'Hazel St.,' Deerhunter
From 2007's 'Cryptograms'

While 'Cryptograms,' the debut album from Atlanta quintet Deerhunter, is without question my favorite album of 2007, one song in particular from the young and decidedly unorthodox rock group left an indelible mark on me.

Buried 10 tracks-deep in the band's stunning achievement of psychedelic loveliness is 'Hazel St' -- a light and steady tune that usually acts as a relief point during the group's intense, deliciously droned-out live performances. With its delicate simplicity and lyrics that evoke nostalgia for the more complicated aspects of my youth, the song serves up a strange cocktail of emotions that are sweetened, or perhaps fuzzed out, with Deerhunter's signature blend of ambient instrumentation and echoey vocal effects.

The song begins almost immediately with anxiety-ridden verses about the perpetual inability to make sense of yourself ("There was no connecting my actions with words") as well as the people and things happening around you ("There's no use calling I know what you'd say"). That pretty much sums up how I felt from 5th grade until, well, a few years ago, if I'm being honest.

Frontman Bradford Cox has described this song as his "fantasy about being normal" -- unsurprising if you know anything about the bisexual, cross-dressing singer, who suffers from Marfan syndrome, frequently spews fake blood on stage and has an unquenchable penchant for the onstage, long-winded airing of his grievances. Despite Cox's sometimes contrived verbosity, however, I think this song comes from a deeply honest place. It's a place where one can, in the midst of confusion, find solace in the things that we know to be true, which are reflected in both the song's chorus -- itself, a mantra of normalcy -- "I was sixteen/I lived on Hazel Street " and quotidian observational lyrics like "Ice forms in sheets/ There melting in the street." And I don't know about you, but that stuff will always me feel good.

Listen to 'Hazel St.'

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