On her new EP, Noah Cyrus’s maturity shines through, illuminating struggles from which she has recovered and encapsulating the uncertainty of a lonely pandemic.
In the midst of a global pandemic with no apparent end in sight, it’s difficult to feel any semblance of hope for the future, or at least the near future. Socially-distanced outings, businesses reopening with limited capacities, and our inevitable marriage-like unions with Zoom events feign some sense of normalcy, but we’ve all questioned if, and when, we would ever again see someone’s smile or feel the crisp fall breeze against our tired eyes during morning strolls. The small aspects of pre-pandemic life that we failed to notice before have become simple memories under the sense of doom we all feel in the core of our being. Is this the end of everything, or at least life as we know it? How do we act as normal teenagers during this unprecedented time, especially while experiencing heartbreak and loneliness? Noah Cyrus, a triple-threat singer, songwriter, and actress, tackles these questions on her 2020 EP, The End of Everything.
Released on May 15, 2020 in the height of lockdown restrictions, The End of Everything grapples with hopelessness, loss, and doubts about self-worth — feelings that we have all struggled with as of late. Although most, if not all, of these songs were written before the pandemic, her timely release of the album offers a comforting view of the sadness and changes that come with teenage years and becoming a young adult. Combining the fragile vocal style of Billie Eilish with joyous gospel harmonies and the smooth Southern country sound of sister, Miley, and father, Billy Ray, Noah Cyrus has successfully created her own voice. Without even listening to the lyrics of her songs, the emotions pour down like rain on a cool spring day. The minimalist piano accompaniment draws attention to Cyrus’s delicate yet powerful voice on the album’s eight tracks, creating a tragically beautiful and intimate narrative.
The album opens with four soft, pregnant minor piano chords that set a somber mood for “Ghost” before Cyrus’s vocals even come in. When she does enter, she maintains the mysterious and heavy ambience with dynamic swells and decrescendos. Cyrus ends most sentences with a soft whisper that almost cries out for help, deceiving us into thinking that this ballad will end in a quiet stream of tears. Cyrus then unexpectedly introduces her pop side into the song’s chorus at 0:45 with multi-tracked vocals and an electronic music-inspired backing beat. She teeters back and forth between the two moods throughout the song, eventually ending fading away on the latter. It’s a curious and unexpected opening to the album; the majority of the EP (minus the penultimate song, “Wonder Years,”) forgoes pop fusion, instead opting for full country-inspired soft acoustic ballads.
Nestled snugly in the middle of the album, “Young and Sad” highlights Cyrus’s struggles with feeling worthless. A voicemail memo from her famous country-star father starts the song. “Hey bud, this is ol’ dad, just wanted you to know, you ain’t alone, keep a smile on your face, everything’s gonna be fine. I love you.” His words exude familiarity and warmth, giving a direct glimpse into Cyrus’s personal life. We rarely see such personal touches on songs; here, it’s like reading into her diary. Cyrus creates a deep sense of intimacy in the production of the song: It’s as much about her voice’s relationship with the guitar as it is her relationship with her family. She quietly enters after the voice memo with a plucked-guitar melody and vocals drenched in sadness. With poignant, raw lyrics, Cyrus questions her integrity and place in the world, especially growing up in the shadows of her country-pop sensation sister, Miley. While life in a multi-superstar family isn’t an experience that many can relate to, most of us understand the fear of not living up to familiar or societal expectations. The repeated lyric, “Don’t wanna be young and sad another day longer,” resonates with young people around the world: Why are we living our young adulthood, the so-called best days of our lives, pining over people who don’t even care? It’s a question so many grapple with; a question that Cyrus herself may not be able to answer. Instead, her lyrics offer kind emotional consolation to anyone who may be hurting.
Standing in stark juxtaposition to the EP’s flow of lyrically-rich songs, the dreamy “Wonder Years” yet again highlights Cyrus’s musical versatility and stylistic breadth. Her solo voice with which we’ve fallen in love so far on the album has been replaced by a buttery smooth amalgamation of nearly incoherent words. Sung in a sort of Sprechstimme/pseudo-rap/soft folk style, lyrics that were so important on other tracks no longer matter here. Rather, both the ambience and collaboration with singer-songwriter-rapper Ant Clemons tie the song together. Cyrus’s sweet airy mezzo voice dances around Clemons’s smooth digitally-tuned tenor voice, building up into a zenith of swirling vocal sounds, jazzy accompaniment, and powerful cries of repetitious lyrics. The texture builds until it breaks. Suddenly, we’re freed from the encapsulating moment and brought back into the reality of slow, peaceful country roads with nothing but the sounds of an approaching car on a dirt road and the happy whistling of her melody. Out of place in a normal pop song, maybe. But for Noah Cyrus, she’s constantly reminding us of her roots. This is her story to tell.
Cyrus paints an intricate picture of love and loss, self-love and self-hate, joy and sadness, pride and humility. That’s what makes The End of Everything so heartbreaking: you can’t help but cry as you listen to her pain. It’s like sitting around a bonfire with a friend on a cool autumn evening, crying over tea about the boys you once loved or the memories you mourn. The ritual is tragic and cathartic; a coping mechanism. Sometimes recognizing your sadness and allowing yourself to wallow is all you need, something Cyrus already covered in 2018 on her debut EP, Good Cry. But this is more mature, an homage to the end of her teenage years, and not, for this incandescent talent, The End of Everything.