Songs of the Week Annual Review 2022 (Because Someone Needs To Keep Spotify Honest)

Well, it looks as though 2022 has already slipped through my fingers, because this post is already so last year. Sorry about that—I try to prioritize making a post the best it can be over its timing, but I think my philosophy should probably be closer to “quality before quantity, except after consistency,” because the time for resolutions has already wrapped.

Speaking of Wrapped, wrapping season has long since passed over at Spotify. Even their indie, small-town competitor, Apple Music, has its own original spin on this New Year’s stats sheet with Apple Replay. Aw, cute! Keep it up with these fresh ideas, Tim! As an Apple Music user myself (đźš©)—and someone who can’t shut up about music, to boot—I’m always hit with that sweet, sweet, social media FOMO every time December rolls around, and I was sheepishly excited that Apple was finally providing their own option for seeing my year in music. What I walked away with, however, was largely disappointing—Apple Replay nails everything Spotify Wrapped has already done, down to its cheugy corporate-hip lingo, and that means it also nails Wrapped’s structural flaws.

Look, I know this is probably the last thing worth getting militant about, and to tell you the truth, my feelings are nowhere near that strong about this. Still, I figured now was as good an opportunity as any to enter my own dark horse into the streaming music recap race (wrolls wright off the tongue. Wrrecap. Wrrrapped. Wrrrreplay)—a real homegrown replay/wrapped situation. So, as 2022 comes to a close (four days into 2023), let’s take a look back at the music that defined my year, and that probably didn’t define yours, but here you are, reading about it, so it’s no skin off my back. Don’t think about it too much.

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Morbius™️: the Living Vampire! / Termite to Tumbleweed

Even my sister’s country girlfriend showed up to see Morbius™️: the Living Vampire. We arrived only a minute before her, and as our car doors clapped shut, it was like a snuffer had been dipped over the Denver. The parking lot was hushed by a wintry, asphalt silence; the kind that only happens when the sky is as white as the snow below. The world was waiting with bated breath—I felt it shimmering in the air. Then: crash, harumph, harumph! The familiar rumpus of her Ford F-450, flattening a pile of snowplow accretion as it carved one last parking spot into the brimming lot. It was the crack of dawn, then, and the spray of slush nipped something vicious. We could only hear as she dismounted from a driver’s seat four feet off the ground—the clump of boots as she landed in the snow, the muffled steps as she poked her head around the side of the horse trailer she’d towed along. Latched to the back of the truck, it blocked about three-quarters of the oncoming lane.

“You even brought Huckabee and Oats!” my sister exclaimed as her girlfriend unlatched the trailer.

“Shucks,” she breathed, one arm thrown around my sister and the other hand tipping her confederate flag ball cap. “I wouldn’t let my babies miss the on-screen day-beeyoo of Morbius™️: a Marvel Legend.”

I nodded sagaciously, pulling my tattered trench coat tighter.

“A Marvel Legend. A Marvel Legend indeed.”

And for the record, I wouldn’t be caught dead fraternizing with the rebel-flag-ball-cap type, not even if it was Christmas—not even if it was double Christmas. But today, we douse our torches, put down our swords, cast aside our stones. Today, not rain nor shine could break the chain of hands, of hearts, of fans stretched across the nation. Today, we have something to agree on. Today, we have something to fight for. Today, Morbius™️: the Living Vampire hits theaters.

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