#harry analysis

Photography Lesson & A Few Theories

First things first, let's make sure everybody's up to date on their photography knowledge. So, what is aperture? The aperture of a camera lens, simply put, is the opening through which light passes into the camera. The human eye has its own aperture, which is why the pupil dilates depending on whether you are in low- or high-light conditions. An important parallel to keep in mind, but back to the quick photography lesson.

Aperture results in different depths of field. The larger the aperture (more light), the shallower the depth of field, which makes for a blurry background and is most commonly used in portraiture. The smaller the aperture (less light), the deeper the depth of field, which sets everything in focus, and is most commonly used in landscapes. When more light is let in, the background noise blurs away with the focus landing on the subject, the person in the portrait.

Which leads us into one of my theories, starting off with the one I had the hour after the song title was revealed. A shift in perspective. And I believe this initial intuition to be correct. The aperture is changed at the photographer's discretion, depending on what they want the full picture to look like. Move into how the human eye works with aperture, and think about perspective and point of view. He's changing his perspective at his own discretion — he's not waiting for life, but actively choosing to live it. He's letting the light in, blurring the unnecessary background noise, and focusing on what he wants to appear in his view. A shift in perspective. To accept exposure. To know that seeing clearly means dropping some armor.

Second theory, I believe that Aperture and "Lights Up" are soul sisters. Aperture might be the youngest, but she is the most self-assured and mature out of the two. In "Lights Up", he was chasing the light, and there was an undercurrent of fear and uncertainty. But now, in Aperture, he is letting the light in with a new sense of acceptance for the uncertain. It's a switch from something being done to you (lights up and they know who you are) to taking control and inviting the world in (aperture lets the light in).

I feel like I keep repeating to this to whoever I've talked to about this song, but it truly embodies something that only time to yourself can produce. It takes time to reach this kind of acceptance, to embrace your flaws and what you don't know. To stop searching outside of yourself and redirect your gaze inside yourself for long-lasting change. To accept what you don't know, and be open to enlightenment, which expands on many levels. But anyway.

Last theory, and it was inspired by seeing people discuss on Twitter (still not calling it X, ew) whether or not the antidote chronicles will continue with his fourth album. By antidote chronicles, I speak of the lyric parallels between "Ever Since New York" (Choose your words 'cause there's no antidote / for this curse / oh, what's it waiting for?), "Golden" (Lovin you's the antidote / golden), and "Daylight" (You've got the antidote / I'll take one to go, go please). Theories started circulating as to which song would have the next installment of the antidote. But, to me, the song Aperture is the true antidote, and, again, showing a shift in perspective.

Through Aperture, he comes to terms with the fact that the antidote may have been in his hands this whole time. He's spent so long looking for the antidote to the sense of instability and chaos externally, but maybe the antidote has always been internal. Again, aperture is adjusted at the photographer's discretion, by their own hand. To find the true antidote, his viewpoint needed to shift, to see that what he always thought was a search had been traveling with him this whole time.

Now, let's dive.

Lyric Pull Apart

[VERSE 1] Take no prisoners for me I'm told you're elevating Drinks go straight to my knees I'm sold, I'm going on clean I'm going on clean

Take no prisoners for me: The idiom "take no prisoners for me" means to be uncompromising in the pursuit of a goal. He's approaching the challenge with an unforgiving, fierce, and ruthless determination. The challenge in question? An unfiltered, intense approach to vulnerability in life and love without holding anything back.

As I've discussed before in previous song analyses, there is so much weight in the first verse of a song, and especially the very first line. Here, integrating this saying, it's setting the stage that, for this journey, he's letting go of all defenses and hesitation. It brings in this all-or-nothing approach.

I'm told you're elevating: For me, this line reads as if he's looking onto someone else he knows — someone who has achieved the life balance he seeks — and recognizes a higher plane of existence and/or emotion. Moving past superficiality and performativity into something that sinks deeper. Taking the high road. A rising, a growing, a blooming. A lighter sense of self, a new perspective to explore.

Drinks go straight to my knees: This feels like a call to his moments of instability. Intoxication and chaos, and feeling the loss of control. In the mind and body. Losing balance, in both the literal and emotional sense of the phrase. Also, as a poetry and literature geek, I'm living for the directional opposition created here following the previous line.

I'm sold, I'm going on clean / I'm going on clean: For full impact, you have to view this line in conversation with the previous. While the drinks show chaos and instability, here we witness a conscious choice for sobriety, both literally and emotionally. Chasing clarity after chaos after past messes he's leaving behind him. Seeking stability after so long of not being able to find your footing authentically. Then, repetition. God, I love intentional repetition. Repeating the line reinforces this commitment (which calls back to the "Take no prisoners for me" mentality), but he's convincing himself as much as anybody else who's offering an ear.

Verse 1 Summarization: We have an acknowledgement of messes, maybe sometimes reckless, of the past, and the desire to let the past be past. To chart a new path, an elevated perspective that only time gives you, and act without inhibitions. Drop the armor. A declaration of I want to do better.

[VERSE 2] I've no more tricks up my sleeve Game called, review the player Time codes and Tokyo scenes Bad boys, it's complicated It's complicated

I've no more tricks up my sleeve: No more facades. No more complex guarded behaviors. He's putting those bad habits behind him, embracing this shift in outlook. Maybe even to go as far as to say dropping the need to people-please or consistently impress, but rather moving toward a truer self-reliance. Embrace authenticity over the pressure to curate a character for oneself.

Game called, review the player: He's ready to evaluate himself. Acknowledging past behaviors in order to move to a newfound sense of safety and light. Again, when the aperture of a camera lets more light in, the background blurs, and the focus is primarily on the central subject, used heavily in portraiture. Letting the light in means also acknowledging the self, in all its messy parts. Let the noise bleed away and call for your own review.

Time codes and Tokyo scenes: Again, I see this as another glimpse into the past. While listening to the song, we also experience this replay. A previous, notable trip of his, or maybe a compilation of many condensed into this one line. I also think that these moments of looking back still create a tie to camera/film imagery — it's what he has preserved and held onto, like a camera would capture a moment in time to remain memorialized in a frame. Also, with the wording, it feels to me like intense, vivid, bustling echoes captured on film.

Bad boys, it's complicated / It's complicated: I hear this to be another acknowledgement of the past, of engaging or witnessing a previous perspective that was tiring and complicated. It's, once more, leaning towards this evolution — yet, in order to evolve, one must accept what came before.

Verse 2 Summarization: He's not presenting himself as this all-knowing oracle who has it all figured out, but as someone willing to look at himself. While the first verse was all past acknowledgement, in the second verse we are seeing that growth sneak in. The willingness to self-evaluate, pause his life (the game, maybe) to see where he can change, dropping any past facades. A declaration continuing from Verse 1's I wanna do better, adding on because I have nothing to lose almost.

[PRE-CHORUS] It's best you know what you don't Aperture lets the light in It's best you know what you don't Aperture lets the light in

Instantly, the song "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen came to mind, with the lyric: There's a crack, a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in. This idea that imperfections are where you find the magic. And I think that's part of the message here. Though the pre-chorus, I find these lines to be the center of the song.

Here is an embrace of intellectual and emotionally humility, with natural progression from Verse 2. With that verse's reflection of the tricks and games, he realizes that pretending to have control is a trap, and the first step toward true, clean transparency is to accept all that you don't know. It's best you know what you don't isn't weakness, but, rather, maturity. Conceding to your own inexperience and naivety, what isn't defined, opens the mind for clarity that doesn't stop at the superficial. No performance, no acrobatics to avoid, but rather facing the truth in all its peace and turbulance.

And we return to aperture, a perspective shift that can be changed at one's own hand. Opening the aperture, letting the light in, it doesn't magically fix anything; it lets things be seen as they are. This realization, this new perspective on his life after just so many years of living it, isn't a gift you suddenly find, but something that becomes visible once self-induced barriers are knocked down. Accepting love, growth, and the unknown, to find a sense of higher existence in the day to day.

[CHORUS] We belong together It finally appears it's only love We belong together We belong together It finally appears it's only love We belong together

Listening to this chorus feels like hopping onto a dance floor with people having their arms open in an embrace. It feels like a climactic conclusion of clarity as confusion fades and love feels certain. Simple, almost. We belong together. Not a grand romantic slogan, but an emotional grounding. A trust fall into an unifying connection.

I love myself some repetition. The repetition emphasizes acceptance and also emotional reassurance, settling into the idea that all these complex, chaotic feelings find their way back to love. How love is at the core of why we are breathing, why we are alive. A release of control. What initially feels like a threatening, chaotic force can, with a simple shift in one's perspective (the aperture), be something to be embraced and danced with.

This song, as a whole, is him realizing he was running away from his own weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and any risk of emotional distress. The dark. But, with him reaching this burst of newfound perspective after a period of caution, the light gets let in, as the unnecessary noise blurs away from his viewpoint.

[VERSE 3] In no good state to receive Go forth, ask questions later Trap doors, you're toying with me Dance halls, another cadence

In no good state to receive: This song truly encapsulates the experience and shift of letting one's guard down, like adjusting a camera for more light. Here, at the top of the third verse, he acknowledges his own hesitancy. Also, a personal reading from me, it highlights an overwhelming beginning to vulnerability. Recognizing your own apprehensiveness is how you dance through them, a prerequisite for the lyric to follow. There's a need for a change.

Go forth, ask questions later: A mantra to move forward. The first line and this line work as a companionship — knowing you have natural hesitations, but call oneself to action without needing to know all the answers or waiting for the picture-perfect moment. Go forth, ask questions later. With a shift in perspective, there's an accompanying need to let go of the need for control or answers. Embrace of uncertainty and spontaneity. Leaping into situations while forgoing the usual habit of overthinking, trusting the experience and the pockets of vulnerability that come with that. Opening up, even when unprepared or uncertain.

Trap doors, you're toying with me: As "In no good state to receive" and "Go forth, ask questions later" were companion lyrics in this verse, this lyric is the first half of our other duo. I read this line as the inevitable feeling of chaos as one enters a change of mindset. Change in general, really. Trap doors could speak to unexpected pitfalls, hidden dangers. Being played by fate. This could also be a realization that came to fruition in the moments of reflection ("Game called, review the player") — speaking to past experiences of manipulation and abuse of good hearts, which lead to apprehension and mistrust, as indicated by "you're toying with me". Again, there's a need for a change.

Dance halls, another cadence: The shift. Moving to a different rhythm and pace. A space of movement and harmonic configuration — a change in flow and a new tempo to life. We tie back, once more, to this shift in perspective of how to live your life. Letting light in. It also feels like an additional call to the movement, as alluded to in the chorus, from isolation to connection. Sense of continuousness (which foreshadows the bridge), which I feel ties into the spiral symbolism associated with the promotion of the single and also the album.

A spiral never retraces the same step. You see, it circles, but it's always somewhere new. It speaks to the journey of life [birth, death, rebirth], personal growth, and the evolution of consciousness. Spiritually, it calls to growth that revisits lessons from a higher/deeper vantage point. In other words, a shift in perspective. Back to our knowledge of photography. When the camera wants to let more light in, the aperture expands. An expanding spiral, specifically, symbolizes growth, expanding awareness, and the conscious mind. For my own personal interpretation of spirals, I see it as a reminder that no living thing can survive while being stagnant. We are ever-changing, and that includes how we see ourselves and how we view the decisions we made in the past. A shift in perspective. Get the picture?

Verse 3 Summarization: This verse is my personal favorite. It toes the line of despondency and acceptance so well, inject it into my veins, pretty please! In order to move forward, one must acknowledge mistakes made. And here, as in the verses that precede it, reflection leads to resolution. It's an assessment of the right now. An observation and recollection of how he hasn't been very good at learning where he's wrong and receiving new information or guidance, but there's a willingness for openness, and that's the key.

[PRE-CHORUS] It's best you know what you don't Aperture lets the light in

Don't become stagnant in your perception. Embrace what there is to learn, for that's how you begin to welcome the light in. Again, this concept of maturing to realize that accepting what you don't know isn't a weakness but a strength. That conceding to your own naivety opens the mind for clarity that doesn't stop at the superficial.

It's a statement of values, and an acknowledgement of a whole wide world of things we do not know. It's flipping the common saying ignorance is bliss on its head; rather, we celebrate the inverse. Knowing what you don't know is where the light is. And, again, this conclusion can only come with time. Time well spent, I'd say! Once more, we embrace the vulnerability and the unknown by allowing those new experiences (and love!) in, for acknowledging what we don't know is an essential stepping stone towards deep connection.

[CHORUS] We belong together It finally appears it's only love We belong together It finally appears We belong together It finally appears it's only love We belong together

Amid all the noise of a life that moves fast and can feel fragmented — travel scenes, trap doors — there's a simple certainty that has been learned and is now revisited often. We belong together / It's only love. Again, not a grand romantic slogan as I read. But, rather, a trust fall into an unifier. An emotional grounding as a refrain. With one shift in perspective, one sees the beauty that passed right under their nose when they were consumed.

It's such a beautiful and poignant moment of clarity, as confusion and apprehension fade and love feels so simple and certain. Again, I love some good intentional repetition. Acceptance and emotional reassurance. We keep returning to it, again and again. Personally, as the listener, I can't help but feel a sense of release each time we circle back to the simplicity of these lyrics. It's a reminder. An affirmation. Love.

