I've listened to Sky Ferreira's long-anticipated debut album Night Time, My Time almost exclusively on my commute since it came out at the end of last month. Every time I think I've nailed down a favorite song, another one finds its way into my favor. First it was "Nobody Asked Me," the most potent and giving breakup song—with subtext so deep it gets under my skin. Then it was her barely-pushed single "You're Not The One." But "24 Hours," the most melodically ascendant song on the album, is the one I listen to the most. (Even though "I Will" currently has the stronghold on my favorite list.)
Most of 2013, I was in a relationship with a guy who lived in Boston. While there's nothing, sonically, about "24 Hours" that gives way to its bittersweet tone—it's as if it had been excavated from never-seen John Hughes montage when the geek finally gets the girl, but with a modern polish—it is lyrically the epitome long-distance relationship anthem. When Ferreira sings, "I wish these 24 hours/would never end/Oh, in these 24 hours/wish the clock hand no hands," I think about how if I'd had this song before August's end, it would be the first song I'd listen to as the 11:59 Sunday night bus pulled out of Boston's South Station on my way to New York. And that I would hate it in that moment, but how it would function as some kind of security blanket in the weeks between my return there.
He moved to New York in Sepetmber, so, as it turned out, the song was released after my long-distance relationship became a short-distance one. Now it soundtracks little commutes from Brooklyn to Manhattan, instead of somber four-hour drives on a coach bus. Every time Sky sings, "24 hours/we still have time/For 24 hours, you're still mine" I'm reminded of how worth it months of East Coast travel was and how grateful I am that I don't actually need this song. And then I love it all the more.