My Dad’s Favorite Dad Rock Songs (Perfect for Your Father’s Day BBQ)

Hi friends!

This time of year is hard for me. The "Dead Dad Club" is the worst club to be in. If you're one of us... Hi. I'm sorry. Welcome. Take a seat. There are tissues, cookies, and sometimes wine.

There are a million ways to grieve someone you love. For me, it’s music. These 30 songs are pieces of my dad. Some remind me of our inside jokes, some make me cry on the freeway, some make me smile so hard it physically hurts.

My dad was a walking jukebox with a heart of gold. He had the kind of taste that wasn’t trendy but timeless. His music library was part rock-n-roll rebel, part cowboy poet, and somehow always just cool. He’s the reason I love lyrics. He’s the reason I hear music like a language.

I made a playlist that breaks my heart and fills it up all at the same time.

When my dad passed, the music didn’t stop playing. In fact, it got louder. It started echoing in the spaces he used to fill — in the car, while folding laundry, when I couldn’t sleep, and when I could. These songs aren’t just songs. They’re him. They’re my dad with the windows down and the stereo up, quoting lyrics like gospel. They’re the soundtrack to bike rides, birthdays, barbecues, and days that hurt too much to remember without a melody carrying the weight for me.

So, I made a playlist. It’s 30 songs long and still not nearly enough. But every one of these has a memory. A story. A laugh. A tear. Some of them are obvious. Some of them he'd probably be like, “You really picked that one?” And I’d say, “Yup. Sit down, Dad. You’re gonna wanna hear this.”

So, if you’ve ever heard a song and felt your heart drop because it reminded you of someone who’s not here anymore… this post is for you too. Here’s the soundtrack to the man who raised me with love, humor, and a lot of dashboard drumming.

Lynyrd Skynyrd – “Simple Man”

My dad sat me down in middle school and made me really listen to this one. I’d heard it a million times before, but that day was different. He paused it halfway through to explain what the lyrics meant to him. I remember him saying, “You’ll understand this more when you’re older.” And of course, he was right. Now every line hits like a prophecy. It’s the kind of song that grows with you, just like a parent’s advice does. And when I hear it now, it’s not just music. It’s him. Teaching me one more thing.

The Eagles – “Take It Easy”

What’s funny is if I told him I attached this song to him, he’d be like, “Really?” Lol. He’d pretend he didn’t love the Eagles because they were “overplayed” but honestly, that band was basically the soundtrack of my childhood. And I’m not the only one who thinks of him when they hear this song, multiple family members have said the same thing.

He always told this story about calling his mom from a payphone on his honeymoon. My parents drove Route 66 for theirs, so he calls and goes, “Guess where I am?!” And she says, “Where, lol?” already laughing because she knows him. Then he says, “Standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona!” Not that funny over the internet, but my family still talks about it all the time.

The Rolling Stones- "Get Off of My Cloud"

He always said he could never get sick of this song. Music was his whole world, but sometimes he just couldn’t explain what it did to him. I get it, though, part of me learned everything about music from him. Unlike him, I actually went ahead and taught myself a few instruments, sing, and even started writing. But even with all that, it’s tricky for me to put into words what this song really means. Honestly, he and I could’ve talked about it for hours. There’s nobody left who gets me like he did, and yeah... I really miss that.

The Who - "Sea and Sand"

I put this song on the moment he walked into his last birthday party. The Who meant everything to him. He never really picked a favorite song, but this one? It was like it was made for him. The music, the lyrics, the whole vibe of the sea and sand, it’s just Glenn in sound form. When you listen, you can almost picture him standing there, quiet but totally present, like the mist was wrapping around him.

One of the best nights I had with him was when we saw The Who in Boston during my college years. Ringo Starr’s son (Keith Moon's godson!) was drumming that night, which made it feel even more special. That show wasn’t just music to us. It was like a religious experience, a memory we shared together, and honestly, I still carry it with me every day.

The Kinks - "Waterloo Sunset"

The second the strumming starts, I picture my dad swinging his head side to side like he always did. I realized not too long ago that I listen to music the exact same way he did. We’d sing the same little parts, nod our heads in sync, and tap the dashboard at all the same spots like we were wired the same.

There are a few songs on this list where I can still hear his “parts” if that makes sense. The exact harmonies he’d hit, the way he’d hum through the verses, the goofy stuff he’d sing that wasn’t in the song at all. It was so him. And in a weird way, it’s so me too.