[BRIDGE] I won't stray from it I don't know these spaces Time won't wait on me I wanna know what safe is I won't stray from it I don't know these spaces Time won't wait on me I won't stray from it I don't know these spaces Time won't wait on me I wanna know what safe is I won't stray from it I don't know these spaces Time won't wait on me

I won't stray from it: This feels like he's making a dedicated promise to himself more than anyone else. And he keeps repeating this promise like he's scared to break it — acknowledging his initial instinct to pull back when things get too unfamiliar. But there's a strong commitment to change, a theme Harry has explored throughout his previous albums. This time around, he's being intentional rather than defaulting to bad habits from before, as hinted at in the verses prior. He's staying true to this shift in perspective, in aperture — a more open-hearted approach that lets light back into his life, where he might've been secluding himself in darkness, maybe not aware of it until he took the time to reflect.

I don't know these spaces: It's another instance of him admitting that he's in this emotional territory he's never really walked in before. But, in light of that, he wants to stay the course. The course he's on with this new mindset is an intimate space, feeling uncharted, but the transition is bringing him a lightness not felt before. An unprecedented joy. A new light enters his lens of life.

Time won't wait on me: This unchartedness, the uncertainty — it does have a habit of making time feel even louder. But it's also a needed wake-up call. A matter of urgency is communicated here. He realizes that the world isn't just going to hand him the clarity and peace of mind he seeks. The antidote he's been searching for to tend to himself. It's on him, and him alone, to get into that frame of mind. It's up to him to change his perspective. As one gets older, pressure grows to figure things out fast, even when you don't feel completely ready. But sometimes, saying yes instead of no to tread unfamiliar waters could leave you feeling clean.

I wanna know what safe is: This line hits hard. So hard. I love how it lands, less of a demand and more of a quiet wish; not for perfection, but just for something that doesn't feel like it could collapse the minute you turn away. Finding a place to let go instead of the constant retreating (that, through the verses, we learned is a bad habit common to him). And, too, in the verses, we get an almost checklist of how to find that safety. The stability. A longtime antidote.

Bridge Summarization: The repetition makes the bridge feel circular, as if he's pacing the same thought with himself over and over, convincing himself that he can make this change and dance in the light. With the chorus — as I've seen before in his writing — it feels like he's grounding himself and reassuring himself in real time. And again, with a spiral being associated with the single, it also mirrors that. Lastly, and this might be an entirely personal interpretation, but in the verses, it felt like we were in a loop (a loop one could get lost in), while the bridge is bringing us forward (though still circular, for apprehension still lingers). In turn, the bridge is representative of the aperture shift in motion, and we feel the perspective shift in both the lyrics and the music backing it. This song is so atmospheric to me.

[CHORUS] We belong together It finally appears it's only love We belong together It finally appears We belong together It finally appears it's only love We belong together

One last return to the chorus. The end goal he is striving to achieve. The lyrics here evoke the atmosphere he'd like to immerse himself in. Throughout the song, we got a set of ingredients of how to arrive here.

One last return to the chorus. Repetition once more. It's the end goal he is striving to achieve, encapsulated in few words. The lyrics evoke the atmosphere he'd like to immerse himself in, and the one he's trying to create for the listener. Throughout the song, we receive an abstract set of ingredients that create this shift in mindset. The safe feeling he's been searching for. He's his own antidote.

Core Lyric

I believe every song has one lyric that summarizes the song as an entity. For Aperture, the core lyric is:

"Time won't wait on me"

Maybe you expected me to pick the lyric with the title in it. Believe me, I thought about it — but I found myself more drawn to this to encapsulate the why behind the song. Like I said at the top of the post, this song is truly a testament to a perspective shift that can only happen with time. As one gets older, pressure grows to have everything figured out. Realizations sink in that the world isn't going to hand you the peace of mind you seek. Stop waiting for perfect conditions to materialize. Instead, create the atmosphere you want to immerse yourself. Aperture is adjusted at the photographer's discretion, and sometimes, they need time to figure out the best composition.

Additionally, there's a lot of reflection and self-assessment in this song, an inevitable step when one wants to make a large shift. And, personal changes such as these can sometimes be triggered by this fear of letting time waste away. Time won't wait on me. It won't wait on your apprehensions about change (as we've seen in his past work). The shift to being cautious to being wholeheartedly flirting with life isn't an easy feat, but time will feel kinder as a gift. Perspective can be adjusted, but at the artist's hand. Watching through the lens of time, searching for a spark divine. And then it all will ignite with light — plus refraction from a mirrorball in the sky.

[I hope my rambling made some sort of sense — whew, it has been a hot minute since I've done a new analysis!]

Conclusion

Aperture opens this new era with a quiet promise: no hiding, no running (except for the occasional marathon), no hardening. Let the light in with full joy, not resistance. There's always a beautiful poetry and pressure to a lead single — to set the tone. They have to be the introductory, the prologue to the story the album takes us on, if executed correctly, of course. And it's held up.

He's grown. He's seeing things more clearly. A testament to perspective shifts that can only happen with time. This song to me is him figuring out that he was running away from his weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and the risk of something. But something clicked inside, and he made the conscious decision to evolve. Saying, I'm going to allow myself to grab life and light by the hands, and it's at my discretion. The song as a whole is a conviction to make changes, a true mission statement. Change is not a space he's always been comfortable with, but he's ready now. Ready to move into uncharted territory.

And, one last bit, I cannot wait to learn how this opener leads into the other songs on the album, which I have no doubt will just continue widening the picture until we have another self-portrait to welcome home. And let the light in. And kiss all the time. Oh, can't forget discoing occasionally. Welcome back, Harry!

Thank you for reading!

A big thank you for sticking around with me, you're absolutely incredible! The support I receive from my analyses, whether super big or super small, is so appreciated.

Dedicated, with love, to this anon <3

Judgement Day & A Mother's Cry

The theatricality of this song lends itself to a greater subject matter that extends past Harry himself and fosters a deeper connection on this wider scale he's dipping his feet into. Sign of the Times is layered beautifully, eloquently, and vaguely — artistically by design. It leaves room for many interpretations so any listener who comes across it can go with something to hold close to their heart. And what's held close to one's heart varies from spectator to spectator. My interpretation? A mesh between my internalization of the lyrics, and also taking into consideration how Harry himself has explained his own work — which is insanely valuable and precious and shouldn't be discarded in discussion in the way I see many do.

I believe the entity of Sign of the Times circles around Judgement Day, and the fear that ties in with it. The call of the inevitable end that could implode into your life at any given moment, and how the human mind seeks signs for one's comprehension. Or, as you could call them more specifically, the signs of the times. Obviously, more detail will unfold as we dive in lyric-by-lyric. But, now, let us refresh ourselves on Harry's own explanation:

"Most of the stuff that hurts me about what's going on at the moment is not politics, it's fundamentals. Equal rights. For everyone, all races, sexes, everything. [...] This isn't the first time we've been in a hard time, and it's not going to be the last time. The song is written from a point of view as if a mother was giving birth to a child and there's a complication. The mother is told, 'The child is fine, but you're not going to make it.' The mother has five minutes to tell the child, 'Go forth and conquer.'"

So many are up in arms about this explanation and believe it's a facade, but I disagree. The scene of a mother having to say goodbye to her newborn child is a powerful image that can explain the powerful emotions surrounding an unfortunate goodbye as well as lingering sparks of hope for a better future, even if it's for someone other than yourself. And, like I said before, there is a theatricality to this song. While many of the other songs on his eponymous album feel more intimate and like we're infiltrating on personal anecdotes/voice notes, Sign of the Times feels like it was made to cultivate connection and reach into others. But, remember, theatrical doesn't have to mean fake and inauthentic. Actually, to me, this represents the exact opposite.

Theatricality is using dramatic personas or devices to demonstrate something the artist cannot or chooses to not state simply or directly. Metaphors are a popular device in art for a reason — they allow the creator some distance from the message they're trying to deliver, which is needed for personal reasons the future audience doesn't need to fully comprehend. A natural disconnect often comes when attempting to present a message of grandiosity, and that's not a bad thing. And, in terms of Sign of the Times, I believe Harry uses it to his advantage, especially with it being his debut as a solo artist. As said before, this song feels like it was made to cultivate connection and reach into others, and that is exactly what he needed to do. And did so, successfully.

Last quick note before we continue on. I am so intrigued by the structure of this song, and how it doesn't follow the normal one for a pop song. Or even pop-rock, really, to me. This lends itself to how people were taken aback when Harry chose this song as his big debut single, subverting expectations held against him. Redefinition, one of the core themes of HS1. Poetically, I would characterize this song as more of a meditation (with an eschatological bend to it) rather than lyrical (which seeks to explain and expound — he's moving away from this style here).

Lyric Pull Apart

[VERSE 1] Just stop your crying, it's a Sign of the Times Welcome to the final show I hope you're wearing your best clothes You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky You look pretty good down here But you ain't really good

Just stop your crying, it's a Sign of the Times: This opening line remedies biblical allusion, specifically to the idea of Judgement Day, a Rapture, or even a resurrection/ascension showered in rebirth implications. Sign of the Times also constantly alludes to themes of turmoil — perhaps death, rebirth, or even purification — all centering back to this opener. To bring focus to the actual wording of the lyric, many religions believe that before the end times, there will be signs. We recognize the signs of doom, uneasiness, and inevitable charging toward us, among others. The speaker is reassuring the listener, telling them to stop your crying, for it won't change the Sign of the Times — letting oneself get consumed by emotions won't change the inevitable.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: The mother knows she's going to die, and knows that she's not able to watch her little one grow up. But what she can do is relish in these last five minutes she has with her child. She begs the child to stop your crying, and connect with her. It's a Sign of the Times, I have to leave you behind, my child, and you must know your power to conquer. You can survive without me, I promise.

Welcome to the final show: There's an underlying sense of inevitable terminus, whether one's ready to face it or not. How it's presented and phrased here emphasizes the apocalyptic and leans further to the song's grandiose nature. Naturally, as a Harry Styles and David Bowie fanatic, my mind connects this piece and David Bowie's Life on Mars? — more the specific lyric: "Oh man, wonder if he'll ever known / He's in the best selling show". There, Bowie is blurring the lines between reality and fantasy, which I think can add another nuance to Sign of The Times if applied. Is the grandiose nature of the song itself mimicking some kind of cinematic circus? The amplification of what shouldn't be amplified? How even grieving and tragedy are commodified? Questions raised, but not entirely fleshed out yet, but wanted to offer them to your beautiful minds anyhow.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: I picture this as something the mother says to her child as she's holding them in her arms, but more than anything, she's repeating it to herself as a path to acceptance. Welcome to my final show, I'm dying and I can't escape the inevitable. And the mother's heart is breaking, knowing she won't get to watch her child grow, that she has to leave her own flesh and blood behind her. Welcome to my final show, it's my final hour. Final five minutes. My time is coming to a close, but yours is just beginning.

I hope you're wearing your best clothes: This line, I believe, can be taken as the speaker talking to the listener/receiver, or the speaker talking to oneself. Both, simultaneously, can be true. I feel, also, there's a bit of cynicism, a little bitterness, undertoning the words. Telling someone to pull themselves together as there's no other option — or, let's get dressed up to watch the downfall of all we've known. Taking into consideration that this is an accompaniment to the line that precedes it, I can't help but think of a funeral, for the person in the casket is always dressed in their best clothes to be buried underground. Naturally, then, a follow-up question is prompted: who could this funeral be mourning? Is it the mother as this song stands as her last dying wish and breath? Is a broader service toward all victims of this Sign of The Times? Or one who took advantage of the times to please themselves?

Another consideration is that this is a precedent to the line about to follow it, and with that enacted, a new perspective is granted. Best clothes are all about presentation, a facade, a false exterior to trick other's perceptions at times. Trick people into thinking you're more well off than you truthfully are, sometimes to push forward more than those who are perceived as competition. Almost like... a bribe?

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: A little baby is swaddled in a standard blanket and hospital-issued clothing, and the mother is in a hospital-issued medical gown — just the image of that scene brings a new nuance to the line itself. The story that Harry provided us in companionship with the song is tragic in itself, but as you take some of these lines and connect them back to his explanation, certain details hit harder than others. A hint of sarcasm is undertoned to weave this line into this tale. Look at us, in our gaudy hospital get-ups, minutes before I have to leave you. And, even, looking towards the future that's already set — the mother, in a casket, dressed in her finest clothes and pearls, and the baby, so young, dressed in their best onesie to lay their mother to rest they never got the chance to know.

You can't bribe your door on your way to the sky: We're sticking with the biblical allusions here, so buckle yourself in. When entering the gates of Heaven, one's life must speak for itself. There's no way to bend the rules in the face of Judgement Day, no matter how much money or trinkets you have hoarded. The speaker suggests that the listener/receiver of this song — the one being spoken to/comforted — is simply bribing their way through life, but this won't be sustainable especially postmortem. This lyric goes out of its way, in the haunting light of tragedy, to highlight a notion of superficiality and hypocrisy. But, again, this reminder could be the speaker reminding themselves, too.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: If a mother had five minutes left with her child, she'd try to instill as much wisdom in those last bonding moments, even if it might not be comprehended or fall flat. And that's what this line comes off as, to me, in this perspective — the mother telling her child that they must live life well and that they can't bribe their way through the years they're so blessed to be granted. Simultaneously, with added nuance, the mother herself could have some regrets in the back of her head about how she's lived her life before being faced with motherhood — wanting to try everything to prevent her new child making the same mistakes she made in life, even if it doesn't register.

