly suggestive: “Kissy face, kissy face/Sent to your phone, but/I’m tryna kiss your lips for real,” Rosé sings with a playful pout. Later she adds, “Don’t you want me like I want you, baby?/Don’t you need me like I need you now?/Sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy.”

The most problematic lyric comes from Bruno Mars, who embraces excess at a spontaneous apartment party: “Turn this apateu into a club/I’m talkin’ drink, dance, smoke, freak, party all night.”

The video for the song features just the two artists performing it together. Rosé wears short-shorts and a midriff-baring top.

TRACK SUMMARY

As cultural trends go in 2025, this one’s probably not going to have parents clutching their proverbial pears in horror. Mostly, this is a fairly mindless, if flirtatious, song with a chorus that might threaten to take over your mind.

Any young fan of the song and its accompanying dance, however, will likely learn that it’s a reference to a drinking game. Thus, it could potentially make getting drunk at a party seem like a lot of fun.

Like all dance crazes, this one will likely fade to becoming a Wikipedia footnote about as fast as it took root and exploded in popularity the last couple of months. But if you find your kids imitating the song’s momentarily globe-conquering moves, you may want to talk with them about the song’s origin and meaning.

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The latter is definitely the case with Shaboozey’s smash 2024 country anthem “A Bar Song (Tipsy).” Indeed, you could argue that the song’s title alone tells us virtually everything we need to know about the lyrics within.

If you don’t know his story, you might even think that Shaboozey’s name itself is a reference to getting drunk. In fact, Collins Chibueze took his stage name from his high school football coach, who had trouble pronouncing this son of Nigerian immigrants’ last name.

Mispronunciation notwithstanding, Shaboozey is likely laughing all the way to the bank, based on the smash success of “A Bar Song (Tipsy).” It spent a whopping 19 weeks at No. 1 on the mainstream Billboard Hot 100 chart in 2024, tying the previous record set by Lil Nas X’s “Old Time Road.” In Canada, Shaboozey earned the record outright, spending 25 weeks at No. 1.

The song also topped the charts in a long list of countries not known for their love of country music, including Estonia, Ireland, Latvia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Norway and Sweden.

Just as Jimmy Buffet did with “Margaritaville” and Garth Brooks accomplished with “Friends in Low Places,” Shaboozey has tapped into the time-honored good-‘ol-boy tradition of dealing with stress by getting drunk in a bar.

Positive Content

The song’s second verse seems to suggest that money and success haven’t changed who Shaboozey is, something his mother is apparently concerned about: “I’ve been Boozey since I’ve left, I ain’t changin’ for a check
Tell my ma I ain’t forget (oh, Lord).” The first verse delivers a litany of relational and financial stresses that many listeners probably identify with: “My baby want a Birkin, she’s been tellin’ me all night long/Gasoline and groceries, the list goes on and on/This nine-to-five ain’t workin’.”

Content Concerns

The pressures of daily life lead Shaboozey to wonder, “Why the h— do I work so hard?” That wondering doesn’t last long, though, before it’s off to the bar to start taking the edge off: “Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey/They know me and Jack Daniel’s got a history/There’s a party downtown near 5th Street/Everybody at the bar gettin’ tipsy.”

Elsewhere in the song’s chorus we hear, “Tell ’em ‘Bring another round,’ we need plenty more/Two-steppin’ on the table, she don’t need a dance floor/Oh my, good Lord.”

Track Summary

Life is hard. And folks struggling with that reality have turned to the bottle for solace at least practically since the beginning of human history (see Noah’s story of drunken woe in Genesis 9:20-27).

It’s no surprise, then, that a bar anthem like this one has seemingly universal appeal, especially when paired with it’s undeniable earwork listenability. For some people, sharing your woes with a drink and friends at the bar might be as good as it gets. The 1980s sitcom Cheers, for example, practically immortalized the notion of the neighborhood bar as a place “where everybody knows your name” and “they’re always glad you came.”

“A Bar Song (Tipsy)” taps into the same appeal, delivering a feel-good ode to knocking down shots as a temporary strategy for knocking down life’s inevitable rough patches.

I get that appeal. Still, if our kids are connecting with Shaboozey’s glorification of going to the bar to get drunk as a strategy to deal with life’s pain, we might want to have a conversation with them about the headaches and hopelessness that inevitably wait for people the next morning.

