Review of Class of 2013 by Mitski - Naz Kaynakcioglu

I have not been able to listen to ‘Class of 2013’ by Mitski since March. Still one of the most distinct songs from Mitski’s discography after 8 years of its release, ‘Class of 2013’ explores the feelings of leaving one’s comfort zone and routine, vulnerability, the need to fulfil one’s dreams whilst making your parents proud, in a span of 1 minute and 46 seconds. It is a goodbye to the safety of education, the safety of walls many people surround themselves with to delay hopping into life with closed eyes. Or at least, I have listened to it with that feeling in my last year of state mandated education. In the certainty that things were going to change in a few months and the uncertainty of everything else, I found refuge in the simple chord progression and the heart-breaking lyrics of ‘Class of 2013’.

I first listened to ‘Class of 2013’ in Mitski’s NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert. I sat in front of my laptop screen in September 2020 and stared at this woman “looking like a big pulsing void and radiating pain”. I was entranced immediately after ‘Townie’ ended and Miyawaki started playing the first chords of the song. If that is not enough for you, the opening line “Mum, I’m tired. Can I sleep in your house tonight?” will be. There is so much explored within these first lines, there is so much fear and desperation around these few words that I related greatly. What is so enthralling about this version of the song, besides the powerful lyricism, is the control Mitski has over the entire performance. What essentially looks so out of hand, with Mitski singing the words into a guitar, is so perfectly moulded by her that thinking she would ever lose control feels wrong. Being a woman, especially in a male dominated area such as indie rock, inevitably comes with having to prove what is poignant does not have to be raw. Just because a woman is shouting into her guitar, does not mean she is out of control. With Mitski, you don’t even have to overthink this because she so clearly knows what her every move portrays her as. It is one of the most empowering performances I have seen. I take comfort in knowing that you can show up without makeup, not smile, scream into your guitar, and be powerful.

The studio version is written over piano, in Mitski’s second studio album ‘Retired from Sad, New Career in Business’ as a student project. It is much more comforting than the first version I have heard but what it so perfectly does is to explore the highs and lows of growing up. The comforting piano tunes somehow accompany the chorus perfectly, without sounding off, despite the differing dynamics. It wraps you up in the feeling of a perfect childhood summer, or the first chords you have played on a piano, while reminding you that all of it is coming to an end. While some might say that it is not as heart-breaking or raw as the live performances, I think it has a very special feeling that follows the end of childhood. What starts out as simple, comforting and familiar takes a turn at the chorus. While the live performances are gut wrenching throughout, the studio version slaps you in the face, just to offer a slight bit of comfort at the end again. Although, I don’t know if I would call the lyrics “Mum, am I still young? Can I dream for a few months more?” truly comforting, it is a softer ending. A part of this can be because while writing this version, Miyawaki, had not tasted the life after graduation yet. She was perhaps afraid of leaving the comforting walls of SUNY Purchase College, where she wrote her first two albums and learnt how to play guitar, but she did not yet have to think about affording a life or begging her mum to come back home. This version is flightier and more afraid, while the later versions are tired.

What makes this song hard to listen to me, however, is not about my fears about future. Ever since I realised I would not stay in the safe walls of my college, I wanted to put a pause in my life just to be able to look at all my friends and think about how much I love them, or walk around the corridors and sit on the grey-blue chairs for a little while longer. Still, that was an inevitability. I went to college, knowing it was a two-year deal. What makes this song so special to me was a single comment my mum made when I translated the lyrics to her. One thing I loved to do with my mum was to translate my own poems or my favourite poems to her. Maybe as an attempt to tell her how afraid I felt about finishing college soon, one evening I translated the lyrics to ‘Class of 2013’ to my mum. She looked at me and said “It sounds like she has lost someone. Maybe it was her mum.” I did not appreciate her perspective at that point because it sounded slightly dramatic, and it felt like my point went over her head. I wanted her to tell me that I could come home and “stay for a year or two” if things didn’t go well for me. I wanted a promise to ensure our bond would be strong no matter what. I never suffered from a strained relationship with my mother but even in the warm, selfless way she raised me, I have felt the same desperation this song explored. I was scared of that making a wrong move and disprove her hopes for me. I know she would “wash my back” even if I did but how can you know until you come to that point?

I did not, indeed, mess up to that point. I finished my course in a horrible time, got an offer from my first-choice university, won a poetry award. I did all of that after I lost my mum. I also did all of that with massive spite, thinking I would not be able to get anything done and the safety net of unconditional love from my mum was missing. It feels very empty now because she is not there to disappoint or beg or forgive me and I do not want to carry the emotional weight of shouting into a song that will not give me an answer. And I do not know if Mitski has lost her mother or if she has only written these words out of the sheer fear of not making it in the indie rock scene and having to come back home. Still, we both have to ask if we can dream for a few months more.

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Naz Kaynakcioglu (she/her) is an England based poet who grew up in Izmir, Turkey. Her poetry focuses on her experiences growing up, her cultural upbringing and the people who have inspired her. She has been published on HEBE Poetry Magazine in 2019, Procrastination Paper in 2021 and has recently been commended in Tower Poetry Competition. Interested in obtaining a better understanding of people, Naz has a particular passion for psychology and literature and uses her poetry to foster this interest. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter as @lavendersnaz.