You look pretty good down here / But you ain't really good: Another allusion to superficiality, the speaker claims that to whomever they are speaking of holds tight to the facade of being good, but the person's not inherently good, and their malevolence will become apparent in the light of the inevitable Judgement Day, in the midst of the Sign of The Times. Again, the speaker could very well be addressing themselves, whether only or also. From the phrasing of the line, it feels like the speaker could've already ascended — prepping for redefinition, rebirth... might be such a stretch, but there it is! — and looking down at those stuck in indecision. Or, the speaker remains on the ground and is watching the listener/receiver trying to find their way into Heaven. Feel more adamant about the latter.

The But you ain't really good bit, it's really interesting because it leaves me wondering a lot. Is this the speaker's opinion? Is this the influence of the words of others? Is the speaker referring to themselves or the listener? Or both? Is it the speaker calling out whomever they're speaking to/of? Many questions all worth being pondered, and will be internalized in a thousand different ways. And I think that's a key to the beauty of this song, that almost everyone can find a way to take away from it. You know?

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: The mother knows that her child has a long road ahead of them, and she can't be there to guide them through it all. All she has are these five minutes, ticking away. In those minutes, she's going to try to squeeze a lifetime's worth of wisdom. You look pretty good down here, as she looks down at her child, so naive to the world, in her arms that shake as the fear sets in of her inevitable death. But you ain't really good, but, child, you have so much trouble ahead of you. The world is chaotic, and I, your mother, won't be there to even attempt to shield and protect you. Like I should. Maybe more of an abstract interpretation here, but I stand by it!

[PRE-CHORUS] We never learn we've been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets, the bullets? We never learn, we've been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets, the bullets?

The pre-chorus is full of questions of innocence, such as: Why are there bullets? Why are they always aimed at us? At me? Why does this keep happening — we've already been here before? And innocence doesn't only have to be a product of ignorance, but can also be a coping mechanism. HS1 is full of chronicles told of unhealthy ones, so it charts. There's a switch, also, from you to we, and that tiny detail helps us shift to a sense of unity — and from unity could ignite a spark of hope in the hopelessness of end times. But, make no mistakes, the tragic tone of the song hasn't teetered off at all. Rather, the exhibit of this flicking spark of hope leans itself to more tragedy as there's a fast track to an inevitable end that can't be halted, even in grand numbers. Death is inevitable.

We never learn we've been here before: Such simple phrasing, but captures the frustration of "If we know the outcome of this, why don't we prevent it?". This theatrical story of the end times, an attempted inference, is a metaphor for struggle in interpersonal communication. A theory, okay. The circles of never communicating properly, which is a topic that's explored heavily in his debut album. Broader, it captures the cyclical pattern of human behavior ingrained in nature, where history repeats itself and individuals fail to learn from mistakes in the past.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: Could be a moment of reflection and/or a flashback in time. With the knowledge now that having this child would result in her death, it's inevitable for a mother to think back and wonder if there was anything she could've done differently. Looking back, was there something she missed? Feeling as if she didn't learn enough, she didn't know better, even if she had done everything right in truth. Is there a way I could've survived to watch my baby go forth and conquer?

Why are we always stuck and running from / The bullets, the bullets?: A continuation of frustration, how the speaker and the receiver have been in this moment before, perpetually stuck in a cycle that causes deja vu. It's as if they know the outcome — the outcome of just being and watching the world crumble around as debris piles at their feet. Stuck in this endless cycle and running from it, but why are we running from it? Maybe we need to let ourselves succumb to the inevitable, to the Sign of The Times. An appropriation of the idiom of a problem being swept under the carpet, now replaced with something more contemporary and paradoxical.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: Maybe the mother has had this knowledge for a long while, how she was going to have to die to give her child life. And she knows she can't run away from the inevitable, and wonders why, possibly, she used to. Now, she's skin to skin with her new child, having such a short time to live as she ponders the new soul she brought into the world. Through heartbreak, she wants to give her child the courage to go forth and conquer. Because knowledge doesn't always mean acceptance and might make that journey even more difficult.

The bullets, the bullets?: When he sings the word bullets here, it always sounded softer to me, contradicting the sharpness of the imagery. Which, in turn, makes me wonder if there's a double layer to it intentionally. The bullets that bleed, that maim, but can be felt as soft caresses simultaneously. But is it a genuine caress, or one laced with hypocrisy? People making their judgments, the hands that should nurture and caress, are delivering bullets instead, with inhumane mendacity that reassures their targets (later with it'll be alright) even as they are being destroyed.

As for where the bullets are coming from? People have argued for a while now on whether they can hear your bullets, and I actually love the idea that the bullets come from the ambiguous you, because it deepens both the religious connotation and hypocrisy notion. But, too, this could be a moment of reflection whilst in the end times — maybe wondering if any of these bullets ever mattered in a grand scheme of life flashing by your eyes. Doesn't mean they hurt any bit less, though.

[CHORUS] Just stop your crying, it's a Sign of the Times We gotta get away from here We gotta get away from here Just stop your crying, it'll be alright They told me that the end is near We gotta get away from here

We gotta get away from here: Awareness and denial swirl together. They know the end is near, so they want to escape it and get away from it — but that's not necessarily realistic. And the repetition of this phrase specifically indicates a spiraling, hopelessness of trying to escape death and judgment. The "ending" motif is present throughout the song, if you haven't caught on already — and the chorus comes off as an attempt to call to action, in desperation. We have to leave before the bullets start flying — but, in the snap of reality clouding over, one realizes they're stuck in the midst of it with no feasible way of escaping the inevitable.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: The Mother wants to stay in a life where she continues to be with her child, to protect and shelter the innocent life she brought into the world. She wants, wistfully, to whisk both of them away to somewhere neither of them can get hurt, but, regardless of these fantasies, the inevitable end is barreling towards her. Striking and poignant in itself, this concept — one person dying so another could live.

Just stop your crying, it'll be alright: While analyzing, I couldn't shake the thought of this line being attached to the term the end is near, and should never be separated. Together, I think it captures it in its true nature. Because, the small sense of reassurance and attempt at comfort is a product of one's circumstances. But more questions arise. Could this be another factor of denial, trying to move away from the inevitable crash and burn? Yes, possibly, whether you have the perception of the speaker addressing someone else, himself, or both simultaneously.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: Goes hand-in-hand with the other explanation just before, but even though the Mother is becoming overwhelmed with pessimistic views and hopelessness, she looks toward her child and remembers she has to be hopeful and strong for them, even for the last five minutes of her life. Even, as the Mother looks down at her child with their whole life ahead of them, there's some hope in the innocence. She wants her child to go forth and conquer, come what may, even if that includes the Mother on her deathbed soon and inevitably.

They told me that the end is near / We gotta get away from here: Brief discussion for this one. To me, these lyrics hold a crucial factor to the song as a single entity because of the urgency they convey when paired together. The awareness, the panic, and the denial wrapped up together.

[VERSE 2] Just stop your crying, have the time of your life Breaking through the atmosphere Things look pretty good from here Remember everything will be alright We can meet again somewhere Somewhere far away from here

Just stop your crying, have the time of your life: I believe the second verse takes place after the speaker has ascended to Heaven / a realm outside. There's a different tone to the second verse when put next to the first — though a subtle contrast, it's a contrast nonetheless, and therefore worth noting. If we're sticking with the biblical allusions, then I take this line as after death and reaching Heaven, the pain of the subject's and/or the speaker's personal issues lifted. As a result of this realization, they advise the living to accept that death is inevitable and focus on making their lives worth living in the time that's left on their clock.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: The Mother can feel her time coming to a close, that she has to leave her child behind in death. So, she reassures, just stop your crying, and verbalizes her greatest wish for her little loved one into small ears that can't comprehend yet — have the time of your time. Acceptance that death is inevitable and inescapable, and she can't run from it. But, rather, the Mother must encourage her child to live their life to the fullest with the time they've been given at her own expense.

Breaking through the atmosphere: A second allusion that we're in the midst of/referring to something beyond this world. Heaven, another realm, however one wants to interpret it.

Things look pretty good from here: A stark contrast from the ending of the first verse, and I believe it's intentionally crafted in this way. You look pretty good down here / But you ain't really good shifts to Things look pretty good from here with no followup of the cynics. It branches off from the first line of this verse, and the interpretation there — advising the living to accept that death is inevitable, and now adding on the realization that what was feared offers something beautiful, something that looks pretty good.

We can meet again somewhere / Somewhere far away from here: These final two lines, closing off the second verse, are both pivotal and bittersweet. We can reconnect in peace with those we love in an afterlife, after the end times, after the inevitable catastrophe that Sign of the Times alludes to. The details of that catastrophic event? It's intentionally left up to the viewer to fill in that blank. We'll always meet again indicating that the speaker and the receiver have a strong connection and affection for one another. And that still holds true even if the speaker is the receiver simultaneously like I've debated with you before — now adding on an undertone of growing self-respect and acceptance. The bittersweetness to this is the inability to be together and find a resolution right now, but this hope of a future together lingers still, even if it's postmortem. Everything will be alright, we'll see each other again. Stop your crying, we've been through hell before and made it through, we'll always seek each other on the other side of it.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: The dying Mother comforts her newborn child, promising that, though she has to leave now, they'll soon be reunited in the afterlife. With the awareness of her death barrelling toward her, we've heard and witnessed her passing life lessons and hope onto her child, wanting them to live a life worth living. Even with her death being inevitable, and the child being left alone being the same level of inevitability. But, still, the Mother holds onto faith and hope, knowing that a time will come when she's reunited with this little love of her life, her bundle of joy amongst the raised hell. Somewhere far away from here, maybe Heaven, maybe an afterlife, we'll meet again somewhere far away from this deathbed I'm confined to now.

[PRE-CHORUS] We never learn, we've been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets, the bullets? We never learn, we've been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets, the bullets?

Repetition of the same pre-chorus, and I always take repetition being intentional as the first resort, for it's not an uncommon technique/motif in all arts. Here, the intention (I believe, anyway) is this feeling of being unable to escape — in terms of not being able to escape the end times — and a sense of urgency — only having a limited amount of time to comfort/communicate teach during a fight against an impending, inevitable end. For instance, a Mother trying to cherish the last minutes with her child before she passes away from complications because she gave this sweet baby life.

[CHORUS] Just stop your crying, it's a Sign of the Times We gotta get away from here We gotta get away from here Stop your crying, baby, it'll be alright They told me that the end is near We gotta get away from here

Repetition of the chorus further emphasizes a desire to escape the inevitability of a dire situation. But, still, the acceptance of the inevitable disaster to come, and reassurance as a coping mechanism, in Stop your crying, baby, it'll be alright. This hope that there's a way to escape this negative phenomenon barreling towards them, an ache to find a place of safety — physically or metaphorically... or both. But, as discussed prior, there's no way to escape the inevitable. Yet, in this resurfacing of the chorus constantly, there's a resortment back to a hope that's almost naive and childlike, which ties in with the conceptualization of a Mother speaking to her child before death, too.

[PRE-CHORUS] We never learn, we've been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets, the bullets? We never learn, we've been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets, the bullets?

Once more, repetition of the pre-chorus, the push of urgency, and no signs of escape. We never learn, we've been here before encapsulates such an insurmountable feeling, the suffering of the subject(s), and the exhaustion of witnessing the same pain again and again. Walking through hell in a horrible cycle — self-inflicted or forced upon is up for debate, and another thing up to the listener. Then, the feeling is further categorized by the following line, Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets? — being stuck, stagnancy, but more on the level of the loss of control one once had.

[BRIDGE] We don't talk enough We should open up Before it's all too much Will we ever learn? We've been here before It's just what we know

We don't talk enough / We should open up: Now enters a term whose underlying motif works as a thesis for all discussions of Harry's music, extending far beyond this song only. But for right now we've got to focus on this song only. Because it's a Sign of the Times analysis. Anyway! Lack of communication! A motif of concealing emotions and pain, and inability to talk through those things. The timing and presentation of this line come across as an intimate thought or spoken conversation rooted in regret. When faced with the Sign of the Times, and knowing that one's end is near, people grow a willingness to seek amends, hoping to die without regrets.

THROUGH HARRY'S EXPLANATION: The Mother's regrets come crashing down around her within these last minutes her life, regretting — though it could very well be through no fault of her own — that she doesn't have more time with her child, more time to connect and communicate, to teach the child what they need to know for the life they are about to face on their own.

Before it's all too much: This accompanies the two lines that precede it. The cycle of keeping emotions and pain inside to brush on forward will only lead to the destruction of sacred things, from relationships all the way up to individual lives. Before it's all too much. Before it ruins us. Before it kills us. Alternatively, or possibly a companion, one can see that someone is burdened and suffering to their limits, especially if there's an established connection between them. A strong connection has been solidified with the listener prior. Maybe?

Will we ever learn? / We've been here before: Will we ever learn to honestly communicate with one another? Will we ever learn? Will we ever learn to not get fooled? And, tell me, will we ever learn to evade these bullets? Or should we learn to embrace our bullet wounds? Once more, the speaker references a cyclical stagnancy they've found themselves stuck within, inferred with the following We've been here before.