I always loved this song, like it was baked into my DNA. It’s calm and soft and kind. It feels like peace. I hope Heaven feels like this song. I hope my dad’s up there, sitting on a cloud somewhere with a good view, listening to “Waterloo Sunset” and watching over all of us.

Adele - “Rolling In The Deep”

I know, random. But my dad swore up and down that he discovered Adele. I was in middle school, and he stumbled on “Rolling in the Deep” on YouTube right before she blew up. He was so smug about it, like, “Told you she’d be big.” Years later, when she was a full-blown legend, he still brought it up. It became our thing. His musical sixth sense. My total obsession with anyone he introduced me to. This song isn’t just Adele to me. It’s him, bragging from the driver's seat with that proud little smirk. And honestly? He earned it.

Beck - "Loser"

I can still hear him yelling “Get crazy with the Cheeze Whiz!” from across the house like it was a battle cry. This song was absolute nonsense, and he LOVED it for exactly that reason. He’d quote random lines like they were sacred texts. Half the time I didn’t even know what he was talking about, but I’d laugh anyway. It was his anthem for every moment that didn’t need to make sense. And now? It’s my anthem for every moment I miss him being his ridiculous, hilarious, one-of-a-kind self.

And when Beck won that Grammy in 2015? Oh, he was fuming that people were mad about it. He was like, “How do they not know who Beck is?! I’ve been listening to him since you were a baby!” He thought the whole outrage was embarrassing. He loved being ahead of the curve, but not when the curve acted like it didn’t exist. Classic Dad.

Dwight Yoakum - "Thousand Miles From Nowhere"

This one stings. Dwight Yoakam was my dad’s go-to soundtrack for “happy cleaning the house on the weekends” vibes. I honestly had a hard time picking just one song because he loved him so much. When Dad got diagnosed with colon cancer in March 2018, they gave him a month to live. Spoiler: he didn’t listen. He fought like hell — surgeries, chemo, and that summer? He was out boating, fishing, riding his motorcycle like he was untouchable.

So, his birthday was October 6th. At the time, I was working in downtown Plymouth. One day, walking to my car, I spotted a flyer that Dwight Yoakam was playing just a few blocks away on October 3rd. The venue wasn’t huge, but it was the kind of place where you wouldn’t expect a legend like Dwight to show up. Of course, I had to get tickets for us.

I’d just turned 21, so before the concert, we hit up Sam Diego’s and had a drink together, my first “grown-up” drink with him that wasn’t a birthday toast. We talked about which songs we hoped he’d play, and the bartender, barely older than me, was geeking out: “AWW MAN! I tried to get tonight off to see him! He’s a legend! Tombstone?!” (That movie was one of Dad’s all-time faves.) My Dad felt totally validated, grinning like a kid.

That night was one of the best I ever had with him, despite some of the chemo side effects trying to crash the party. Giving my dad that experience, just us, live music, laughs, and a little magic, meant everything. Seriously, nothing else even comes close.

David Bowie - "Starman"

Okay, I’m gonna be honest, this one might make my dad raise an eyebrow. He liked Bowie, sure, but he wasn’t as obsessed as he was with the other artists on this list. Honestly? I might be the bigger Bowie fan between us. But when I listen to “Starman,” I hear him. I can picture him quietly singing along in his own way, probably off-key but totally into it. The lyrics hit differently now that he’s gone, like Bowie was speaking right to him, or maybe through him. He’s my Starman, no question.

Doobie Brothers - "Listen To The Music"

This one might surprise you, it definitely surprised me. I wasn’t really obsessed with this song growing up, but then one day I was driving with my dad, and he started telling me how much this song meant to him. It wasn’t just nostalgia for the era or the memories wrapped up in it — for him, this song was pure joy. He had this wild idea that some people just vibe with certain sounds or frequencies, and the guitar in “Listen To The Music” hit him right in the soul.

At the time, I had no clue what he meant, but that idea stuck with me. I took it and ran — started reading about vibrational frequencies, how emotions carry energy, and how music can actually shift your mood by raising your vibration. That’s literally how I ended up making playlists designed to do just that. I’ve got two so far: one for Shame and one for Guilt. Yeah, weird combo, but trust me, it works.

I’m actually working on my own music now, and I try to weave these vibration principles right in! Hopefully, I'll have the balls to start sharing that with you guys soon. I think I'll probably start with my covers though until I get comfortable. So anyway, really, all this started because my dad was talking out of his ass, but somehow, he was totally right.

