Soundcheck with Ethan

By: Ethan Barrocas

On January 26th, 2026, it was the halfway point of the school year. I’m a senior, I’ve already committed to college, and quite frankly, I can’t wait to get out of here. Despite my excitement for something new, my nostalgia still latched onto me. Maybe it’s the sudden realization that everything is about to change, or maybe just missing the freedom of my youth, but for some reason, Lorde makes that bittersweet feeling hit even harder.

I have a best friend named Lucie, she’s my other half, and ironically, during our senior year, we managed to go to three concerts that played very nostalgic songs: Billie Eilish with “BIRDS OF A FEATHER,” Stevie Nicks sang “Landslide,” and finally Lorde, who closed her show with “Ribs.” The first two songs obviously hit hard, but not as painfully as “Ribs” did. While we chanted one of the best bridges of all time, all these memories of us blasted through my mind at an alarming rate, sending a wave of longing and uncertainty rushing through me. I’ve been with her for the majority of my high school life, and in a couple of short months, things will change for both of us. 

Obviously, I’m extremely proud of her. I mean, she got into Berklee on a full ride! But I’m worried about my next phase of life without her. She’ll still be with me, of course, but not in the same way that I’d drive her to school every day. And maybe that’s why “Ribs” hit me so hard, because the song serves as a reminder that you can’t carry the past with you, only the memories that you created. 

It’s not just the lyrics, it’s how the song feels. The soft build at the beginning echoes my own hesitation for the future, like rising questions of what everything will look like, but I get no response. Her voice switches from a deep tone on the verses to a higher register on the chorus, mirroring her excitement about things past and the sudden realization that you can’t get them back. The song gradually amplifies, eventually becoming overwhelming. It feels like everything is happening at once when that intense bridge hits, echoing the fleeting time of senior year and the innocence I won’t be able to hold onto anymore. Every lyric in the bridge hits hard because it’s exactly like the memories I’ve shared with Lucie. Every memory we’ve shared comes back to me on the bridge, a supercut of special moments: us going to prom together, our many inside jokes, all the concerts we’ve been to. But one memory stands out clearer than the rest: the Lorde concert was where I felt the most connected to her; the entire venue felt empty, just us and the music, together, celebrating this beautiful friendship we’ve built. 

That moment between us was perfect, but it didn’t last forever. When we’re together, everything feels brighter, and that’s exactly why it hurts. Even now, months after the concert, that moment taught me that our friendship is strong enough to last a lifetime–and trust me, a 5-hour train ride is nothing on us.

That’s why “Ribs” is so powerful, because it isn’t just a nostalgic anthem; it forced me to recognize that I had been avoiding fully appreciating how close I am to graduation, and that I need to stop treating these moments like they’ll always be there, because they won’t. But there’s a beauty in it too. I’m starting to realize I don’t need to hold on to time; I just need to notice it while it’s here in the memories I’m still creating with Lucie.