It's just what we know: This feeling of helplessness is not something foreign to the speaker, nor is it unknown to the receiver. But, there's also a moment of realization when coupled with the other lines in the song's bridge, that the speaker realizes there's something uneasy about it all being so comfortable. In some way, it's in this line specifically that he answers his own question about why they or "we" feel stuck and running, but never learn. And, that all reminds me of something he said in Rolling Stone when speaking of Sign of the Times, where he said, and I quote:

"This isn't the first time we've been in a hard time, and it's not going to be the last time."

[OUTRO] Stop your crying, baby, it's a Sign of the Times We gotta get away We got to get away, we got to get away We got to get away, we got to get away We got to, we got to, away We got to, we got to, away We got to, we got to, away

The outro, the conclusion to the song, is composed of a repetition of the call to action. Amid the most climactic, powerful section of the whole song, with all the instrumentals and poetry building up to this point. A mixture of hope and fear still remains, but in the ending's rising, it feels like release into the unknown has taken over. The pleading and the exclaiming into the manta of We got to get away — extends in haste to We got to, we got to, away! Then, as it falls back down to the simplistic piano — in the same nature to which the piece began — is as they've finally broke through the atmosphere in finality, and where the Mother finally passes, and a child is left alone, ready to conquer the world left in front of them.

The conclusion to the song is done with a repetition of the call to action. And, done in the midst of the most climactic, powerful section of the entire song, as all the instrumentals and poetry have been building up to this point. A mixture of hope and fear still remains, but in the rising of the ending, it feels like release into the unknown has taken over. The pleading and the exclaiming into the almost mantra of We got to get away – extends in haste to We got to, we got to, away. Then, as it falls back down to the simplistic piano – in the same nature the song began – is as they’ve finally broke through the atmosphere in finality, and where the Mother finally passes, and the child is left alone.

Core Lyric

I believe every song has one lyric that encompasses the song as an entity. For Sign of the Times, the core lyric is:

"we got to get away"

I chose this as the core lyric because it's the call to action one keeps returning to, and for good reason. The entirety of Sign of the Times feels like a call to action, with this being the centered desire. And, in its simplicity, it can be applied to both avoidance and acceptance, two ideals equally investigated throughout the song. As I've said before, songs like this one are so special because they can hit everybody differently, and give them what they need in the moment. With that said, I feel like the takeaway is always some form of the chosen core lyric. We got to get away, whatever that means to you, whatever that meant to Harry back then, and whatever it means to Harry now — it's beautiful, and I don't know how much more I can say about this song without diving straight into gushing.

Thank you for reading, you're absolutely incredible!

Roald Dahl's 'Matilda' + Harry's Take

Roald Dahl (1916-1990) was a British novelist, short-story writer, poet, and screenwriter. He has composed many children's books, and has been bestowed the title of "one of the greatest storytellers for children of the 20th century". His knack was for writing children's books interlaced with rather dark, adult themes — like 'Matilda'.

If you didn't grow up with the book and/or haven't had the chance to read it, here is a summary for a bit more familiarity, which will lead to a more engaged discussion here! But, also, if you're familiar with the 1996 film, as many are, you should be just fine! As mentioned before, much of Dahl's works covered much darker themes. The children's book 'Matilda' speaks clearly of the following: emotional and physical abuse, tyranny, misogyny, scamming, attachment theory, and, the most obvious, child abuse and neglect.

In short, attachment theory believes that every child needs to form a relationship with at least one primary caregiver to develop, healthily, emotionally and socially. In 'Matilda', our main character lacks that primary caregiver until she meets Miss Honey. The impact of Miss Honey's warmth, care, and understanding on Matilda is so grand that trust is built (she reveals her telekinesis power to Miss Honey) and leads to a happy ending, as Matilda's attachment to Miss Honey wins over the weaker attachment of her parents — and Matilda moves in with Miss Honey, finding a loving and caring home/family at last.

Now it's time to circle it back to Harry's Matilda. I believe that Harry has taken on the role of Miss Honey as a complementary to the subject to whom he's disguised as quote-en-quote "Matilda" — a stylistic choice I have no doubt was heavily influenced by Dahl's tale. Not only is Harry a friend giving advice and refuge, but also a welcoming sense of care and a second home, which further ties into the third album's theme as a whole — debates of a house versus a home, and what home means to a person.

In the song Matilda, Harry alludes to similar situations, with direct connections to attachment theory and child abuse/neglect. As the audience solely, we don't know the specifics of the problem, but these are the main issues I grasp from the lyrics alone. Roald Dahl's Matilda, as told in the book, has much intellectual prowess — she's too smart, almost an adult in a child's body, most likely an effect of her circumstances' cause. Yet, set aside the knowledge of her adventurous nature and wits, there's no clear yes or no to answer if Matilda needs comfort. For she never cries, adamantly refusing to do so, and never seems to show weakness. She's too smart for that, after all. The single time she outright exhibits sadness about not feeling the love from her parents is when she's four and confiding in the librarian. I'm going somewhere, by the way, I promise you.

With Harry's Matilda in Matilda, lots of the same traits resurface. An adventurous spirit and a bright mind, but also the tendency to keep sucking it up and not letting one fall to tenderness, because it's been perceived in the brain as a weakness. None of what happened seemed wrong to her until a certain point. This is, apparently, no big deal, or so she says. Harry's Matilda speaks of her experiences like it's nothing at all, but it's everything. She's mighty like her fictional character namesake, so bright and lively that she can light up even the darkest days.

Upon a delicate, sadly playful melody of strings, Harry takes on the role of a friend but also a caregiver to show love to his character of Matilda. The Miss Honey, as alluded to before. In Matilda, Harry makes it a point to show Matilda the love she never received from those who should've given it freely. He expresses that, while none of this is his business, he's been thinking about it in concern. He tells her that she can start a family that will love her, will care for her, and there's nothing to be sorry for. With a wide, bright smile and a sharp mind, Matilda, you can let it go, and you don't have to be sorry for doing so. Let us show you what healthy love feels like.

Lyric Pull Apart

[VERSE 1] You were riding your bike to the sound of "It's No Big Deal" And you're trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels Nothing 'bout the way you were treated ever seemed especially alarming till now So you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal

You were riding your bike to the sound of "It's No Big Deal" / And you're trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels: Here a little scene is set, and provides the listener with so much context and information. It's an idyllic childhood moment to picture, riding a bike, but there are cracks already. Cracks in a carefree childhood, cracks in what should've been. The line to the sound of "It's No Big Deal" had people frantically searching for a song to connect, but, from the language used, I never thought of it that way. Rather, it's the soundtrack of dismissiveness, instigated by those Matilda is surrounded with. There isn't a soundtrack of laughter or encouragement, but rather a shrug. It's in the frame of something heard, not something spoken, or, extending, something felt. To the details, the image of the bike is given as those old two wheels — tired, worn, maybe even inadequate. Strong symbolism there.

Then, trying to lift off the ground gives many implications and layered feelings. There's the literal, with a kid trying to play about and do cool tricks, alone on their old bike, maybe dangerous tricks, leaning into the absent parental presence, and maybe seeking attention. There's the symbolic, the imaginative, the evoking of childhood nostalgia and yearning. There's the metaphorical, to fly, rising above where they are stuck, an ache to escape.

Nothing 'bout the way you were treated ever seemed especially alarming till now / So you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal: Those who've experienced trauma may feel or are told that their mistreatment is normal, and/or they shouldn't be the ones to complain because others have it worse. Therefore, they won't speak out because their minds have been conditioned that their issues are nothing to speak of. An internalization. But, as distance and time are gained away from the situation, realization becomes stronger than internalization.

Then, So you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal curates a heartbreaking image of Matilda, self-sufficient and positive because she had to be, tying up her hair with a smile because she never saw the way she was treated as anything but status quo. It's a tragic echoing of the first line of the verse and also parallels Dahl's Matilda with the ribbon in her hair. It relates to the idea of putting on a mask, covering something up by pretending like everything is fine. Matilda, maybe, doesn't want to burden him with her problems and repeats rehearsed mantras in place of it. But, he sees straight through this, and the speaker assures Matilda that she doesn't have to hide, for he's there to listen and care.

And then we get another heartbreaking image, of Matilda as self-sufficient and positive, tying up her hair with a smile because she never saw the way she was treated as anything but normal, and a tragic echo of the first line, where she smiles “like it’s no big deal” - because it’s all she’s heard, the sound of her parents saying it’s no big deal, and she believes them.

[CHORUS] You can let it go You can throw a party full of everyone you know And not invite your family 'cause they never showed you love You don't have to be sorry for leavin' and growin' up, mmm

But the chorus is telling Matilda directly: you can let it go. It's so comforting and beautiful. He is reassuring the character of Matilda that she can drop the smile and acknowledge the inevitable pain caused (see verse 2), and then let it go and let herself grow. It's a gentle, validating way of saying that she didn't deserve the pain back then and doesn't deserve to hold onto it now. The speaker suggests that Matilda, and by extension the listener, has the power to create a new life for herself — one filled with people who have genuine care for her and those who provide the love that has been missing. Attachment theory.

You can throw a party full of everyone you know and not invite your family 'cause they never showed you symbolizes a break from the past and the forging of a new path defined by one's autonomy. Her family, the site of all of this complication and guilt and hurt, whom she now acknowledges caused her pain and never showed her the love she deserved. But now she can go out and seek that love. A reminder to Matilda that she can seek happiness elsewhere and build a chosen family based on love and respect.

Then, the ending line, You don't have to be sorry for leavin' and growin' up, is so important. When trying to extract oneself from an abusive environment, the blame will be twisted and put on the victim. They might try and make Matilda a stranger as a repercussion for her spreading her wings and thriving in the absence of their negative influence. And, here, the speaker is reassuring Matilda that you don't have to feel sorry for leaving and growing up. And, the language choice is interesting, for saying growing up akins it automatically to something natural, something that's bound to happen. Something you shouldn't feel guilty over. He says to Matilda that she should never feel apologetic for her growth.

[VERSE 2] Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright But I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days It's none of my business, but it's just been on my mind

Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright / But I know you feel like a piece of you's dead inside: This is the only time within the song that there's a direct address to Matilda, although there's an underlying assumption that the song is being spoken to her throughout. This direct address serves a purpose though, as I believe it amplifies the words that follow it, you talk of the pain like it's all alright. While verse 1 framed Matilda as a child, this verse (verse 2) frames Matilda as an adult. She is doing the same thing, the same coping mechanisms, that were instilled in her when she was a child — "it's no big deal" and "it's all alright".

Closely followed by but I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside is where the speaker, in one of the few lines in the song to reference an "I", acknowledges Matilda's pain for her. He makes it known that he can see the pain that she's in, even as she tries to dismiss it. It also acknowledges a major recognition of the loss of self due to this past trauma and pain.

You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days: This line is just so gorgeous. I have such love in my heart for it. And I feel like many overlook the intention with the word choice, which lends to its touching nature. Choosing the words you showed me a power versus you are the sunshine in the darkest days (or something along those lines) changes the meaning, and makes more of a splash. The meaning shifts from you are sunshine, you are goodness, you deserve to be loved — which is not without its own lovely connotation, of course — to being around you, you radiate this energy and you can teach other people how to love.

In companionship to what's been told about Matilda, to imply that she has this power to bring the sun to the darkest days, to teach someone how to find the sun in their darkest days when she has experienced dark days... it's beautiful. And it's so important to notice that detailed difference and reiterates the notion that as sad of a song as Matilda is, it's also incredibly empowering.

It's none of my business, but it's just been on my mind: And then, the speaker takes a step back. It's not about his experience, and he acknowledges that separation, but does not withdraw his care or concern. It's none of my business is a delicate way to respect Matilda's boundaries regarding her past and the choice of what her relationships look like. He doesn't want to tell Matilda what to do and deny her agency, for then he would become just another one of the people who mistreat her. But it's just been on my mind illustrates the care of the speaker once more, a complement to what precedes it and to the song entirely.

"It's a weird one, because with something like this, it's like, 'I want to give you something, I want to support you in some way, but it's not necessarily my place to make it about me because it's not my experience.' Sometimes it's just about listening. I hope that's what I did here. If nothing else, it just says, 'I was listening to you'." — Harry Styles

[CHORUS ADD ON VARIATION 1] You can let it go You can throw a party full of everyone you know And not invite your family 'cause they never showed you love You don't have to be sorry for leavin' and growin' up You can see the world, following the seasons Anywhere you go, you don't need a reason 'Cause they never showed you love You don't have to be sorry for doin' it on your own

This is the first variation on and second iteration of the chorus, and it hits on the same themes as the first iteration. The first new line is You can see the world, following the seasons. Matilda can leave, not just her family but where she's from, and she still doesn't owe her family justification or reasons. The latter comes from the following anywhere you go, you don't need a reason. The sentiment is continued by the line you don't have to be sorry for doin' it on your own which is the repeated parallel to the previous you don't have to be sorry for leavin' and growin' up. It's so good. In one sense, it applies to the lines immediately preceding it — you don't have to be sorry for traveling and seeing the world on your own. Yet, because of the repetition, there's this parallel created that also refers to growing up. Matilda doesn't have to be sorry for growing up on her own. A grand acknowledgment that Matilda raised herself, and that comes with both sorrow and pride. The sorrow that she had to raise herself alone, but the pride that she is who she is as an adult because of herself.