ELO - "Don't Bring Me Down"

Okay, this one’s a straight-up dashboard drumming classic. Like, no matter where we were driving, this song was the ultimate jam for banging on the dash. And every time the chorus hit, I swear I could hear him jokingly singing “Luis!” instead of “Groos!” I don’t even know why, but it stuck, and now it’s a little inside joke that never dies. Honestly, it’s those goofy moments that made this song way more than just a bop for us.

Elton John - "I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues"

The second this song kicks in, it’s like my dad’s right there, wrapping me up in a giant hug. And if you knew my dad, you’d probably never peg him as an Elton John fan, yet, he absolutely loved him. When he was 10, he and his little brother Alan went to the record store and each picked out a record to bet on who would be the next big thing. My dad threw his money on Elton John. I don’t remember who Uncle Alan backed, but spoiler alert: my dad won that bet, big time. This song was one of his all-time favorites, mine too, honestly (although I think his ultimate fave might have been High Flying Bird).

The Alarm - "Presence of Love"

I think I’m going to play this song at my wedding. Or at least a version of it. Probably “Love Reign O’er Me” by The Who, too. This one just feels like my dad watching over me. Like… if guardian angels were made of sun rays and hugs, that’s what this song sounds like. He loved The Alarm. Thought they were completely underrated, and yeah, he was totally right. This one’s tender but strong. Emotional without being sappy. Honestly, it just feels like him. I might even do my next album breakdown on them because people are sleeping on The Alarm and in my Dad's honor, I can’t allow it.

Garbage - "Only Happy When It Rains"

Another one that confused me when I was younger. My dad used to constantly try to get me into Garbage, and I just couldn’t hang. I didn’t get it. I think I literally said, “This sounds like music for mean girls in leather jackets.” (Which... now sounds iconic, honestly.) But he never gave up. He’d be like, “No, listen to the drums. Listen to how she sings like she’s half-daring you to argue with her.” I still didn’t get it back then. But now? I love this song. I get it. It took me some years and a few rough nights, but I finally hear it the way he did.

Gin Blossoms - "Hey Jealousy"

This was my first concert ever, and it was honestly kind of bizarre in the best way. Has anyone ever been to the Pinehills in Plymouth? It's that fancy little planned community that gives “retire in style” energy — think: rich people, a spa I’ve written about before, a wine bar, golf carts, the whole thing. And for some reason, in 2009, they decided to throw a concert in the middle of it.

Diane Birch (I’ll talk more about her in a sec) opened for the Gin Blossoms, who my dad and Uncle Alan were super into. It was one of those weirdly warm fall afternoons. My dad and I hopped on his Yamaha FZ1, met up with my uncle, and cruised down to Plymouth on the windy backroads instead of the highway. I just remember the air felt good, the sun was doing its soft September glow thing, and the whole day had this unexpected magic to it.

It wasn’t just a concert. It was one of those “I’m always gonna remember this” kind of days.

John Denver - "Thank God I'm a Country Boy"

My dad was born in Florida, raised in Kentucky, and moved to Massachusetts sometime around middle or high school, so his accent was a whole situation. Mostly Boston, but every now and then, a random word would sneak out with this thick Southern twang — like he’d say siren as “sigh-reen,” and you just had to pretend it was normal.

We lived in a ranch-style house on the South Shore of Massachusetts, but he carried himself like we were deep in the holler. He could fix anything — and I do mean anything — even if that fix was just a little electrical tape and a well-placed kick. “That’ll hold,” he’d say, completely confident. He used to sing this song around the house like it was his personal theme music, usually while making a mess in the kitchen or messing with the lawnmower. This one, and “Hey Good Lookin’” by Hank Williams, were basically his greatest hits. It was like a goofy little tradition between us, and hearing it now makes me feel like I’m standing right back in that house, watching him dance barefoot on the tile floor with a spatula in one hand and a coffee in the other.

Loggins & Messina - "Danny's Song"

Do I really even need to explain this one? Ugh. Owwie, my heart. This song feels like a lullaby dipped in nostalgia and sprinkled with dad energy. He used to sing the chorus like it was written just for him, especially “even though we ain’t got money…” That line hit him every time because, for him, it was never about stuff. It was always about love. I think he saw his whole story in that song, a man who built his life from the ground up, proud of what he created with his own two hands, and totally content in being a Dad. The way he’d light up when it played? Yeah. I can’t listen to it now without crying a little.

