Combining the energy of Stevie Nicks, the lyrical honesty of Joni Mitchell, the musical experimentation of Led Zeppelin, and the unassuming vibe of Dar Williams, Taryn is an ‘old soul’ who’s never afraid of taking risks. Today, we’re premiering a track by track for her new record. Check it out below!

Not Sorry

 Not Sorry functions as the thesis of this album. I wrote it back in 2019. At the time, I was caught up in a situation where I was (once again) trying to apologize to someone for being myself. It was my go-to response to whenever I felt uncomfortable and insecure (and had been a terrible habit since I was young, to the point my parents had a “sorry jar” where I put in quarters every time I said sorry for no reason). I was attempting to write another sad girl indie song where I apologized, but then realized I wasn’t actually sorry. I tried finding a riff that was as unapologetic as possible, and went from there.

 In the studio, Not Sorry almost took this pop punk anthem route with two distorted guitars placing the punchy riffs front and center. I think it’s a tribute to the music I grew up with and the artists who inspired me when I first began to write my own music. Listening to it brings me back to my middle school emo days, listening to Paramore, AFI and Taking Back Sunday on repeat. It’s an origin story, where the protagonist (perhaps the manic pixie dream girl) realizes that she’s starting her journey of self-actualization and won’t apologize for who she is. 

 Life In Exile

Life in Exile was written while living alone for the first time. I had lost many friends at this point and was very much learning to rely on myself. In the midst of a social media stalking sesh (don’t lie: everyone does it) of people I used to know, I had this thought, “If they met me now, would they be scared of who I’ve become?” And that idea was followed by yet another scary thought, “If my younger self could meet who I’ve become, would I be scared of who I’ve become?” 

In the studio, Keelan (our drummer) created a loop using chains on the snare drum. Alec, our guitarist, created this haunting vibrato picking line. Both of these, combined with some ethereal reverb effects created this really eerie atmosphere that we could build upon, almost emulating a large wide open room. Jordan’s dance-y bass line really provided grounding throughout the song, even with all the rises and falls from the verses through the chorus and bridge. By the time the second chorus hits, the song is broken wide open, almost like I’m embracing all my inner demons.

Never Settling Down

The lyrics of this song were a letter to my younger self. When I was 13 years old, a family friend took a photo of me standing at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, hair whipped by the wind. I was facing a ton of anxiety and couldn’t enjoy the moment. That family friend later showed the photo to his wife saying, “She has no idea how beautiful she is in this photo.” In college I found the photo again during the midst of a lot of self-doubt, and reflected on how far I had come. The lyrics were a letter to the old me that stood there in the photo, letting her know that she’s a lot stronger than she thinks she is. 

Prior to coming into the studio, all that existed as an accompaniment was the fingerpicked lines played by the electric guitar on the track. We decided to mic an old Marshall amp and play it on a vintage Gibson, and keep the raw nature of it (including a slight buzz) intact. We had our cellist spend about an hour playing along to the song. She layered several lines of plucked and bowen arpeggios, almost creating a quartet. This really allowed the melody and guitar parts to “bloom.” To ground these floating harmonies, Andrew, our engineer, added in some low earthy synth lines. When you listen to the track, it almost feels like the parts all dance with one another.

Manic Pixie Dream Girl 

I wrote Manic Pixie Dream Girl in the wave of yet another romantic rejection (which, honestly, was the ongoing theme of my early twenties) in 2019. At that point, I was a hopeless romantic constantly spinning up love stories about everyone I met. So I turned to watching my favorite indie rom-coms for comfort. They all followed the same plot: Disillusioned, depressed hipster-ish man meets quirky, live-life-to-the-fullest girl who shares his niche interests (known by many film critics as the manic pixie dream girl). They fall in love and he finds meaning in life again. 

 This time, I realized I’ve been the manic pixie dream girl in every relationship I’ve ever had. 

I knew a lot about other people, but very little about myself. That idea launched the song.

In the studio, the song very quickly took the route of an almost neo-retro, new wave 80s (think Duran Duran) hit. We used very washed out reverb and delay on the guitar, with some simple catchy riffs, and a very dance-y bass line. Listening to it, you’re almost inundated with scenes from old 80s teen movies (Judd Nelson pumping his fist in the air, John Cusack standing outside with a boombox, Molly Ringwald eating birthday cake in a pink bridesmaid’s dress). It’s nostalgic; it’s an homage to women and their romanticized (often inaccurate) representation in film and movies. 

Old Wounds

Old Wounds is all about how healing is never linear; it’s messy, painful and often unpredictable. I wrote it the summer after graduating college, in the midst of unmet expectations and (what seemed like at the time) unrealized dreams. I was mourning the life I had hoped for and trying to heal, but it had taken so much longer than I expected. I wrote these lyrics when I accepted that I was still healing, still hurting and, yet, still hopeful. 

The music is all centered around two complimentary fingerpicked electric guitar lines in swung time. Surrounding these two parts are an eclectic collection of synth melodies and riffs played on the electric guitar with an ebow, all grounded by a low earthy bass line. The result is a really atmospheric piece that almost sounds hopeful. We were fairly dry with the effects on the vocals, trying to make it seem like I was speaking. We wanted it to sound like an honest confession.

Does It Make You Happy?

When I first wrote this song back in 2020, I complained a lot. I complained about my job. I complained about being single. I complained about men. I complained about the friends I didn't have. I complained about the city I grew up in. 

Honestly, my mom just about had it with me. Each time I had yet another rant, she started asking me a simple question: Does it make you happy? 

Eventually, I realized I was making a choice. I was choosing to spend my time, my energy and my thoughts on something, and I either could (a) accept that it was out of my control or (b) do something about it. I learned to take control over my own happiness. That’s what inspired the lyrics behind this song. 