[BRIDGE] You're just in time, make your tea and your toast You framed all your posters and dyed your clothes, ooh You don't have to go You don't have to go home Oh, there's a long way to go I don't believe time will change your mind In other words, I know they won't hurt you anymore As long as you can let them go

This whole ballad is truly a tour de force, but the bridge is the one to knock me off my feet every time. Much like Harry has done for the listeners with 'Harry's House', the speaker invites Matilda into his home. In the song's case, both literally and metaphorically.

You're just in time, make your tea and your toast: Tea and toast is such a cozy and homey image, and indicates this welcoming, specificity in welcoming into routines, like a fresh pot of tea and a nice piece of toast in the middle of the afternoon. There's no push or rush, as indicated with the you're just in time, as it was and will always be based upon Matilda's timeline. It's a sense of found family and a safe place to land after she's previously seen the world, followed the seasons, and all that. Welcome home, welcome to the party, welcome to the place where you can be you without begging for the allowance to do so.

You framed all your posters and dyed your clothes: I think this is a beautiful way to signify that somebody grew, focusing on the smaller details. But, additionally, there's a full circle moment, calling back to childhood — experiencing the small joys she never had the chance to, as her childhood was spent in a survival state. You framed all your posters and made this new house a home with favorite things from your childhood, now with an added sense of sophistication that was missing previously. You dyed your clothes, changing them to better fit a new stage of life. Parts of Matilda's childhood can be brought into adulthood with her, and reinvented to be rid of the negative connotations that may still be attached. You can let it go.

You don't have to go / You don't have to go home: The speaker reintroduces himself in the song to speak and bring more reassurance to Matilda, with nurturing and welcoming at the forefront. You don't have to go away from where we've invited you, Matilda, with your favorite teas and the way you like your toast, you don't have to go away from this place of people who love you for you. You don't have to go home reminds Matilda that she doesn't have to go back to the people and place she cut ties with, and that's okay. the use of the word home has intrigued me for quite a while, but I think it indicates that Matilda is still presently on the journey to let go of her past.

Oh, there's a long way to go / I don't believe time will change your mind / In other words, I know they won't hurt you anymore / As long as you can let them go: These last lines of the bridge importantly acknowledge the journey — not just of life, and not just the growing up and traveling and exploring — of healing. It's a bittersweet moment here, gently saying there's a long way to go. It isn't solved, it isn't over — for nothing ever is packaged up that neatly in reality. I don't believe time will change your mind, to me, is him saying that it won't be as simple as letting time fall between her and what happened. A lot of blood and tears is going to have to be shed to truly get to the point where it's not a constant background ache. Leading into, I know they won't hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go. Matilda, you need to give yourself permission to let this all go, both the situation and the facade you've been putting on. Let yourself feel, then let it go.

[CHORUS ADD ON VARIATION 2] You can let it go You can throw a party full of everyone you know You can start a family who will always show you love You don't have to be sorry for doin' it on your own You can let it go You can throw a party full of everyone you know You can start a family who will always show you love You don't have to be sorry, no

The shift in the final chorus can be undetectable if the listener isn't paying attention. But, once it's caught, it's impossible to miss again. This is a second variation of the chorus, on its third iteration. In the earlier verse of the chorus, the third line was And not invite your family 'cause they never showed you love. But, after Matilda has worked to let them go, it evolves to You can start a family who will always show you love — highlighting the beauty of found family, a family of choice. And with this evolution in the chorus, the meaning of doin' it on your own has changed, because rather than a reference to growing up or leaving and traveling, but starting a family, one who will love you, and Matilda has done it with her own autonomy. It's the next step on the road to healing, and there's always this reassurance that Matilda can do this on her own. He gives the power back to her and puts it in her palms, for she is strong and she is resilient.

Therefore, the whole message, the thesis statement of the song, lies in the final line: you don't have to be sorry. The song of Matilda is a conversation between her and the speaker, and in response to her unspoken guilt. In the various forms and layers, the repeated lyrics and parallels, context stacked on context, the listener — us, the spectators — is enveloped in the depth of Matilda and her journey. But, in that final line, all specificities and complexities are stripped, to simply conclude it all: you don't have to be sorry, let go of the guilt, and you can be happy.

Matilda left me reeling in a puddle of tears on the first listen, and my emotions are instigated with each listen after. Pieces that send me into a wave of emotions set off a green light, they'll always be my favorite. In a way, Harry has become our Ms. Honey in times we've felt like Matilda, gifted us a chosen family with those who bond over his music. Much like this song, beautiful and evocative it is.

A grand indicator of a great writer is the ability to write so deeply about experiences not necessarily connected to them and their own experience. The times where Harry is the 'outside looking in, narrator of other people's experiences' songwriter has always been something I admire, and the songs I find the most intriguing to study. There's a full narrative, and we are brought into the same emotions Matilda was experiencing at the moment, therefore fully enveloping us in the story. I don't know, you just feel it. And I love that you just feel it.

And he takes such care and consideration with this delicate story. He doesn't have to name them specifically or be overbearing with identifying details, but cleverly uses well-known themes of the Dahl children's book to explore feelings and show understanding. It's a warm song full of strength and bursting with love. A seldom promise to always be there and understanding to a friend who's felt alone and misunderstood in a time when they should've been heard. Making sure they know their power and the power of care and nurturing. And Harry, in Harry's House, will always show you love.

dedicated to this anon <3

Satellite, A Metaphor 🛰️

Felt like Augustus Waters typing that just now. Anywho. The song orbits around an extended metaphor, with a symbol strong enough to stand alone at the heart. The Satellite. And understanding it all thoroughly is the key to understanding this piece in all its wonder.

First, let's talk about the symbol itself. A satellite is, by dictionary definition, an artificial body placed in orbit around the earth, moon, or another planet to collect information or for communication. In this scenario, the satellite is an extension of the speaker as the speaker has become much like the satellite itself. Got it? And I feel like it's relevant to mention how the relationship between a satellite and the object it is orbiting is often a give-and-take dynamic. The satellite will send signals to the object and the object keeps the satellite connected. And, when there's a disconnection — a break in the two's casual communication — there's a need for recalibration — seeking that connection with the other person again.

Now, time for the grandiose metaphor at play. The feeling being portrayed is one of being stuck in perpetual orbit — close yet distant, constantly revolving around the person they care about without being able to connect. A distinct emotional distance carries on through the whole song, and there's not a clear resolution — which is something I actually prefer, for that's not how things truly are. Sometimes one is just stuck in perpetual orbit. He utilizes the celestial to explore themes of longing, unrequited dynamics, and the struggle to maintain connection when life pulls people in different directions. But, even in this melancholia, there's a balance with an added sense of hopefulness, for he remains present and waiting.

Lyric Pull Apart

[VERSE 1] You got a new life Am I bothering you? Do you wanna talk? We share the last line Then we drink the wall 'til we wanna talk

In the very first line, You got a new life, which straight away addresses that a significant shift has taken place. The receiver's day-to-day schedule differs from what it used to be, and, as I find he likes to do within his writing, this can be taken literally and metaphorically. In the literal sense, they are busier, have more activities or responsibilities than previously, etcetera. Yet, metaphorically, the receiver's perspective on things has changed significantly since the last time the two were close (emotionally, physically, or both).

Then, from the second line onward, he's already tip-toeing around the desire to start a conversation, spark a connection, and initiate this recalibration. Yet, due to his insecurities, there's an underlying fear of being a bother to them — unsure if they share the same desire for rectification — but still asks if they can speak.

Issues in communication are present consistently in his catalog of pieces, whether in relationship to the self or within relationships. I find this essential to explore, the patterns in someone's work and the evolution. Each time it has been referenced in the past, the representation surfaced in two ways: (i) a general resistance to communicate/refusing to take the blame for issues sprawled in front of him; (ii) waiting for a conversation to begin without doing anything himself to initiate it. But, things are different now. And this is a common theme across the "Harry's House" album, where lots of his old themes are present but have evolved to something more reflective and mature. Now, he's initiating, inviting the person to connect with him after time estranged. Stepping over that fear and continuing to try. Do you wanna talk? Because I really want to! I do!

The last two lines, We share the last line / Then we drink the wall 'til we wanna talk, are where, admittedly, I got a bit muddled at first. I concluded that we're in the midst of another literal and metaphorical situation, where it can be taken both ways with upheld substance, much like the nature of the first line. Literally, also known as prominent drug/alcohol references, it would make sense. There's this pre-determined need to not be sober when reopening communication, perhaps to be more honest and open to the more difficult things that could come. They need to remove some of the tension built up. In this case, drinking the wall leads to a wine rack. The other option is spinning yourself into the more abstract, with Then we drink the wall 'til we wanna talk being another variation on breaking down the walls. Walls and tension have been built up, and they need to evaporate it sip by sip.

Also, an additional sentiment is that We share the last line could be referring to the line preceding inside this very song. The line that comes before that ending couplet is: Am I bothering you? Do you wanna talk? And I love the idea of referencing a song inside said song. Feels like a lite version of a matryoshka doll. Anyway. Since "we" is used here, there can be an assumed sense of mutuality where both wish to communicate (another difference and progression from themes in previous albums, interesting to note). So, they share the last line, Do you wanna talk?, as that's the initiation for said communication.

[PRE-CHORUS] I go 'round and 'round Satellite

This is where that grandiose metaphor comes in. The speaker compares himself to a satellite going around and around a planet, which in turn is someone he considers his world or a big center of gravity to his life, even after their connection has broken. The purpose of the artificial satellite is communication, but it's kept at a perfect distance from the body around which it orbits — the receiver needs their space, so he's quite literally giving them space. Even in the metaphors residing in space, you have to smile at wordplay.

Additionally, the phrasing I go 'round and 'round represents the satellite's orbit pattern, but I theorize there's a second connotation alluding to repetitiveness. He spins 'round and 'round over and over, letting himself be known, but the other person won't open the door. And it wouldn't be the first time in "Harry's House" that there was a cyclical ideation, soon to be seen in the song Boyfriends that follows directly after.

[CHORUS] Spinnin' out, waitin' for ya to pull me in I can see you're lonely down there Don't you know that I am right here? Spinnin' out, waitin' for ya to pull me in I can see you're lonely down there Don't you know that I am right here?

He's spinning out in orbit and waits, Waitin' for ya to pull me in, and that's all he can do. All that can be done is to circle around the person and quietly observe them. And one of these observations that he makes is that the person is lonely, I can see you're lonely down there. There are many conclusions one can come to to fathom the reasoning behind this, but, to remain within the context of the song -- he believes they're lonely in terms of them being left alone to think about their thoughts, thoughts they previously shared with him in moments of emotional intimacy. The said emotional intimacy he's orbiting around, trying to recalibrate and bring back connection. He desperately wants to be a part of these conversations again. Even deeper, the isolated down there phrasing could be a play on the common saying of someone feeling down, which can contribute to an emotional shutout, which then, further, contributes to the disconnection.

Don't you know that I am right here? is the core question of the piece. The speaker has made it clear that this orbiting is done with his own will, but there's also frustration, wondering how long he can go on in this cyclical desperation to reconnect. There's melancholy and desperation as he observes the other meticulously, and sees they're lonely. But he's always been there, and they either don't realize or refuse to. Therefore, it leads him to a moment of pondering, wondering: Don't you know that I'm here for you? To communicate and help you through? I can see you're lonely down there, but I'm here with open arms, so you don't have to be anymore. I'm waiting for your green light to eliminate this tense space between us.

And that leads perfectly to the double meaning of Spinnin' out: the more colloquial meaning is another way to express that someone is panicking, which could be an emotion surfaced because of this distance and space between. Then, if one wants to dive deeper, you bring in the following Waitin' for ya to pull me in, which can have an accompanying meaning of gravity to tie in with the celestial theme — he's waiting for them to take him by the hand, both metaphorically and literally, and show reciprocation in the desire for reconnection.

[VERSE 2] I'm in a L.A. mood I don't wanna talk to you She said, "Give me a day or two"

The second verse and the first are opposites, and that's interesting. And, in my guesses, there are two separate readings possible, and depends on perspective. Whether you read it from the speaker's mouth or the receiver's.

Starting with the latter, this second verse is a response. And it shouldn't be lost how the length is shorter and more brief. When considering this being from the receiver to the speaker, it comes off as dismissive. A shutdown of the hand of the speaker's reaching out, as the receiver quickly asks for more space and time, Give me a day or two, with a brief explanation, I'm in a L.A. mood, while sneaking in the real intention in this stalling, I don't wanna talk to you. Though he's constantly open to reconnection, the other is not.

Now, if there's no perspective change, the speaker's reverting back to old habits in reaction to frustration. A prime example of the reaction to the action, or in this case nonaction, is how he regresses back to his struggle with communication and says in the most obvious manner: I don't wanna talk to you. It's a bit jarring after the song thus far shows a desire, almost desperation, for communication. But there's some more reasoning, and it lies in the line before, I'm in a L.A. mood. He's using the phrase to embody the professional and work mood and mindset, and how one usually compartmentalizes work and private life. I'm shoving it into the back of my mind for now, which could also provoke a bad mood as well. Followed then with She said, "Give me a day or two", maybe either bringing in the other perspective briefly or just an encouragement to keep himself focused for another day or two. A bit of a sloppy interpretation, but one nonetheless, and I hope it all made sense as I tried to verbalize it.