Neil Young - "Hey Hey My My"

Growing up, Neil Young was not my vibe at all. I was all about The Beatles, Ozzy Osbourne, Lynyrd Skynyrd, basically anything with a killer riff and fun vibes. Then one day, after I’d been jamming for a while, my dad strolled into my room. He had this ritual of sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop, deep-diving on YouTube, googling random music facts for hours. So he drops this on me: “You know when I was younger, I didn’t really care for Neil Young. But the older I get, the more I find myself really digging him.”

He went on about how some music just hits differently once you’ve been through certain stuff in life. And honestly? I’ve seen that happen with a few things myself now. Neil Young? Yeah, he snuck up on me quietly over the years, like that slow-burning song you didn’t notice until suddenly, it’s stuck on repeat in your head.

The Ramones - "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg"

Alright, so this song might feel like a wild choice: political layers everywhere, and yeah, maybe a bit heavy. I almost went with “Howling at the Moon” or “Needles and Pins” instead, but honestly? This one’s too personal not to share.

Every single night growing up, my dad would carry me to bed and say, “Bedtime for Bonzo.” Now, full disclosure: as a kid, I had zero clue what he meant. But since he said it so much, in my little kid brain, I was Bonzo. My dad thought it was just some cute, goofy thing to say before lights out. He probably never imagined I’d remember it so clearly all these years later.

One day, maybe in middle or high school, I finally asked him, “Dad, who the heck is Bonzo?” He just laughed and said, “Why?” I told him I remembered the bedtime thing, and he said, “It was a movie when I was a kid.”

Okay, here’s where I nerd out a little, because my dad loved music and history, and to honor him, I have to drop this mini-history lesson.

Bedtime for Bonzo was a campy family comedy from the 1950s. Ronald Reagan, yes, that Ronald Reagan, stars alongside a chimp named Bonzo. Reagan plays a professor trying to teach human morals to this chimp in a weird nature vs. nurture experiment. It’s cheesy, silly, and honestly more famous for how ridiculous it sounds than for being any good.

After Reagan became president in the 80s, “Bonzo” became a nickname used to mock him, especially by punk bands and counterculture folks who thought he was out of touch or just plain goofy. The whole idea of the former actor who starred in a silly chimp movie turning into the President was too perfect for sarcasm.

Enter the Ramones with Bonzo Goes to Bitburg. This song calls out Reagan for a super controversial visit he made to a German military cemetery in Bitburg where some Nazis were buried. It was meant to be a “gesture of reconciliation,” but it blew up into a scandal. Survivors, Jewish groups, and most of the media were furious. So the Ramones used “Bonzo” to drag Reagan, turning his campy movie past into a brutal punk diss track aimed at his political choices.

Rush - "Spirit of The Radio"

This was one of those songs my dad respected on a whole other level. Sure, he loved listening to it, but what really got him was breaking it down... the drums, the lyrics, the tempo shifts. We’d be in the car, and he’d point out every little detail like he was giving me a masterclass. Honestly, it’s because of songs like this, and him, that I learned how to actually listen to music, not just hear it.

Supertramp - "Even in the Quietest Moments"

(Bonus: Let It Play into “Downstream”)

My dad used to play this on those early weekend mornings when the whole house was still asleep. I’d hear it floating down the hallway like a ghost. Soft, peaceful, almost holy... but there was always this gentle ache underneath it. It’s not a song that tries to impress you right away, it sits back, quiet and steady, and waits for you to feel it. And you do.

That opening line? “Even in the quietest moments, I wish I knew what I had to do.” Tell me that doesn’t just crack your chest wide open. That is my dad. That is the essence of fatherhood. That is what it feels like to love your kid so much that it terrifies you.

He wasn’t a man of many words when it came to emotions, but when this song played, he didn’t have to say anything. That line alone said it all, this blend of love and panic and deep responsibility. That sense of, “Am I doing this right?” He never wanted to mess up, and he didn’t. Not even close.

I always picture the bird chirping at the beginning as the blue jay that I think is him now, checking in on me. It’s weird, but I’ll hear a chirp like that and just know he’s around. This whole song feels like a letter he never got to write me. Like he wanted me to hear it and understand something he couldn’t quite put into words.

“I’d spend my whole life through... if I could only make it easier for you.” Like?? Who writes that and doesn’t immediately start crying?? It’s the kind of line that says everything you’d ever want your parent to say. And he showed me that in how he lived. His entire life revolved around making sure I was okay. Supertramp was his band. That was his thing. And even though I don’t know what his favorite song was, he loved them all. I picked this one because it feels like him as a father. Strong. Private. Loving. Deep.

