top of page
Search

Songs for the Daydreamers: The Soundtrack to Your Inner Film

Do you ever hear a song and feel yourself transported? The type of music that pulls you into a different place, or feels like a backtrack to the film of your life? I do. All the time. And, because I can’t help but romanticise everything around me, I’ve spent a significant amount of time listening to every song possible and daydreaming about how I’d fit them into the soundtrack of a film. These are some of the choices I’ve considered. 


From mental health walks, to sudden realisations, dramatic bus rides and the quiet weight of existence; this list has everything you’d need for the perfect film score.



Imagine a scene in a romance film. You’ve just realised that the love you’ve been craving all along is right there, waiting for you to reach out and take it. You’re sitting in the middle of a park, and this realisation washes over you. You have to find them. You have to tell them. The sun is shining, the flowers are fragrant, and every worry you’ve ever had briefly disappears — all that there is is yourself, the ground and your emotions. You get up and start walking towards concrete happiness, eventually breaking out into a run to go find the love of your life.



The feeling of listening to ‘DIM’ is incredibly hard to explain. It’s one of deep-rooted nostalgia and realisation, as well as memories. Every time I hear it, I’m 17 again, it’s midnight, and I’m on one of my many mental health walks. This song feels like the perfect soundtrack for a sombre night-walk scene in a movie: you’re walking alone in the dark, headphones on, hoodie zipped up tight, wishing you were “normal” as you pass by familiar places. You may shed a tear or two, but ultimately, you feel that things will be okay, even if just for a brief moment. 





This scene is set on a bedroom floor. The room is messy, just like the main character’s mind. Perhaps she has records scattered everywhere, and that familiar chair, everything is piled on. She’s just argued with her mother again; the mother she loves and wishes so intensely would understand her even just a little bit. She’s sat on the floor, back against the door, exhausted and worn down. She would give anything to be her mum’s friend, and she doesn’t know how.




There is a playlist on Spotify titled ‘What I’m listening to when I want people to think I’m cool and mysterious on the bus’, and I truly believe this song is entirely responsible for its creation, as every time I think of this song or hear it playing, I am immediately transported to a coming of age film. The main character is on the bus, coming home after a lonely day. It’s raining outside, and they lean their head against the window, headphones on, lost in thought. They’re struggling to make friends, quietly worrying that everyone hates them. The camera lingers on their face, capturing that dim hope that maybe, somehow, they’re less weird than they think, and that people could love them easily without all the endless worrying about who likes them or not. This would be the ultimate travel song for that moment.




As a chronic lover of walks, finding a song called ‘Walking Song’ in my 20s really resonated with me. The track, which sounds as if it were stripped from the mid-2000s, akin to an acoustic pop punk song, would be the perfect fit for an early-noughties teen romance film. 


Picture this: You’ve just been to a party, fully convinced you were going to confess your crush to the pretty popular girl across the room, only to find her with the jock (stereotypical, I know, but walk with me — tropes can be fun sometimes!). You can’t bear it, so you leave. You get home and stare at the ceiling, deep in your thoughts for a long while. You might scream into a pillow, you may even attempt to read a book, but immediately have to drop it because the (almost) rejection hits too hard. So you simply mute your phone and revel in the awkwardness for a little while.


As music pulls us back and forth through memory, time and scenarios, which songs would perfectly encapsulate the film of your dreams?

WORDS EMILIE GIBSON

COVER PICTURE CREDIT REBECCA HOLLY

Comments

bottom of page