[PRE-CHORUS AND CHORUS REPETITION]

[BRIDGE] Right here, right here Spinnin' out, waitin' for ya I'm here, right here Wishin' I could be there for ya Be there for ya Be there for ya, for ya For ya Be there for ya

The beloved bridge, and very much well-loved by myself, as well. What began as an easy, swaying, otherworldly melody has now built up to an explosion of emotions expressed. The frustration amplifies, as he keeps being turned away again and again. As the speaker waits for them to see him and listen, the receiver doesn't seem to be able to reciprocate. Though his care for them remains genuine and prominent, the impatience courses vigorously. All his frustration builds up from the first verse and progresses through the piece, leading up to right now, the bridge we all love, as he lets it all out. He yells. He cries louder. He's right there.

This is the visual I get in my hand. A ghostly figure of the speaker in front of the receiver, with his hand on their shoulders, but they're unable to feel his touch. But he's trying to shake them, and trying to make them see again and again that he's right here. I'm here, right here sounds comforting, like he's trying to give solace to his other. I'm here. You're not alone, you don't need to be lonely. Then, he continues on to say Wishin' I could be there for ya which illustrates the emotional distance and physical distance simultaneously, as he cries out that extra mile about how he just wishes so deeply he could be there for them.

Satellite is grounding your partner while floating in their gravity, waiting for them to pull you in and let you be there for them. It makes me think of long nights, at the end of summer, when you lay outside on a picnic blanket and finally bear your soul out to someone under the stars to the soundtracks of the season. The music makes you feel like you’re floating into another place and time. It’s like a cacophony, the musicality of the song reflecting Harry’s exasperation. Whirring guitars, sun-dappled synths, and even cymbals bloom all over the song, and it all sticks with you for a long time.

dedicated to this anon and this anon <3

Terms & Summations

What the hell is a "fine line" anyway? Great question, you in the pink and blue, in the front there! Yes, I admit, that was an unbearably cheesy way to start this section, but I'm itching to just get on with it. So... let's go!

A fine line is a balancing act, a tightrope, a suspension between the extremes. A small difference or distinction. The grey area between the black and white. Finding the right footing on this line is a difficult feat and something that ought to be discovered through time and maturity. With the chronicling through the song, and in the journey taken across the whole album, he's indicated that he's closer to this point than ever before. And, he feels an added sense of euphoria in knowing he'll be alright. And, similar to the preceding "Treat People With Kindness", he's extending his hand, wanting to share this acceptance with any who offer their ears.

A declaration, hope, a promise. Then, bring in the brass and the strings and the building crescendo, as the symphony of movie-credit-worthy emotions sweeps all toward a sense of closure to the art itself, of course — but simultaneously, a closure of acceptance of the duality of life for all who need to be guided toward it.

This guides us perfectly into revisiting that Fine Line is a song tailored to conclude. It's a summation of the sophomore album, a thesis statement, and the concluding slide of the journey — though, one can assume the trip continues indefinitely with some thematics. There have been tests of patience endured and acceptance of being unable to find all the answers to all the questions of life. One thing I find very essential to this song and understanding its impact is how he refuses to sugar-coat his words anymore — a lot of what's said in this song is direct, showing a maturity found through these trials and tribulations, these highs and lows we've seen flux throughout the album in its entirety.

It stands alone on the fourth side of the album, categorized as SIDE D respectfully. In following my own personal theory of the stages of grief, we stand at acceptance, a destination, or maybe the beginning of the travels. As a finale, Fine Line is very poignant, just the listener and one song left to ponder. Room has been left for this — to reflect upon the sadness and uncertainty seen earlier in the album, but also how there's happiness that exists beside and beyond it, with everything interconnected or divided by the fine line.

Lyric Pull Apart

[VERSE 1] Put a price on emotion I'm looking for something to buy You've got my devotion But man, I can hate you sometimes

Put a price on emotion / I'm looking for something to buy: Imagine this. One walks into a store with all these jars lining the shelves. Get a closer look down each aisle, and each jar is labeled with a different emotion as price tags dangle from the lids. Prices may vary. But... why would one buy something that one already makes? Why go artificial in what was once natural? The answer is in the riddle itself, and there in the first lyrics heard.

The ability to feel naturally has fallen flat, a consequence of the emotional strain of the push & pull that'll be explored in depth soon. And, one can become desperate, begging to feel any emotion, at any price, as they feel themselves falling numb. He would do anything, pay anything, just to feel again. After having rationalized detachment from emotions for so long... what was once naturally acquired (like joy, sadness, love, etc.) can now only be purchased as a tangible, artificial item. He's lost faith in himself, a bit. In addition, a debate surrounding pouring emotions into one's art — especially one's art that's put out on a larger scale — is invited inside here. How much is genuine? How much does one show? How does one stay authentic without giving away too much?

These first lyrics are critical, as they're the second-to-first impression of the song. It introduces us to the headspace the writer was in to start, and preps for the upcoming arc. Cynical with desperation is how I'd describe those first two lines, as we prepare to enter the fluctuation.

You've got my devotion / But man, I can hate you sometimes: Something done very well within this piece is the use of antithesis or contrast. It not only serves as an illustrator but also further emphasizes the fine line notion. And it won't be the last time he utilizes this, for it encompasses both the album and the song. Devotion is such a strong word to use here, but its strength is used intentionally to amplify conflict. A word defined as "love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person" is closely followed by an admission of hate, which sends the listener into the same confusion the speaker must've felt then. The irregularities in love and life are encompassed. In the experiences we all foster. It will never be 100% euphoria, but rather a 50/50 bet between bliss and hell.

But, you know, from time to time, the bliss can outweigh the suffering. Until one hits a breaking point — see the first couplet of lyrics. He's feeling the pressure and melancholia in the haze of confusion stemming from this conflict. Whether external, internal, or a compilation of both. His emotions battle one another, leaving him confused about what he actually feels. This person has his devotion, but at any time, it can cross to the antonym, the threshold of hate.

[VERSE 1] I don't want to fight you And I don't want to sleep in the dirt We'll get the drinks in So I get to thinking of her

I don't want to fight you / And I don't want to sleep in the dirt: Another example of antithesis here. Continuing this push and pull, a lingering sense of fear and hesitancy. He doesn't want to get mistreated, but he also doesn't have the energy to fight anymore, for the constant back and forth has grown tiring. And he's been drained.

We'll get the drinks in / So I get to thinking of her: I believe this can mirror the very first lyric of this verse, in terms of numbness. A representation of falling back on something — here specifically, alcohol — an unhealthy coping mechanism explored in other ways and places in the album, to break down his subconscious walls. He seeks something to ease the pain he knows is coming 'round the corner. The her referred to could be as basic as a past lover, sure, but also the weight of something much more generalized. Something bigger than even the speaker himself. Which I think isn't to be ruled out so prematurely.

[CHORUS] We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line

We have arrived at the beautiful, pivotal phrase, on its first round of repetition. To walk a fine line is to maintain a balance, or to be very close to two different ideas/attitudes simultaneously. One side is often more acceptable than the other, but we must embrace all in balance. Throughout the song, I visualize the speaker balancing on a tightrope, all these concepts bouncing up to his eyesight on both sides, all in rhythmic melody to the sounds behind his words. At times, he might stumble, but he sustains his balance, standing on the fine line.

There's a fine line between love and hate. There's a fine line between happiness and sadness. And etcetera, for one could go on for days and weeks with this concept. But we'll balance on that fine line, as we navigate where we're set to land. And, in this round of repetition for the chorus, it feels as if us, the listeners, are eavesdropping on the speaker trying to convince himself of this.

[VERSE 2] Test of my patience There's things that we'll never know You sunshine, you temptress My hand's at risk, I fold

Test of my patience / There's things that we'll never know: The starting couplet of the second verse, starting with an acknowledgment of the unknown. Further, the acknowledgment of the feelings associated. A waterfall of thoughts he dwells on, and my assumption is that it falls into what could've been. This feeling of dissatisfaction, and, like many other parts of the song, can be construed depending on the glasses worn. But, with said dissatisfaction, there's also an air of acceptance, which returns back to the theme of duality and balance.

In his dissatisfaction of the unknown, he accepts the lack of patience and the growth of frustration that results from these revelations. Acceptance of pain that seeps into devotion that can further blind you. Acceptance that one can't change the what if, but only learn from it, and walk towards perseverance.

You sunshine, you temptress: He's back at it with the antithesis, folks — a bit more subtle than the others, I'd say though. Still hauntingly poetic and reflective of how deep his infatuation can go. Can't go much further without mentioning how it mirrors Woman, and the lyric "You flower, you feast" structurally. The connotation of the first you (You sunshine) is something beautiful, while the connotation of the second you (You temptress) is ominous. It parallels the juxtaposition of care and resentment established in the first verse.

Once more, the theme of duality and life's balance is furthered. In Golden, the opener to this album, the subject is referred to as golden and bright — positive and complimentary. Now, in the closer to this album, it's punctuated with the label of a temptress, slicing through the tenderness with something soul-stirring. There's another similarity to Woman, how they both touch on temptation, but, in Fine Line, he's admitting that neither party is completely innocent or guilty. Rather, they both have a little of each.

My hand's at risk, I fold: Moving on then to this analogy to poker, which I find to be an intriguing choice. The person he's speaking to at the heart of the song has (presumably) found their way past his poker face, past his fronts, and acts and strategies to hide his emotions. Now, his poker face is down, and he's left bare and exposed, more vulnerable before them. He's been brought to this point and willingly folds.

The act of folding, where a player gives up any chance of winning the pot (the money) by sacrificing their hand (of cards) to avoid a loss of what's already theirs (money they still have). In poker, it's all about keeping a straight face and hiding your emotions to prevent the other players from figuring out what cards you have. Switch this into the song's context, and see his hand not full of cards, but, rather, emotions. And, to push further with this metaphor, the speaker is giving up keeping his cards (emotions) close to his chest and decides to fold (open up) to those who are tempting him to do (you sunshine, you temptress). Gambling also can become an extended metaphor in the song, with the mention of marketing emotions in the opening line. Poker itself is a game of high stress and risk, and the act of folding can be done to survive the iterations of poker (regular stress on the fine line).

[VERSE 2] Crisp trepidation I'll try to shake this soon Spreading you open Is the only way of knowing you

Crisp trepidation / I'll try to shake this soon: I adore how he pairs words together, and this bit right here has got to be one of my favorites. Trepidation is a feeling of fear and withdrawal. Crisp preceding it implies that it's perfected, as if he's had a lot of practice (happened multiple times before). A master in hiding his emotions, not communicating his emotions, a common theme explored throughout his catalog. Then, following that with I'll try to shake this soon — that line can act as a summarization of the verse thus far. Trying to shake the feeling of fear when it comes to bearing his emotions. But, also, shaking the fear about the uncertainty that comes with the duality on the fine line he walks and is walking.

Spreading you open / Is the only way of knowing you: One step on the fine line between emotional and physical vulnerability here. And, undoubtedly, it's a part of the song that obliterates my heart. The whole thing. His voice becomes emboldened and stronger when singing this line, such a beauty. It can taken with or without sexual innuendo. And, per usual, I'd like to travel down both roads.

Let's talk without first — the person he speaks of can have their defenses up like he does, making it hard for him to know what goes on in their mind. In this context, spreading them open would be the only way to connect emotionally, breaking down their subconscious bounds, which could've inspired him to follow suit. Now, let's talk with — connecting emotionally is an act of vulnerability neither party allows themselves to do, so bring in the contrasting ease of a physical connection as everything else gets swept under the rug. In this context, spreading them open would be the only way for him to remain in contact with the other person, for conversations of emotions and deeper connections are just too much for both involved.

Through this, another contemplation of the fine line is introduced, the fine line between vulnerability and neediness, and how this is another tightrope he walks on throughout the song, as the listeners, his audience that he has chosen to share this journey with, watches in wonder.

[CHORUS 2] We'll be a Fine Line (x12) We'll be alright We'll be alright We'll be a Fine Line We'll be a Fine Line We'll be alright

Another round of repetition with a beautiful, pivotal phrase. But, there's something different here, a switch in the narrative. To refresh, the first repetition was him convincing himself — but, now, in the second round, he's convinced. He believes in it. This bout of repetition holds acceptance in its hands, the speaker's acceptance of the good and the bad, the highs and the lows, the beautiful and the ugly — the fine line that threads its way through it all. He's reassuring and reminding himself that it will work out, and he will grow from what's learned. And, musically, the poetics grow in companionship with the lyrics.

First, the guitar gets bolder as the strums grow more aggressive, a complete shift to the ear from where the song started. The rising guitar can symbolize the change, in both a relationship but also the person the speaker has become. And, the piano gets reintroduced, and I hear it as hope returning — our beautiful hope has her own melody. And, one can't overlook the strings... pure magic. With this shift in the music, the listener, too, feels the change that he must've felt. This change in outlook — these experiences are painful and feel like it could be the end of all ends, but one grows from them. Now, both he and we recognize this, and accept it. We'll be alright. All these instruments come together to build the anticipation for the switch to We'll be alright. Reassurance, for the listener and the speaker, that it'll all be okay in the end. He validates the lyrics of the song, the chronicles of pain, to whoever is listening — but, more substantially, himself.

[OUTRO] (We'll be alright) (We'll be alright) We'll be alright We'll be alright Oh

Well be alright, we'll be alright, we'll be alright. Repetition in reassurance.