And pushing further, there’s a deeper conversation waiting about where we find lasting hope and relational connection in life. Both require something deeper and more substantial than the tempting-but-fleeting buzz of getting a little “tipsy” to take the edge of life’s troubles.

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Crafted to the highest standards of sound, lyrics, and production design, Tyler’s  albums require several listens to fully grasp the depth and nuance of his self-referential work.

Tyler often designs alter-egos and characters to masquerade behind in a parade of violence, drug use, and sexual debauchery. Through its music videos and extravagant promotion, CHROMAKOPIA continues this trend, while also featuring his trademark profanity, descriptions of murder, rape, and mental instability.

But you don’t need several listens through CHROMAKOPIA to grasp the album’s sheer, unremitting vulgarity.

To readers familiar with Tyler’s history this should come as no surprise. After all, this is the same artist who was banned by the U.K. and New Zealand for “posing a threat to public order and the public interest.”

Both nations cited the rapper’s dangerous alter-ego and lyrics containing references to murder, rape, sexual abuse, and drug use, and lyrics that glamorize these behaviors.

The themes at play across CHROMAKOPIA range from relatable questions about parenthood and discovering one’s true identity to more troubling ideas about paranoia and suicidal ideation that give credibility to these nations’ concerns.

Yet, something about his music resonates with audiences. 

The violent nature of CHROMAKOPIA does little to push away mainstream critics and fans. Tyler’s growing fanbase clearly connects with his brand of profane introspection.

What has been true of his previous albums remains true here. It is easy to notice that beyond the facade of Tyler’s creations, the way he handles life’s difficulties reveals a wounded soul in search of relief who ultimately ends up consumed by his inner turmoil.

POSITIVE CONTENT

Tyler, The Creator’s absent father has been hanging over the lore and themes of his music for more than a decade now. At once a symbol of both his anger at his upbringing and motivation to change his family’s history, his father’s absence fuels several songs across CHROMAKOPIA.

Entering his mid-30s, Tyler seems as though he is having an early midlife crisis. On several tracks, he mentions friends getting married and starting families. He feels left behind and alone. His family history weighs on him, as well as the pressure to change the trajectory of his life. “Take Your Mask Off” features Tyler at his most honest, pleading with his alter-ego to take his mask off and be honest about who he is.

Nearly each song mentions the role and value of family in Tyler’s life, which is made clear on its opener, “St. Chroma,” as well as “Hey Jane,” which discusses the possibility of how to move forward after an unplanned pregnancy.

The first voice heard on the album is Tyler’s mother, Bonita Smith. She is featured throughout the album as a guiding voice of advice and wisdom in Tyler’s life. Her first words on the track, “St Chroma” are initially encouraging, “You are the light. It’s not on you, it’s in you.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

Any sliver of hope that Tyler’s mother’s encouragement will outweigh the profanity in this album quickly disappears in her third sentence. Her initial encouragement quickly becomes tainted with a call for violence mixed with every combination of the f-word imaginable.

Across the album’s 14 songs, hundreds of f-words and racial slurs, as well as combinations of the two, appear in his lyrics.

“Sticky” features Tyler rapping about his fame and warning others of the difficulties that come with popularity. He repeats the phrase “B–ch, it’s gettin sticky” throughout the song, referring to how things get messy when you become famous. The phrase also serves as a double entendre for sex and drugs, with further lyrics underlying the connection.

“Judge Judy” contains several vulgar descriptions of sex with multiple partners.

“I Killed You” starts with an X-rated version of the children’s song “Wheels on the Bus” and quickly turns into a profanity-filled tirade against nameless individuals who don’t let Black people express themselves in public. Addressing his critics, Tyler repeatedly says, “B–ch, I killed you,” inviting listeners to join him in his opposition.

“Thought I Was Dead” continues this trend with the repeated refrain, “You n-ggas thought I was dead” referring to Tyler’s ongoing public persona in the rap industry and the criticism he receives from listeners.

“Noid” reveals his ongoing paranoia regarding his relationships or having an unwanted pregnancy. He says, “Never trust a b–ch, if you good they could trap you./So just strap it up, fore they f— around and strap you, b–ch.” “Hey Jane” continues on the topic of unwanted pregnancy referring to abortion as Tyler raps, “Look, Jane, it’s your choice at the end of the day./Just know I’ll support either way, no pressure.”

