Soundtracks for Minor Dramas: Songs I Borrowed from Him - Atwood Magazine

      In this ongoing column for Atwood Magazine, I delve into the emotional nuances of everyday experiences through carefully selected soundtracks – music that captures the subtle, often unnoticed dramas of contemporary life. Covering everything from fleeting infatuations and social discomfort to unvoiced farewells and slowly disintegrating friendships, these playlists aim to encapsulate the tension, humor, and sorrow intertwined in those in-between moments.

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      “Songs I Stole from Him” is a playlist for the time when you've moved past texting your ex but still find yourself drawn to his music. It examines the lasting emotional impact of dating a musician—the ego, the performance, and the bittersweet memories—with the songs that come to symbolize it all.

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      Stream: ‘Songs I Stole from Him’ by Max Hollingsworth

      So, your job is taking you to greenrooms, sticky carpets, and the balcony to smoke. It's also introducing you to a synth player focused on being seen and possessing an impeccable playlist.

      “Mike” – Molina

      It’s an optimistic vibe—you find yourself overanalyzing him as you observe him navigate the crowd. His cigarette becomes wet from the condensation of his beer. Everyone is here for him—limbs relaxed, eyes keen, with the music adding to his allure. Mike lingers in the back of your mind, reminiscent of a dream you can’t quite recall—soft, poignant, and wonderfully elusive. A bit like his image on stage, enjoying a glass of wine.

      “Venus” – Molina

      This track’s production feels like a broadcast from a far-off, idealized realm. Now you’re on the other side, behind the curtains. He catches your gaze, smirking playfully at the audience. These moments form a bubble of isolation between the two of you. As you observe him and he watches you, that sense of intimacy expands within you—a significant existence.

      “All the Way” – Milan W.

      You’re back amongst the audience. He’s sending glances your way, yet suddenly your body feels like the girl beside you. She looks up at him, and you recognize that expression. Why do you all keep looking up? Should you remain and hold out, or is it time to move on? After the show, he wraps his arm around you. You pass that girl outside, leaning against the wall. Were you once her? Will she soon become you? You step out, spend money, and indulge in fun as if you are lovers. In a crowded room, you whisper: Are you leaving me, or do you want to go all the way? And he’ll push you away and spin you around.

      “Comfort Eating” – PVA

      Post-punk, electronic, filled with anxiety and sheen. This is the moment you break. You alter your appearance, tracking his gaze. You aim not to be a groupie, yet it only amplifies that label. You’re enveloped in shame and growing pains. Anger builds up inside—you strive to push through it all. The sky seems so radiant when you lie beside him, but does he see you this way too?

      “Giving Bad People Good Ideas” – Death Grips

      You share an idea—he transforms it into art and then presents that art to someone else. Fueled by relentless, pounding beats and a chaotic industrial backdrop, this track is aggressive and unavoidable. The production is thick, abrasive, and disorienting. Your being is tearing away from the version of him you once idolized. A shallow narrative for a decrepit king. Your desire torments you, watching it become sustenance for another's longing. You keep providing bad people good ideas.

      “Glasgow” – Jockstrap

      The optimism has turned cynical. Disruptive electronics and ambient discomfort. He once mentioned Glasgow as the place to be, but now he doesn’t write for you anymore. You seek comfort in yourself, feeling the absence while he checks into a holiday spa. You won’t be going to Glasgow now; you’ll just see him at the show.

      “My Nighty” – Robbie & Mona

      You arrive late; the gig is underway. You weave through the crowd, as girls recoil, a reminder that you may not belong anymore. Dressed in your nighty and appearing a bit more like yourself, you glance up one last time before fading into the crowd—for him, for yourself. He can't tell you apart from the girls who dote on him. The song floats like a lullaby in a semi-conscious dream—fragile, haunting, it belongs to a memory just beyond reach.

      “Swing (in a dream)” – Squid

      With twitching drums, an anxious groove, and jagged guitar, you now exist within the frame he created for you. He illustrated you as he preferred. Forever, he will view you through this lens, and now you