Looking back to when first discussing the song as a whole, this is a song tailored to conclude. This is his way of emitting a small glimmer of hope after going through it all across the album. The honeymoon phase, the connection, the love, the heartbreak, the loneliness, and even self-defeat. All instances explored in the album as a whole, are summarized into a lesson for whoever lends their ear. The fine line! He's now sharing that hope with us, the listeners, giving reassurance he didn't always have, creating an accepting friendship letter to the duality of life and love. Now, he can look out to his audience — whether one person or thousands — and tell what he once only repeated to himself: We'll be alright.

It's a crisp summation of all the places he traveled on the album, and all things laid bare. A song of emotional maturity where he realizes that emotions, life, and relationships — they all have a duality to them, and are all in a balance, one all strive to find. A fine line is balanced, a fine line to walk is inevitable. A windsome culmination of his own self and his own journey. The self in art, the self on its own, the self with another. The travels, the chances, the fears, the passion. Hope. Reassurance. Confidence. Acceptance. Flux. And, most important to take with you as you go — promise me that you'll keep it close to your heart — is the knowledge that everything will be alright at the end of things.

dedicated to this anon <3

Metaphors, baby, Metaphors!

The title itself is a metaphor and a core one at that. The term Meet Me in the Hallway purposefully mirrors the saying Meet Me in the Middle. This song has an intense tinge of a plea — specifics, the plea to reconnect and resolve unfinished business, to find a compromise. But, one party is always hurting more than the other. Per usual though, let's go a bit deeper. A hallway is a temporary, empty place to be stuck in. It's used to reach a destination but is never the destination itself. This is such a key detail in the perspective of the song. It's torturous, to be stuck in this limbo, never reaching the point he longs for, always being pushed back down on this hallway floor. It's a form of stagnancy, and one can easily spiral if left to their own devices in such circumstances.

There's another metaphor at work, a pretty big and overarching one — comparing love to addiction. I definitely think Meet Me in the Hallway is about love, but, more so, the loss of it. As many have vocalized one time or many, love can feel like a drug. Enveloped in the moment, it can make one see the world differently, and maybe it can even take your pain away. But, so easily, one can become reliant, and dependent, finding themselves immersed in the withdrawal pains when it's snatched away from them all at once. Essentially, that's what this song encompasses and illustrates — the withdrawal. Partnered with the bargaining, standing in the metaphorical space between closeness and distance. Trying to find a way to meet halfway physically and emotionally in a desperate effort to take the pain away. He needs them, and can't live without them, even as they mutilate him.

A last thing to mention is not really a metaphor, but more a running theme across his works that is always going to be prevalent — miscommunication. There's a significant struggle with lack of communication, now also highlighting bad coping mechanisms. Both, as one comes to see, find themselves in recurrence of this debut album of his.

Lyric Pull Apart

[INTRO] Two, three, four...

Something so decadent to the ear, but simultaneously so devastating to the gut. I love how this song — and the debut album — starts off with a hushed counting off. Starting with a hushed tone gives an intimacy to it, something so intriguing, as this opener chronicles a loss of intimacy.

[VERSE 1] Meet Me in the Hallway Meet Me in the Hallway I just left your bedroom Give me some morphine Is there any more to do?

Meet Me in the Hallway: Again, this is a rearrangement of the plea to meet me in the middle. Stopped at this first line to digest, but this is only the first in many moments of begging to work it out, interwoven with many pleas of wanting to get better and get better — but still finding oneself stuck in the hallway, stuck in the in-between, with no direction as to where to head to get to the destination at the end. A small detail I feel like people always miss is how his vocals echo, solidifying that particular image of him down and out. Sitting out in the hallway, back up against the wall, maybe with the head tilted back too — pleading in withdrawal.

Meet Me in the Hallway / I just left your bedroom: Just like the hallway is a metaphor, the bedroom is one as well. Take the setting and turn it into poetics. The bedroom is considered an intimate space, yes? The speaker's walked out, there's been a separation of intimacy, and is on his way out into the cold, but isn't all the way out. Remember, the hallway is an in-between space, always a method to the destination but never the destination itself. He's stuck in this agonizing leeway, and maybe he keeps returning back to them on his own or they keep convincing him, even with the knowledge that this addiction is detrimental to him on all levels.

There's some hidden detail just in the way it's phrased. I just left your bedroom gives some backstory. They were recently together and intimate, maybe an unwritten this will be the last time we do this (but they said that the last time, and the time before that). Inserting an emotional distance, but concurrently physical. And, back to bouncing off the bedroom metaphor, the relationship could be in such a place where the speaker feels like a stranger, like he's no longer welcome. Lost intimacy.

I just left your bedroom, this specification of "yours", as it's not his or theirs together. Again, lost intimacy. Marking the bedroom as the other party's in turn sets the other one's rules in place. The speaker has no sense of control, which can serve as a double meaning. No control in the relationship, but, at the same time, losing control of the self. The hallway is something more neutral, less intimate, a stark contrast to the bedroom — and that's where the speaker's been thrown.

Give me some morphine: Morphine is not only a pain medication, but it's also extremely addictive. Could this be him begging for it as the only close substitute to come close to the effect this person's love has/had on him? The love that's been ripped away? Here, and written in the undertone of the song's beginning to end, is a sense of hopelessness. This person's love is a drug to him, so he's bringing in another addictive drug to try and supplement. And, like much incorporated in this song, it's injected with metaphor — a simple one, more broadened, trying to search for the supplement to ease the pain. A supplement to the other who left him in urgency for something to take the pain away. It suggests that the speaker has fallen into a state of desperation, seeking any form of escape from the agony, even if unhealthy and just as destructive.

Is there any more to do?: Hopelessness! This song chronicles a moment of anguish, grasping at straws to try and salvage the intimacy and relationship, not wanting to lose the one who's taking the pain away. Even with the knowledge it might not be healthy, and even with the knowledge it's only a temporary solution. He's become dependent. And finds himself in the weakest state.

[CHORUS] Just let me know, I'll be at the door, at the door Hoping you'll come around Just let me know, I'll be on the floor, on the floor Maybe we'll work it out I gotta get better, gotta get better I gotta get better, gotta get better I gotta get better, gotta get better And maybe we'll work it out

Just let me know, I'll be at the door, at the door / Hoping you'll come around: I see this chorus as a surrender, a fall from grace on the hallway floor. The chorus' repetition captures this essence, I believe. He's ready to take the person back whenever they are willing. He's right at the door — trying to get closer to the past intimacy of the bedroom — ready to try and work it out, to try and meet in the middle, and push down the pain they've caused him. But will it ever really be forgotten? And he's hoping, even whilst drowning in hopelessness. It's on the other person to come around, for maybe he has run dry, exhausted. Stuck in the silence, the waiting.

Just let me know, I'll be on the floor, on the floor / Maybe we'll work it out: He's on the hallway floor, as all of his guards and dignity have fallen limp. Not putting up any fights to the withdrawal and pain, but rather letting himself succumb to the emotion. Surrendering himself to an addictive love, even if it's destined to harm him in the end. And he's saying maybe we'll work it out. Hoping, maybe, very tentative and insecure in his diction — like he's been in this same spot of desperation before. He's experienced the come down from the high too many times. Yet, a small part of him will still go back. He'll still fall to his knees if the other party welcomes him back in. Again, still a small part of him that tries to hope amid the hopelessness.

The lines before these and the two here now mirror each other, and there's an intention to that. When one's in despair, spiraling within yourself, you can repeat oneself over and over to try and communicate the tortured spot one's in. Repeating the same point again and again, even if phrased a little differently.

I gotta get better, gotta get better [x3]: What was that about repetition? It could be just for rhythmic purposes, granted, but it feels like it's something told to himself, repeating it like a mantra. A mantra that reflects both a personal struggle to heal and a stronghold on the aspiration to improve the situation with the other party. And it's sung in almost a yell, and very self-chastising. He's placing himself at fault, this confession into how he feels — and, because of the urgency the repetition evokes, it could be something that's been plaguing him, weighing him down to the floor. Maybe he knows he's not been handling things well, like one would with a drug addiction, and needs to get better to work it out. Even if it's not a guarantee. And, once more, the repetition, in this section and in other moments of the song, pushes forward the feelings of hopelessness, desperation, and even submissiveness.

[VERSE 2] I walked the streets all day Running with the thieves 'Cause you left me in the hallway (Give me some more) Just take the pain away

I walked the streets all day / Running with the thieves: These lyrics continue along the path of melancholy and introspection, and the sense of solitude is further painted. The speaker is wandering hopelessly, searching for something to replicate his drug — much like how substance abusers spend their days walking the streets looking for more. Then. Any saying that includes "running with the..." implies associating oneself with a group of people without necessarily identifying within it. A thief is someone who seeks something they don't possess. In this song, he's waiting desperately for someone who isn't returning back to him, so he feels the connection to the thieves — he seeks something he no longer possesses.

There's also an air of reminiscence to Liam Sparkes' quote in Another Man, speaking of tattooing Harry's butterfly:

"The butterfly on his torso is based on an old French prison tattoo inspired by Papillon. Traditionally, it would mean the wearer is a thief — something to do with the double meaning of 'Je vole', which translates as both 'I steal' and 'I fly'." — Liam Sparkes

This can bring in some more theorization of symbolism, as butterflies can represent someone's yearning for freedom or metamorphosis. He's been trapped in this metaphorical prison, in the hallway setting, for so long that he dreams of running with the thieves as a sense of freedom. Even if that freedom is self-destructive, it would still be freedom from this hopelessness and melancholia. Then, the illusion of metamorphosis, where he thinks these bad coping mechanisms will give him the feeling of open wings, but he's just shot down instead. The dichotomy and this could be a stretch, I fear, but I like sharing anyhow.

Running with the thieves could indicate he's let himself get carried away by things around him, to take his mind off the pain, engulfing himself in self-destructive things. Almost like he's fallen into the dramatic justifying thoughts: What's the point of anything if this love is lost? If the one I love won't let me in, might as well throw my entire self away. With this withdrawal of losing intimacy and connection with the other person, there's a lack of meaning to anything he does. So why not go and run about? Indulge himself in a self-induced ticking time bomb?

'Cause you left me in the hallway (Give me some more) / Just take the pain away: He points the finger to the other person as the cause of his agonizing isolation in the hallway, as they've neglected him in the limbo, for he has no indication of where they stand. He's been left somewhere in the middle of an unfinished relationship, hoping for more. Hoping for the person to take his pain away. And, through all this, I feel there's an indication that he's the only one holding out hope anymore. He blames his irresponsible actions from the lines before on the fact that he's been, again, left in the hallway, framing anything he does destructively as a cause-and-effect phenomenon. Again, the hallway is such a temporary and empty place to be, a way to get to the destination but never the destination itself. If one's standing endlessly in the hallway, especially in a moment of stagnancy with no direction out, you're nowhere meaningful — and that can be torturous.

I love how Give me some more plays off the earlier Give me some morphine, which can be both an emphasis and a branch off, diving deeper into the desperation. Screaming into the echos of the hallway "Give me more!". More effort from the other person, some more hope or signals that would make him believe they're working towards making things better too. And maybe this will take his pain away. Even if that soothing is superficial, he's desperate for something to take it away.

[CHORUS] Just let me know, I'll be at the door, at the door Hoping you'll come around Just let me know, I'll be on the floor, on the floor Maybe we'll work it out I gotta get better, gotta get better I gotta get better, gotta get better I gotta get better, gotta get better And maybe we'll work it out

The chorus returns, with the spiraling repetition and aching. We have the metaphors of the hallway, the bedroom, but what about the door? Each piece of the setting listeners have been placed in holds such symbolism to it. The door could be a metaphor for entering back into the relationship, for the door is what separates the bedroom (intimacy) and the hallway (isolation). He's waiting for their permission for him to open the door and enter the room — circling back to how the speaker's the only one who still wants this companionship. He's the one having the desires, this desperation, a need — but the other person is failing to even meet him in the middle, to meet him in the hallway, even as he's now collapsed on the floor, overtaken by the pains of his withdrawal and melancholy.

[OUTRO] We don't talk about it It's something we don't do 'Cause once you go without it Nothing else will do

We don't talk about it / It's something we don't do: Here we go again, this man and his communication issues. I've said it before, and will probably say it a million more as it's inevitable to come up —struggle with communication is such a common theme across HS1, across his discography entirely. The two of them don't talk about their issues — maybe they're scared that if they start talking about it, it'll be like tugging on a loose thread, only a matter of time before they both unravel. There's a fear of loss, and a fear of having to grieve the companionship, as the love has grown — say it with me now — addictive.

'Cause once you go without it / Nothing else will do: Once he's had a taste of what this person could be for him, how they can take the edge off, he feels that anything and anyone that follows will pale in comparison. Drugs, such as morphine, are so highly addicting that people often feel like they can't live without it and nothing else is as good — after they've felt that surge in their body, or the relief, even if it was illusionary.

Within the confines of Meet Me in the Hallway, in its somber after-hours feel, themes and conceptualizations were set up to be returned to throughout the debut album. This song also has a lot to do with the self, which is fitting to lift the opener of a debut and reintroduction. But this relationship with the self isn't healthy all the time, and I think it's beautiful that we do explore darker themes often in his work. Writing songs can be a form of catharsis, and we are the gifted to be able to hear it, and maybe find our own release.

