We are who we are in relation to others — nothing survives in a vacuum for any longer than it can go without breathing — so to be isolated is, in a sense, to cease to exist. 

Loneliness, perhaps the most underresearched problem in American society, has gained greater scrutiny since the dislocation, disorientation, and soul-crushing repression of grief that accompanied the first years of COVID-19.

“New Year’s UnResolution” is a pillowy dance-pop confection from the New York lite-psych collagist Taja Cheek, d/b/a L’Rain, and a standout track from her 2023 LP I Killed Your Dog.

It’s also available in a revelatory remix by DJ Python, a thoroughly intriguing producer who, despite his generic name and its unfortunate resemblance to that of DJ Snake, created one of the definitive works of art to emerge from the chaos of early COVID.

In either form, “UnResolution” is an intriguingly, achingly paradoxical ditty, perhaps one of the oddest to address the riddles of loneliness. Progress!

“I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be alone”

Loneliness is known to hit hardest at transitional, half-lit, liminal passages of life: serious illness, grief, divorce, loss of a job, a dramatic shift in social status, and so on.

Speaking for myself, I’ve been stuck in a perpetual cycle of painful transitions since at least 2019, with no end in sight. After starting the year with an extremely confusing, abrupt, and painful breakup, I spent most of 2023 staying out of sight and pouring my soul into art no one wants. Collectively, it’s fair to say we have entered an age of discontinuity in which all bets are off and no one’s ready for what’s already happened.

The soulful melancholy and dizzying eclecticism of L’Rain’s music — with its timeless pop sensibilities, otherworldly dreaminess, off-kilter flights-of-fancy, and occasional self-indulgent solipsism — provides an apt soundtrack and effective pain relief for the screeching hyperreality of the times.

“We both know what it’s like”

Loneliness can exacerbate depression, anxiety, and stress. Its effects are often compared to those of chain-smoking. After extended periods, it can lead to a backup of fight-or-flight chemicals that make it hard to form new connections. Everyone is perceived, by default, as an enemy.

L’Rain’s breakout sophomore record, 2021’s relatively concise and elegant Fatigue, was thematically fixated on the complexities of self-soothing. With I Killed Your Dog, she leans into her prankish sense of humor, manifesting in gnarled dis tracks, absurd skits, and a pervasive current of trickster energy.

That makes “New Year’s UnResolution,” the closer, stand out for both its plaintive sincerity as a poignant study in contrast. With a propulsive disco beat, celebratory melody, and muffled production that makes it feel like a dance party as heard from the comfort of a cozy, hidden makeout spot upstairs, it doesn’t sound like a breakup song. At least, not until you pay attention to the lyrics.

“Do you know what it’s like to have something, something, something, something?”

“New Year’s UnResolution” rivals Stephin Merritt or the Pet Shop Boys in its ability to compound the power of very sad lyrics by pairing them with a warm, melodic, irresistibly catchy track. 

You could call it “Barbenheimer pop,” but I wouldn’t, as I don’t soil myself with old memes six months after the iron has cooled.

Cheek describes the performance as a relatively tranquil recollection of the pain of fretting over a doomed relationship. “The words of this song were written at different periods of time to give a sense of what it’s like to think through the trajectory of a relationship at different points of my life – right after a breakup and many moons later.”

The final forfeiture of hope can bring relief. It feels easier when you’re no longer reading the tea leaves for relief that isn’t coming or digging through your psyche for the one, true, perfect combination of words that might salvage the unsalvagable.

However, grief comes in waves, and the worst thing about a damaging loss, after the smoke clears, is knowing you’ll never get back the person you thought you were before it.

“Will you forget me along the way?”

During Día de los Muertos, families create ofrendas, shrines adorned with photos, favorite foods, and treasured talismans celebrating the dead. It’s believed that through these offerings and the act of remembering, the spirits of the deceased can visit the living world and partake of the comforts that come from being loved.

La última muerte, or “the final death,” occurs when there’s no one left in the living world who remembers or honors the deceased. If someone is not remembered or their photo is not placed on the ofrenda during Día de los Muertos, they fade away and cease to exist, even in the afterlife.

This fear, thus described, is not a real force in legend or culture but rather a McGuffin created to drive the plot of the 2017 Disney Pixar film Coco. It is, thus, nothing to worry about at all.

Even so, though. 

You are who you are through the eyes of other people, and all the different versions of you who live in their heads and anecdotes are “not you” but also “not not you,” because there is no centralized “you.” The “you” that lives in your own thoughts is the version with the least purchase in reality. 

This might be why you’re so concerned with the fear of losing yourself.

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