He was a bear of a man, a little wild sometimes, but the softest, sweetest “Girl Dad” in the world. It was the best thing that ever happened to him, he told me that all the time. And being my dad was his greatest joy.

He taught me to be good. To be loud, and loving, and real. He taught me to stand up for the people I care about, to stand in my beliefs, to never stop learning, and to believe I was worth something. He taught me how to be strong in a quiet way, the kind of strength you don’t have to announce.

And when the song flows into Downstream, I swear it feels like a continuation of that same letter. A little softer, a little dreamier, almost like he’s on the other side now, sending something back.

“Took a boat Sunday down by the sea / It just felt so nice, you and me.” That’s exactly how it felt being with him when I was little. Safe. Simple. Calm.

“Living alone’s not that bad / I’ve learned to cope with the feelings I’ve had.” That line? It hits totally differently now. It feels like what I’m learning to do without him.

“I’ll see you downstream.” I sobbed the first time I heard that again after he died. Because that’s it. That’s all I want. That’s what I believe. That he’s just down the river a little ways. And I’ll get there. He’s gone, but he’s still here.

Ten Years After - "I'd Love to Change the World"

My dad always said this was the kind of song that could’ve come out yesterday, and it would still hit just as hard. And honestly? He wasn’t wrong. There was something about the way he’d say it, too like he was quietly begging the world to just get it together already. That song became one of those tracks that felt like a truth bomb dressed up in guitar solos, and somehow, he found comfort in it. He wasn’t a preachy guy, but he paid attention. He felt things deeply. This one always made me feel like I was seeing the world through his eyes for a few minutes, overwhelmed, hopeful, and heartbroken all at once.

Yes - "Going for the One"

He told me this was his pump-up song before a wrestling match, and now I can’t hear it without picturing him as this scrawny, determined teenager psyching himself up like he was heading into the WWE. It's honestly the cutest mental image. But it also reminds me of how he kept that same energy when he got older. Like every night after work, he’d come through the door shouting “WHO’S READY TO RUMBLE?!” and we’d have our little living room wrestling matches before dinner. And later, when I was a moody teenager or crying over something dumb, he’d go, “Ya wanna wrestle?!?” just to make me laugh. And of course, it always worked.

Firefall – "Just Remember I Love You"

This song is like the soundtrack to every New Hampshire ski trip we ever took. But more than that, it feels like a letter he never wrote but left for me anyway. Honestly, I’ve cried to this one more times than I’m proud of. It’s gentle and maybe a little cheesy if you’re just listening casually, but when it hits, it hits hard like a whisper from him straight to my soul.

The lyrics? They’re basically a blueprint for those dark, heavy days when everything feels upside down. Lines like, “When it all goes crazy and the thrill is gone” and “When the blues come callin’ at the break of dawn” perfectly capture that sinking feeling when the world stops making sense, and you’re left staring at the ceiling wondering how you’re supposed to keep going. But then comes the chorus, the promise that no matter how bad it gets, “Just remember I love you, and it’ll be alright.”

That phrase is everything. It’s the gentle hand on your shoulder when you feel completely alone, the soft voice telling you to hold on through the storms. And now, it’s like he’s still here, saying it directly to me whenever I need it most. The song turns those bittersweet moments into something a little less heavy, like a reminder that love sticks around even when hope fades.

Yer So Bad- Tom Petty

This song brings me right back to our living room, where he’d crank it up and sing like no one was listening even though I was. He’d do this ridiculous, half-serious, half-goofy voice on “My sister got lucky, married a yuppie…” and I’d laugh until I cried. It wasn’t just the song, it was how he let his guard down with me, showing his silly side without shame. That’s the part I miss the most, those little cracks where he wasn’t the tough guy, but just my dad, sharing a moment. Every time I hear it, I feel him there, goofy grin and all.

Chuck Berry – “No Particular Place to Go”

Okay, picking just one Chuck Berry song was basically impossible because my dad worshipped the guy like he invented music itself. He’d seriously lose it if you even hinted that anyone besides Chuck or Sister Rosetta Tharpe started rock ’n’ roll. But this one? This song is all about that silly, carefree weekend vibe, cruising with nowhere to be, just like my dad’s favorite kind of day. I can almost hear him laughing and tapping the steering wheel, totally in his zone.