Rhymes, Patsy Cline, & Word to the Wise

Oh boy, you get to have fun with the poet today! Because first things first, let's talk rhyme schemes — such an essential pillar in the structure of this piece, that far too many don't appreciate. Or, maybe they just don't see it like the poets do — but, that's why I'll explain it all, detail by little detail. Further down, in the ever-notable LYRIC PULL APART section, there's some color coding going on. I personally have always found it easier to understand and identify rhymes visually — and making it clear and visible to you is so important. It seems like something relatively simple to an untrained eye, but, you see, that's the catch in it all — it's a way of speaking without directly speaking, as in the piece he tries to suppress feelings while pain, jealousy, and heartbreak bubble under the surface.

Note that the chorus' rhyme scheme remains consistent, like a control group, an anchor to keep him stable on the ground. This coincides with the language in the chorus being straightforward, while the verses can be less cohesive, allowing room for the writer to play around in his storytelling. This is where the consuming emotions are bubbling under his surface, which mirrors how, as the verses move along, the rhyme scheme gets weaker (more conversational, more casual, more messy) in contrast. Naturally, as we hit each part of the song, I'll give you greater detail, but I wanted to offer some summarization to warm you up to the idea. Yeah?

For a long while, Cherry has had this association in my mind with Patsy Cline's She's Got You. Cline's song is about a woman yearning and mourning over a lost love by looking back through old photographs and possessions that remind her of what's been lost. The drastically too short piece is a lament about how someone else has the love she lost or the love she let go, and all that remains are these small things and small memories. I believe Harry's piece — especially amplified in the chorus — holds a similar sentiment and story. However, Cherry seems adamant about focusing on just one little thing that meant so much to him — the nickname: dearest, baby, chérie. He selfishly wants to keep this exclusive to himself all while watching the other give their love to someone else. He doesn't want to lose it like he lost them. Both of these pieces are framed and executed eloquently, and I adore them both, so maybe it's only natural for me to draw a connecting line — but I wanted to mention it anyhow.

And, lastly, a word to the wise. I know this piece to be one of Harry's that gets caught in discourse routinely, whether there's those name-dropping or others' encroaching nature with theorizations. Here's a gentle reminder that we will not engage in that nature here. Given, that the principle I'm about to discuss applies to every song I analyze from Harry's collection and beyond, but, for some reason, it felt extra fitting to say it here especially.

A fundamental rule of songs and their accompanying analyses is that songs are practically never about anyone other than the songwriter and/or the speaker. Sure, other people might be included as a vehicle to conceptualize feelings, ideas, or experiences to add more detail — but it's never solely about the other. Think about it this way — when one's watching musical theater, a character onstage will be singing about a character offstage, but the audience's focus is on the character onstage amid their monologue. Even though the character is singing about someone else, the subject is not in view, so your focus shouldn't be on the other.

Once one comes to this realization, seeing this song without a clouded lens, the experience becomes much more nuanced. Bringing it back in, the big picture of Cherry is an internal struggle — and the storyline just supports the big picture, all the little details that inject life into it. Little supportive pillows uplift the core idea. It's not about the ex-lover in question, and not about the action, but, rather, it's about the writer's reaction! Get it? Good! :)

Lyric Pull Apart

[INTRO] Coucou

A hello to the listeners — looking into the translation, multiple possibilities come up, but given the context, I'm sticking to the intention of a greeting. Coucou leans more toward an informal greeting, between those familiar, which helps solidify an existing relationship between our speaker and the haunting voice present behind him. This voice is intrusive, following him throughout, as he's using the song as a processing stage. Attempting to push down and drown his feelings about the situation. This conclusion can also be discovered in how Cherry has a conflicting feel to its instrumentals — happy and sad together, at once. Could even go forth and say "balancing on a fine line", eh? Representative of the conflict present in the speaker himself, but gosh, I'm just getting too ahead of myself now. Gotta leave you something to discover, don't I?

[CHORUS] Don't you call him baby We're not talking lately Don't call him what you used to call me

As mentioned prior, the color indicates a rhyme scheme, and the chorus rhyme scheme will remain consistent. A control group, an anchor to keep him stable on the ground. But, now let's grant a deeper perspective into that. The repetition of the chorus, of this controlled rhyme scheme, is a way of the speaker trying to pull himself back from his own disaster. Trying to calm himself and keep a hold of his emotions as they bubble — the constant battle of these emotions to push to the frontlines is executed in the verses, and their differing rhyme schemes.

[VERSE 1] I, I confess I can tell that you are at your best I'm selfish so I'm hating it I noticed that There's a piece of you in how I dress Take it as a compliment

The first half of the verse holds strong to its rhyme structure, as listeners witness a moment more petty than pathetic through words. Sure, the speaker's not happy, far from it, but refuses to admit (directly) that he's missing them. The rhyme structure in the first half is stronger & more routine in comparison to the second half, resembling the speaker holding himself together more. Best and Confess (green) share the "es" sound, the main rhyme, with Tell That and Selfish (purple) sharing an "el" sound, the supporting rhyme. The purple emphasizes the green!

I, I confess / I can tell that you are at your best: The realization that someone you cared about so deeply is now at their best with someone who isn't you. A confession to oneself about the realization, and letting it hit right in the heart and the pit of the stomach. This line really hurts to me. Lyrically, a relatively simple line. But meaning? Surpasses. And this supports my notion that Cherry is focused on an internal battle rather than the person he's referencing.

I'm selfish so I'm hating it: This admittance is another piece in speaking to one's own internal structure and echoes 2017's Woman where he also admitted his jealous tendencies, and being selfish in said jealousy. Once more, we as listeners have found ourselves as spectators to the speaker's internal battle about the hurt he's experiencing time and time again.

The second half of the verse is when some unraveling occurs, coinciding with the admission of how much of an impact the other has had on him. The existing rhyme scheme continues with the "es" sound (green), with Noticed and Dress, creating a flow from one feeling to the next. Then, there's a playing rhyme that starts at the end of the second line, emphasizing the "et" sound in It and Compliment (blue) — but, the rhyme is interrupted subtly by the n. This mimics the speaker's feelings as both he and the rhyme begin to crack. In addition, the secondary rhyme (purple) is lost, creating a weaker structure than previously.

I noticed that / There's a piece of you in how I dress: There's an eloquence to this line, and I often struggle to put into words just how deep my admiration goes for it — guess I'll start with how I love when scenes are painted with lyrics. Like, you can picture so much within one singular line. Whether an accessory or piece of clothing they left at his house. Whether it's watching one's style soon melt into one's significant other's. Whether — delving into the more abstract — getting dressed in his normal routine and there are still pieces of them in every step. And, to take it further in the symbolic and abstract direction, one can even spark up a debate on how the way one dresses connects to identity — therefore, he's speaking of how there are still pieces of them left in himself.

Take it as a compliment: Naturally, this is a complimenting line to the lyric that precedes it. Take it as a compliment that I'm thinking of you still, which comes off sweet with a lingering tingle of that pettiness rooted in pain. Which — naturally, I'm going to keep reminding — coincides with the rhyme structure, with Compliment being the one to alter the rhyme (blue) [subtly]. And, with that being the case, the "I'm so happy you're so happy" façade is slipping down to reveal the truth as the internal struggle peaks to the exterior.

[CHORUS] Don't you call him baby We're not talking lately Don't call him what you used to call me

A return to the chorus, the control rhyme scheme, the centering point. An anchor. With the first iteration of the chorus, I focused on the rhyme scheme, so in this second iteration, let's dive into the words said themselves.

Don't you call him baby: Lovers call each other baby. The realization hits now, how the other person is out and happy with someone else. The realization hits now, how deeply he doesn't want to share this one thing he can still grasp onto from what they had before. It's a moment of selfishness, childishness, and a moment of not wanting to share what meant the most to him. The intimacy. And, in addition, as mentioned previously, the French word for dearest and/or baby is chérie, which is artistically simplified into what we know as Cherry.

We're not talking lately: An admission to himself, within his internal struggle. A realization they haven't been connecting as they had once before, and they're both at fault for that. However, in the tone, it feels like the speaker is placing the blame on himself a little more, as I have interpreted it. In whatever way one hears it, the mentality of blame shifts as the listener travels deeper into the album, to To Be So Lonely, but that's just a little teaser there.

Don't call him what you used to call me: A lyric connected to the first line, emphasizing a plea, asking them not to bestow upon their new love the terms of endearment that were once reserved for him. And, there's a constant circle back to this, which indicates a central motif. And, further revealing — pulling back the façade — the speaker's difficulty in accepting his ex-lover finding comfort in someone else's arms. 

[VERSE 2] I, I just miss I just miss your accent and your friends Did you know I still talk to them?

The second verse's shift is a dramatic one. Something in the air feels different after the second iteration of the chorus has rounded. There's no more beating around the bush, or hiding behind a fake happiness for this person who's moved on — things are now being laid out on the table. And, there's almost a little petulance to it that's very complementary to the song, with a taunting sound to it.

I, I just miss / I just miss your accent and your friends: Now he admits to missing them, and admits that there's something to miss in his life now that they've parted ways. But, it's always in the details, you know? The things you'll hold onto. Your accent. Friends they bonded with together, or your friends to which they introduced him. There are assumptions of carrying out the rhyme scheme that preceded it, with the "es" sound (green). In the first verse, we had Confessed, Best, Noticed, and Dress. Now, in the second verse, the expectation is for Miss and Friends to follow suit. However, that's not the case — the rhyme has drifted away from the "es" sound. Miss is overpowered by the vowel change, and Friends is interrupted by nd. Once more, we're met with rhyme structures falling apart subtly, which only supports the big picture of the song, as the speaker crumbles and loses his poker face.

Did you know I still talk to them?: I love how I've always heard this line, like a child taunting. Almost a bit like... hmm, how can I describe it? Like, you can't take them away from me. Like you took everything else. It's just another added aspect to what he's going through, the feelings experienced, and the overarching internal struggle present. Rather than continue to hold it all in, he wrote a song about it. A beautiful one, at that.

[BRIDGE] Does he take you walkin' round his parents' gallery?

Oh, this bridge. How I adore it.

In the bridge, stylistically, the taunting note is held tightly, but there's a return to the rhyme scheme of the chorus. The controlled structure, the anchoring point to bring the speaker back from an emotional overwhelm (as categorized by the rhyme scheme crumbling in the verses). On a surface level, the lyric seems so simplistic, and will frankly remain so if one refuses to look into the details. I believe it carries a lot of weight, especially within the context of Cherry's storytelling. Even though the line is directed at someone outside the speaker — and one can just picture it said in a heckling whine — it's more telling of that internal struggle over anything. That big picture of Cherry to keep returning to.

Throughout Cherry, as listeners and spectators, we are experiencing and investing in the emotions the speaker must work through in the song's duration (and continued throughout the album, naturally). He's not only admitting to that post-breakup stage that everybody goes through but pretends that they don't — the bitterness that lingers like a cherry that's turned — but he really wrote a whole fucking song about it. He's sinking into the turmoil of this, into the pettiness, admitting that he is not free from this overwhelming bitterness and envy of an ex-lover who could be happy without you. And, something that rings true in the FINE LINE album as a whole, it's a song where we witness the (coping) method of capturing such an unpleasant feeling and transforming it into something lovely through the love language of music. For himself more than anybody else.

[CHORUS] Don't you call him baby We're not talking lately Don't call him what you used to call me Don't you call him baby (Coucou) We're not talking lately Don't call him what you used to call me (Coucou)

Here we find ourselves again, back to the stabilizing rhyme scheme of the chorus. With the bridge returning to this standard of rhyme, it flows beautifully in the ear, but there's a symbolic/metaphoric factor in play. He's not trying to hide it anymore, he's allowing himself to embrace his bitterness, his green face of envy at seeing someone he cared deeply about move on with their life without him in it. And, in companionship with the bridge, the direct address to his lover's new partner is poignant and continues the pattern of the chorus' language being more straightforward.

[OUTRO] "Coucou! Tu dors? Oh, j'suis désolée… Bah non… Non, c'est pas important… Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on— Parfait! Allez!"

Okay, here we go. The ever-controversial voice note. If you aren't going to indulge in this section of Cherry's analysis with an open mind and heart — no clouded lenses — you can feel free to skip over, but I really invite you, genuinely, to remain and hear me out. Personally, I like it, love it even, and don't understand the relentless arguing that seems to fester from it. It's most important to bring in the context for full appreciation. And, to me, we discover that in the screams preceding the addition.

The final choruses are interspersed with this voice, her voice, alongside his screams. Pay attention to the screams, and each one is a reaction to the sound of her voice, always in this intrusive manner. This inclusion of the voice from the very beginning of the song and throughout serves as a subtle foreshadowing of where we stand now, the voice note. But, I digress — this series of screams, and the final, most agonizing scream is in response to silence. This lover he's been hung up on, the one he's agonizing over for moving on without him, is gone from him. And that idea hurts more than all else. Through the pettiness and anger we witness, there's also an underlying sadness, and it pushes to the foreground in those screams.

Then, in comes the voice note, echoing, very neutral, can be from any day — it's the final memory he's holding onto. All he has left, even the music — representative of his Hail Mary coping attempt — fades. He can't bring himself to get rid of it, so much so that he decides that a song composed from this inner turmoil couldn't be complete without it included. My interpretation? It's like not wanting to delete/remove the few reminders you have left of a person, even if they bring you pain to see them. In that final scream — that scream to the void of silence where there used to be something — he scrambles for a single memory, to let himself wallow rather than be stagnant in silence he never heard so quiet before. But, his wallowing is now compromised with catharsis. And, in all this, that is the beauty of Cherry. Harry's prettiest baby.