When we got into the studio, the song immediately went in a nostalgic, early 2000s indie pop punk direction. In the choruses, we let that main rhythm guitar riff get really punchy and distorted, slowly opening up by the end of the chorus. On the bridge, we had a total Blink-182 moment with power chords driving up the momentum. The lyrics during that part were basically a “hit list” of all my exes over the past two years, and giving it that punky Avril Lavigne vibe just felt right. 

Mixed Signals

I wrote mixed signals while I was dating a lot of different types of people. At that point, it felt like the same story over and over: I'd meet someone, share these awesome moments of connection, they'd pull away and then pull me back, until eventually it just fizzled out over months, weeks, etc. It all came down to a lack of clear communication. I had to eventually realize that "one foot in and one foot out" is still one foot out. I wanted more, and I walked away from chasing after people who were fairly clear about running from me. 

I originally wrote this song entirely on the mandolin. Right from the start, this gave the song a wistful, almost country-folk feel, a-la Jewel or Kacey Musgraves. In the studio, we transformed my strummy mandolin parts into a picked, arpeggio style. We filled out the rest of the sound with some brushed rhythm parts, e-bow electric guitar and light piano. The result feels almost like a long drive down a highway in late August, just like the time of the year it was written. 

Games We All Play

At the time I wrote Games We All Play, I was heavily listening to Fleetwood Mac, particularly to Rumours and Tusk. I spent a lot of time messing around with open tunings like DADGAD, and loved layering minor chords on top of it. While messing around with what later became the opening riff of the tune, I just started whatever came to mind. 

I was reflecting a lot on all the friends I had lost the past year, and the social circles I had left behind. I realized I had spent so much time trying to learn the unspoken rules of social interactions. The lyrics were inspired by those thoughts.

In a way, this song does the same thing: breaking the unspoken rules. We left a cool accidental note in the bass line of the chorus (after having a long long debate about whether or not to include it). The vocal melodies are sung both within the pocket and off, shifting a bit each time through the choruses and verses. There’s a complete key change in the bridge, breaking the song wide open as the percussion and bass line fade away. (Honestly, that was one of my favorite transitions in the entire album.) We wanted the song to be a little unpredictable. 

Ghosts

I wrote ghosts about my first ever heartbreak. It was the summer after my freshman year of college. I remember coming back to my hometown and having to pass through and visit all the places I used to with my ex. For some reason, it all felt haunted, and the ghosts of old memories were following me everywhere. 

In the original guitar part I wrote, I would pluck the strings of each chord and almost “knock” on the guitar during the verses (almost like a ghost knocking on the door). In the studio, we looped the knocking part and added another complimentary fingerpicked guitar part. We kept both guitars completely acoustic and recorded it all in one take. We recorded the parts in a huge old church auditorium, which added some beautiful natural reverb. This gave it a very intentionally raw and haunting feel. 

As for the vocals, we also left these fairly dry just to add another level of vulnerability and honesty. I layered the harmonies on the bridge myself. We made sure to keep those vocals a little washed out, almost like they’re the “ghosts” I mention in the lyrics. 

Speechless

Speechless was also written during another one of my many Fleetwood Mac phases. The main riff in the verses was actually inspired by a short little riff in “The Chain.” I practiced it for weeks along with the metronome to give it just the right amount of sass and accuracy. 

The lyrics themselves were inspired by some of the many “interesting” characters I met after moving out on my own. As a writer, I’m attracted to great stories of flawed heroes with tragic backstories. But I quickly realized that a great life story doesn’t always amount to a great person. 

In the studio, the song quickly turned a deep roots-rock country route, especially with the dual acoustic and electric guitars both playing the same riff. It made me a bit nervous; I worried it was going to sound too mainstream or predictable. But we couldn’t fight the path it was taking. We added some cymbals, big flashy guitar riffs and a driving bass line. It was full of energy, and we weren’t going to slow it down. By the end of it, it was the most fun song to record in the studio.  

Siren

One of my songwriter friends once told me, “You always write songs that tell men to ‘get lost.’ Have you ever thought about writing a ‘come hither’ song?” I thought about that question for weeks, but all that came to mind was the songs that sirens sing to lure sailors to their deaths. I started thinking: Maybe sirens always got a bad rap and maybe sirens wanted to love someone, but all they knew was how to be fierce and violent. As a woman who had basically been out of any long term relationship for a few years, I kinda related to that. 

The foundation of the song was a fingerpicked electric guitar line. I had been experimenting with playing open E chords, but then adding in a few major and minor chords that didn’t quite sound “right,” giving it an eerie feel. I also tried to make the fingerpicking emulate the triplet arpeggio songs typical of greek music during the time The Odyssey was written. 

In the studio, we tried to piece together a “soundscape.” Our cellist played some creaks, harmonics and short plucked riffs, almost like the sound of a ship. Our guitarist used a metal slide for most of his parts, giving it this bluesy, femme-fatale feel. Jeff, our producer, played a few different ambient piano parts. Vocally, we tried a bunch of different reverb and echo effects. We wanted the vocals to sound haunting and far away, as if carried over winds and waves and far off seas.  All of these pieces fade in and out, almost like characters interacting with one another. 

In the chorus, this eclectic collection of sounds all combine and move together, almost creating this orchestral effect. It’s at this point in the song where the protagonist (ie the Siren) finally professes her love for the sailor, asking him to come out to sea and disappear with her (which is the most nurturing she can be). 

This song definitely had to be our grand finale. Tonally and stylistically, it was such a departure from the earlier songs in the album. In a way, it’s a turning point. It’s the end of one story, and the beginning of another.

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