You always remember your first love. And yes, we're talking about music. Here's ours:

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Grimes

Angela Huang

On one of my ventures into the depths of YouTube at age thirteen––you’ve been there, it consists of the Trololo guy and Emu’s Pink Windmill Kids––I came across the strangest music video I’d ever seen at the time. Seven minutes long, pretentiously indecipherable and heavily “disliked” on Youtube, Grimes’ "Genesis" confused me to the point where I spent the afternoon Googling the meaning of the video and of the song. It was the first time I’d ever put so much effort into understanding a video, much less a song: the effort made me think rather than listen mindlessly. Indie darling Grimes based the video off of a Renaissance painting, "The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things," and the piece is a modern rework of older art. And in a sense, her music is a fresh take on the antiquated structure of pop music: her music is what I can only describe of a mishmash of so many different genres (Grimes cites artists from Outkast to Mariah Carey to Brooke Candy as her influences), but at its core it is unabashedly pop music. Grimes’ complex and eclectic witch–pop has made me find hope in the new generation of music and taught me how to truly analyze the music and art that I consume. 

The Format

Talia Sterman

When you’re an 8th grader, the rite of passage was to sing "Fergalicious" like the rest of them—or so I thought. One day, my brother was blasting a song I'd never heard of, and something clicked. That song was "She Doesn’t Get It" by the Format—it’s purely feel–good indie–pop/rock with a lead singer with emotions bigger than his already–massive voice. It was unlike anything I’ve ever heard, and I was loving every bit of it. I'd tell anyone and everyone who’d ask about my new obsession, and when asked about my favorite band, without a blink I’d say “The Format,” which would always elicit a “who?”

Before I knew it, I spiraled down the path of embracing obscure tunes by anyone and everyone who was good with a guitar. That brought me to the likes of the Kooks, Modest Mouse and Phoenix (remember them?)—and that was just the beginning.

Fast forward to 2017: the Format broke up what feels like ages ago, and from its ashes emerged Fun., which arguably rendered frontman Nate Ruess a sell–out. The Format might not be the heart of my every playlist, but their influence is lasting. I’m never seen without my headphones, I’m willing to give almost everything a listen and I may or may not have been called a music snob more than once. So for everything I am today, I have Nate Ruess and his big mouth to thank.

The Ramones

Mark Paraskevas

I was raised in a punk rock family. My dad (and by association, my mom) listened to pretty much nothing but older, mostly British punk rock in the car, from The Clash to The Jam. When other kids at school used to refer to “Elvis” as the King of Rock, I always thought they were talking about Elvis Costello. Who the fuck is Elvis Presley?

I’ve come to appreciate those bands way more in my slightly wiser age, but the band that really got to me as a kid was the Ramones. It makes sense why they would appeal to a little kid musically—their songs are simple and catchy, and repeat words constantly. But the reason why I liked them so much is because they’re fucking cool. They were kids from the same neighborhood as me, with leather jackets and sunglasses and cool–looking instruments. I used to sit in class and daydream about starting a band just like The Ramones when my parents would finally let me play guitar. Today I still could recite almost all the “words” (read: gabba gabbas and hey heys) on their self–titled album. While I’m more of a Clash guy musically, these dudes will always be the epitome of cool to me, and that’s what music is about.

Britney Spears

Bowman Cooper

My first concert was Britney Spears’ Dream Within a Dream Tour. I was five. I’m not sure what that says about my mother’s parenting skills, but I do know that Britney was the first to spark my interest in music. “Oops…I Did It Again” was the first song I knew the words to, and as a kid, I would (and still do) sing it at the top of my lungs every time I was in the car. Back then, I would tell people that I wanted to be a pop star when I grew up. To be honest, I still want to be a pop star when I grow up, but these days I try to keep that to myself. Britney's the reason why I started singing, and music has been a huge part of my life ever since.

Coldplay

Jillian Karande

My family loves music. My dad sang the Smashing Pumpkins and Led Zeppelin to us as lullabies. My brother filled our house with the sound of his too–loud electric guitar while I was growing up. I’d watch my siblings and cousins go to concert after concert, aching to tag along. Finally, 2005 rolled around and newly 9–year–old me finally got my chance. I was allowed to go (with the whole family) to a Coldplay concert. I was over the moon. 

It was at the United Center. I had to stand on my chair to see the stage because I was actually four feet tall, big yellow balloons with confetti inside were tossed around during “Yellow,” my dad bought me a purple kid's shirt that said Coldplay on it and I immediately put it on. (Side note, anybody who knew me from ages 9–11 years old can vouch for the fact that I wore that purple shirt at least twice a week for three years straight. This is not an exaggeration). It was a musical awakening of sorts. Sure, my music taste has evolved past “The Scientist” and I’m not going to pretend that I’ve listened to any new Coldplay since Viva la Vida came out, but I’d be lying if I credited any other band with making me fall in love with music. And who am I kidding, I love “The Scientist.” 

Fleetwood Mac

Emily Cieslak

Fleetwood Mac is an acquired taste. When my parents turned on their Greatest Hits CD during family road trips, I initially didn’t get it. The music wasn’t simply rock. “Dreams” glitters with keyboards. “You Make Loving Fun” climbs into disco like heights. “Tusk” builds a narrative of love, drama and pounding hoofs in the Wild West. Stevie Nicks’ light, raspy drawl contrasts with Christine McVie’s deep, smooth vocals. Both are laced with wisdom and innate sadness. Perhaps that's why the songs need to grow on you and acquire memories and sentimentality from listening. I can play that CD and my mind floods with images of billboards and the roadside rushing by. I want to both cry and smile. And gaining love experience, you pick up on the explicit sex references weaved into the thoughtful poetry. Poetry is meant to be interpreted, and the magic of their music lies in how it can be molded to symbolize your personal life experiences.