“Darling, I” unveils how little Tyler, The Creator thinks of commitment when it comes to relationships. He sings, “I love this girl, I hit the gold mine,/I’m thinkin new crib, I’m thinkin two kids, / Until I get infatuated with a new b–ch.”

“Take Your Mask Off” is a song centered on Tyler criticizing the hypocrisy of several figures in religion, namely Christians and pastors who preach messages of hope and grace and, in his perspective, offer the opposite to their followers.

Several songs contain references to giving and receiving oral sex as well as other sexual acts in ongoing relationships with several partners.

ALBUM SUMMARY

CHROMAKOPIA opens and concludes with the same line: “The light comes from within.”

Listening to Tyler, The Creator grapple with his fame and relationships clearly reveals an aching soul.

On his recent albums, Tyler has expressed anger and confusion towards those who do not understand him and would otherwise see him fail in his career. It is on this album that he claims to have finally discovered the light that will satisfy him.

CHROMAKOPIA unveils a Tyler who, in his own words, is “chasin a ghost.” At times, that ghost is an idealized version of himself, and other times, the ghost is Tyler’s absent father who has hovered over him for his entire life.

The song “Like Him” features Tyler’s mother revealing why she has kept so much hidden about Tyler’s father. She admits that Tyler’s father actually “wanted to be a father” to him, and that it is her fault for keeping him away from Tyler for so long.

After this revelation, it is unclear if Tyler, The Creator truly wants to be reunited with his dad. These songs are his attempt to continue to sift through his feelings and philosophies about what it means to live in this world.

Ultimately, his messages should be concerning.

If CHROMAKOPIA is any indication, Tyler, The Creator is still searching. In reality, the light that he claims to have found only produces more hate and anger, unleashing some of his most vile remarks about love, family, and relationships.

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ROSÉ’s new song “number one girl” is a moody, confessional piano ballad. In it, the singer exposes her desperate longing for love and acceptance. And I do mean exposes. At times, as ROSÉ delivers this plaintive plea for affirmation, I wanted to get out a metaphorical blanket, cover her up and tell her that it was all going to be OK.

Turns out, she feels exactly the same way about the song. In her Paper interview,  she said she wanted to pen a track that was “so disgustingly vulnerable and honest that people learn that I am a person that goes through these emotions, and I hated that about myself. If anything, it’s something I want to cover up. Even in interviews, I’m like nothing really fazes me, you know? But it does. Every word, every comment, it crushes me.”

Accordingly, the lyrics here feel devastatingly raw—which we can likely view as both a good thing and perhaps a not-so-good thing as well.

POSITIVE CONTENT

At its core, “number one girl” is a plea for love. That message is right there in the first lines of the song: “Tell me that I’m special, tell me I look pretty/Tell me I’m a little angel, sweetheart of your city/Say what I’m dying to hear/’Cause I’m dying to hear you.” And ROSÉ expresses it in different ways throughout the rest of the song.

ROSÉ articulates her emotions with almost painful honesty. Her demeanor here is completely devoid of anger, manipulation or ulterior motives. Instead, we simply get her unvarnished need to be loved and accepted.

Whether we admit it or not, all of us have that need—both in a romantic relationship, as ROSÉ sings about here, and more generally in life. That said, we often cloak that heartfelt desire in layers of self-protection, because expressing it leaves us vulnerable to rejection and disappointment.  

Which leads us to the next section.

CONTENT CONCERNS

I really do admire the singer’s honesty in this track. That said, where it gets out of balance is the fact that her identity seems unhealthily reliant upon her would-be romantic partner’s acceptance of her.

In pursuit of his love, she says that everything (which we can only presume includes physical intimacy as well as the emotional variety) is on the table: “I’d do anything to make you want me/I’d give it all up if you told me that I’d be/The number one girl in your eyes.”

We could have a long discussion about the role of self-esteem in healthy relationships. But as far as this song is concerned, the singer doesn’t seem to have much sense of her self-esteem apart from a lover’s affirmation. And when we’re that dependent upon others, the odds of getting hurt, taken advantage of or emotionally abused (or worse) are pretty high.

TRACK SUMMARY

So where does that leave us?

I think the very thing that makes this song so powerful, ROSÉ’S complete transparency, is also what creates concern when it comes to younger or impressionable listeners. They could easily internalize both messages here: that it’s good to tell the truth about our hearts’ desires, but that we must promise ourselves completely to someone in order to get our needs met.

