The Lumineers’ latest album, BRIGHTSIDE, is full of heart-breaking, soul-collapsing lyrics



the cover photos for the three singles released by The Lumineers and the BRIGHTSIDE album

Lately, I’ve been attempting to chase the highs of summertime.

Attempting to ignore the bitter chill in the air that nips at my fingers and the fact that I can only seem to catch the tail-end of sunsets from my bedroom window after dinner.

Now, the sun gets to close her eyes hours before I allow mine to follow suit, wishing it were warm enough for me to sprawl out in a friend’s passenger seat with one hand out the window and the other on an iced chai tea, music that was meant to be a whisper playing so loud we threaten to blow a speaker—these memories leave a gaping hole deep within my very being.

I’ve found slight solace in music that was a lullaby in another life.

Music that has pictures of the sky as the album cover and music that gently holds my tired hand as I try not to think of the past but also doesn’t shame me for reminiscing—music like The Lumineers’ new album: BRIGHTSIDE.

An album with eight tracks that are full of soul-wrecking lyrics, written as if there was a direct connection between the heart and the hand that wrote them, lyrics that sounds as if they were written in big, loopy calligraphy in a lined notebook. An album that left me daydreaming along with the lyrics. An album meant to be listened to with your hand resting gently against the exterior of your car—each song a mood board full of emotion, waiting to be picked apart. 

“BIG SHOT” is hand-me-down blazers from a more-successful older sibling. It’s fake confidence that stems from issues in your childhood, trying to people-please till you run eventually—inevitably—out of steam. 

I’ve found slight solace in music that was a lullaby in another life.”

It’s trying and striving for success that you can’t seem to reach, always falling short in comparison to those around you. Wrapping bandages around your thumbs because you picked at the skin there. 

Pale pink and gold balloons are strewn across the newly-stained wooden floor in “BIRTHDAY.” Two bodies are curled—intertwined with each other on an olive green, slightly worn couch that’s been pressed up against the wall furthest from where I, as a bystander, sit—an uninvited guest to a celebration turned realization that time is moving. 

The air smells slightly of salt as the woman cries, but she’s always cried on her birthday as the required tune is sung to her, except this year, it’s hummed in between breaths as she’s wrapped in a hug and reminded that its ok to be scared of a future full of uncertainty.

“REPRISE” is setting your pen down in finality, only for it to roll off the flat surface of your desk as it begs to be picked back up, begs you to write more poetry. This album didn’t want to be over—I didn’t want it to be over. 

It’s as if it was written on sun-stained paper. The bottom left corner has a coffee stain from when inspiration struck for the perfect lyric one day under the sun’s warmth.

Its repetition, its euphonic refrain left me clinging to the album and its sympathetic tendencies, holding out for more, patiently waiting for the next time The Lumineers release new music.