A familiar, discernable voice has graced my Browse page on Apple Music for the first time since quarantine. In April 2020, there was one song that was always in the MiniPlayer window: “Tommy’s Party.” 

Neil Smith, the voice behind the indie band Peach Pit, possesses gravitating vocals that display his remarkably raspy voice. Smith’s voice enchanting Peach Pit lyrics were my quarantine anthems, and it’s uncomfortable to think that this band ruled my life two years ago. 

To me, the Canadian band was the silver lining in quarantine. I was smitten for their cliché love lyrics and minimalistic tune. Now, whenever “Tommy’s Party” plays, quarantine is the only list of memories I can think of. 

It’s all just memories to me: the afternoons I called morning, the hours spent perfecting my whipped coffee technique, and the terrible screen time total for TikTok. They’re all just memories from times when we had no idea what was happening. 

I shocked myself by playing From 2 to 3, Peach Pit’s newest album. In the lovely tune, there was a spell of reminiscence that bewitched me. I was overwhelmed by the spirits and lost in the gift Peach Pit bestowed upon my Browse page. The eleven songs reminded me of something different—something wild that has occurred in my short-lived life thus far.

One of my favorite memories was a July night post-quarantine where our lives began to position themselves veraciously. Unorthodox to habitual, this July night consisted of desolate Michigan backroads and a Jeep. As I listened to “Up Granville,” a flood of sunset tinges painted my mind as the sunset-orange Wrangler rode two-tracks and kicked dirt torrents. 

“Up Granville” is very orange, and “Vickie” is the epitome of long summer nights. After a few hours of being in the hot tub, string lights illuminated my friend’s back patio. Our hair was stringy from the chemicals that left a lingering smell, but that’s okay. 

We were too enthralled in the moment to care that it was late and smelled like chlorine. “Vickie” has that early summer ring; there were too many poorly planned adventures that were carried by our drive for an adrenaline high. Thoroughly, From 2 to 3 carries a late spring/early summer charisma throughout the duration of the album. 

It’s the perfect album for when the upcoming spring turns to a warm summer and my life transitions from a wreck at fifteen to free at sixteen with a driver’s license. Ninety-four more wakeups until my days sound like “Drips on a Wire” and the nights feel like “Look Out!” with a side of bonfire’s aroma. 

From 2 to 3 made me more hopeful: a glass-half-full type of mindset. Yes, there are 94 more days, but I live to see the sensational transition take place at the season’s commence. I hate change, but there is something about this change that is different. I feel alive. I feel like Sydney. I am Sydney, in the summer. 

However, I was not Sydney in quarantine. There were a few things I had going for me, one of which was “Tommy’s Party” on replay. I love remembering everything that wasn’t quarantine-related, but in a strange way, it’s almost refreshing to think about a time of relentless pandemonium. From 2 to 3 shed light on a period I tried to bury in the back of my mind, but per usual, memories have their erratic ways of reappearing. 

Peach Pit has no idea who I am, but the cover of From 2 to 3 perfectly sums up my entire mood. Spring has unofficially sprung in Michigan, and the car parked in that garage is waiting for me to get lost again on the dirt roads this summer.