In fact, the latter statement is true, but only in the confines of a healthy marriage. God’s intention for marriage is that it would be a place where we can safely, beautifully give and receive love at the level ROSÉ is describing.

But apart from the protection of this God-ordained, covenantal relationship—where both parties are reciprocating other-centered affection and affirmation—our hearts are wide open to being wounded deeply. But unfortunately, the suggestion that marriage is where we can enjoy this kind of intimacy is absent from this song.

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In a recent profile for Christianity Today, Frank claims that there is a large cohort of Gen Z listeners who crave music that “speaks openly and unapologetically about Jesus.”

At 29 years old, Frank is a bit of an anomaly. As one half of the American pop duo Surfaces, Frank has produced several smash hits with vibey tunes oscillating between surf music and cool jazz.

Frank already has a resume that’s unparalleled in Christian music circles, and he’s shown an ability to go well beyond them. He’s collaborated with Elton John, he’s played live on Late Night with Seth Meyers, and written a walkout song for Texas A&M’s college football team. Child of God recently earned a Grammy nomination as well. While the album might initially draw listeners in with relatable lyrics, timeless rhythms, and Frank’s growing popularity, there’s something deeper at work here.

Across the album, Frank’s authentic theology is on full display as he works his way through complex topics like depression, fatherhood, and marriage. These songs are ultimately uplifting, hopeful, and brimming with positive messages for teenage and young adult listeners who are asking the same questions. 

POSITIVE CONTENT

As a deluxe album, Child of God gathers a collection of Frank’s most successful hits and singles. Across the 27 tracks, Frank’s overarching message remains consistent: In a relationship with Christ, we are set free.

Frank’s most popular song off the album, “No Longer Bound” illustrates this clearly as he sings, “Nothing I could ever do/Could separate my love from You.”

On “Up,” with Canadian rapper Connor Price, Frank discusses his recent success in both his music career and personal life singing, “I was down but now I’m up/This all God this ain’t no luck.” This is a theme across the album in which Frank acknowledges God as his “Miracle Worker” saying, “I know there’s nothing you can’t do/I don’t know who else to run to/Miracle Worker I need a miracle soon.” 

Several of Frank’s songs mimic the rhythms and messages found in Psalms and Proverbs. On “Always,” Frank crafts modern versions of praise by singing, “You are loved, you are chosen, your body isn’t broken/For every door that closes, a better one gets opened/You got a light inside, too radiant to hide/If you don’t think so, let me change your mind.”

The track “All I Need” reaffirms Frank’s source of trust and faith as he sings, “Something flipped the switch used to want a Judas heart/Even with the kiss You keep me on the team/Even when I miss.” Similarly, on “Good Day” Frank sings, “I’m ‘bout to have a good day/In every single way/The God who made the universe/Knows me by my name.”

One of the clearest illustrations of Frank’s mission statement through this album appears on “Never Get Used to This.” Frank says, “From the mornin’ to the evenin’/I could sing Your praise all day/From the prison to the garden/You’re the God who’s breakin’ chains/When I look back on my whole life/There’s a silver lining of grace/I can’t wait to thank You, Jesus.”

CONTENT CONCERNS

Two of the album’s most emotionally charged songs feature lengthy portions of spoken word (“Child of God”) and personal testimony (“Grandad”). While each of these songs contain powerful displays of the transformation that comes from a relationship with Jesus, there are potentially triggering references to self-harm and personal hardships.

ALBUM SUMMARY

Forrest Frank would deny the claim that he’s found a perfect formula for producing hits through his Christian music. Yet Frank’s 4-plus million followers across social media and climbing streaming numbers on Spotify and Apple Music would disagree.

When asked about his social media presence, Frank responded “If God told me to delete my Spotify, I’d do it right now. If God told me to delete my Instagram, I’d do it right now.”

It’s an insightful quote. One that shows Frank’s messages are consistent beyond his music.

It’s apparent Frank thoughtfully considers his newfound influence due to his rapid ascension in Christian and secular music circles. But what impresses me even more is the level of authenticity and honesty he apparently maintains in his creative and musical process.

Both his longtime fans and new listeners are fortunate as Frank’s career is only beginning. From his songs to his interviews to his music videos, Frank is a light that points to Jesus in an industry that often does the opposite.

If Child of God is any indication, Frank worship music will remain committed to proclaiming the gospel and the hope of a relationship with Jesus in creative and engaging ways for listeners of all ages.

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