Garth Brooks - Ain’t Goin’ Down (‘Til the Sun Comes Up)

Alright, I have to say this one is a bit tricky because of licensing (It's only available on Amazon, I added a tribute to the Spotify playlist in its place), but I couldn’t NOT mention it. This song is basically woven into my family’s soundtrack thanks to my dad. He always had this wild energy for country, and this Garth Brooks banger was the ultimate dance jam at our house. We even had a parakeet named Larry Bird (yes, like the basketball legend), and seriously, that little dude would bop his head and dance right on my dad’s shoulder whenever this song came on.

When I was a baby, my dad and mom would play it nonstop just to get me moving and giggling, and guess what? It still works like magic. Even now, hearing it makes me smile and think of my dad’s goofy grin and that bird’s silly little dance moves. It’s one of those songs that feels like home, like my dad’s way of saying, “Hey, life’s for having fun, no matter what.”

The Offspring - "Pretty Fly for a White Guy"

I can still hear him in this one, loud and proud. Every single time it came on, he’d beat the song to the punch by shouting “Gunter glieben glauten globen!” like he was in Def Leppard instead of the kitchen. He was obsessed with goofy intros and even more obsessed with songs that made a point while being hilarious. This one checked both boxes. He got such a kick out of how so many kids were bumping this song unironically, totally missing that The Offspring were clowning on them. He thought it was genius. And honestly, it kinda was.

Diane Birch - "Nothing But a Miracle"

This one hits differently now. It’s always been a beautiful song, but after everything, it honestly feels like the soundtrack to my grief. My dad and I saw Diane Birch the same day we saw the Gin Blossoms — a random lineup that ended up being one of the best nights ever. We were instantly obsessed. She was still so underrated, but her voice? Pure magic.

Now when I hear it, it’s not just about that night or how good she was live. It’s the lyrics. The vibe. The weight of it. The music video for this song might as well be what’s playing behind my eyes when I try to write about missing him. It’s soft and haunting and beautiful in a way that feels too real. This song knows what it’s like to keep looking for a sign you’re not going to get.

38 Special - "Hold On Loosely"

Ugh, this one makes me want to go back in time and shake little kid me. I straight-up ruined what could’ve been the coolest moment with my dad, a surprise 38 Special concert at the Topsfield Fair. Iconic, right? But no, I had my friend with me and was deep in my “let’s ride the spinny things and eat fried dough” era, so when my parents made a beeline for the concert, I was mortified. I kept whining and trying to pull them away like some brat who didn’t understand greatness was unfolding literally right in front of her. If I had been just a few years older, I would've been screaming every lyric right next to him. I had no idea I was disrespecting legends. I still cringe about it. Sorry, Dad. For real.

One Last Thing

I’ve said this before, and I’ll probably say it a thousand more times in my life, but I really believe my dad somehow set up an Interstellar-style lifeline for me through music. Like… I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s like he knew I’d need something to tether me when the world got too loud, too heavy, too lonely. And what he left wasn’t just songs. He left coordinates. Messages. Little checkpoints across time. And the wildest part? They still show up right when I need them.

I’ll be driving, spiraling, trying to hold it together—and suddenly a song comes on and it’s him. His voice, his timing, his everything. Like he reached across time and space, spun the dial on a radio only we know how to use, and said, “Hey. I’m right here, kid.”

He might be gone, but he still finds ways to talk to me. Through guitar riffs. Through lyrics I didn’t understand as a kid but now knock the wind out of me. Through songs that feel like prayers, reminders, or warnings. Music was our thing, yeah—but now it’s my lifeline.

And I honestly think it might save me. Over and over again.

So no, this playlist isn’t just sentimental. It’s not just nostalgia. It’s not just “stuff my dad liked.” It’s the sound of our bond, stretched across two worlds, still holding strong. And I’ll keep listening. As long as it takes.

I’ve written a lot of things, but I have never cried so much working on anything in my life. Every single song brought back his voice, his laugh, a moment, a memory, and then another one. It cracked me open in ways I didn’t see coming. This wasn’t just a playlist. This was time travel. This was church. This was a séance and a hug and a scream into the pillow and a long exhale I’ve been holding for years.

He left me with songs instead of instructions. But somehow, they’ve guided me better than words ever could. And I think they’re going to keep saving me, over and over again.

So yeah. This one’s for him. But it’s also for me. And maybe, if you’ve lost someone too, it’s for you.

Keep listening. They might still be talking.

If there’s a song that feels like your parent — one that is them — tell me. I wanna hear it. Music is memory, and memory is love. Let’s trade them like mixtapes.

I’ll be writing more about music and memory in this week’s newsletter. Sign up if you wanna cry together.