Maybe We Need Recession Pop Right Now

Recently, the word on everyone’s mind has been, unfortunately, “recession.” 

When President Donald Trump was asked about the possibility of the U.S. economy heading into a recession during a March interview with Fox News, the president refused to confirm or deny the possibility but alluded to a period of economic transition. In an interview with CBS News on March 11, U.S. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick said Trump’s economic plan is “worth it” even if it leads in that direction. On April 9, Goldman Sachs raised the odds of a nationwide recession to 65%, citing Trump’s tariff plan as the main culprit, and has since rescinded its predictions with Trump’s announcement of a 90-day pause on reciprocal tariffs, (with China as its only exception). This wave of back-and-forth economic instability, however, has resulted in an increasing feeling of insecurity in the global economy. 

If it’s starting to feel like 2008 again economically, it’s also eerily starting to feel like that culturally: identifying “recession indicators” has become part of the daily lexicon; the return of some early aughts fashion trends like peplum tops and skinny jeans are, according to some experts, a signal of the country’s forthcoming economic decline; and perhaps most interestingly, recession pop is back—-just listen to Kesha and T-Pain’s latest single “Yikkee Ki-Yay” or Lady Gaga’s new album Mayhem, both of which have been heralded as recession pop’s heirs.

At the time, the pop music that came out of the ‘08 recession felt like the nation’s saving grace. Chart-topping songs, composed of fast BPMs that “were scientifically proven to induce positive emotions” served as an auditory balm for an ailing nation and its citizens: think Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face,” Black Eyed Peas’ “I Got A Feeling,” Timbaland’s “The Way I Are,” Far East Movement’s “Like A G6”, Pitbull and Ne-Yo’s “Time Of Our Lives.” Each was an anthem about enjoying life amid adversity—or disassociating from it altogether— encapsulating the feelings of a generation plagued by economic immobility.

Now, as we find ourselves in yet another moment of economic insecurity, we are reaching for these very same carefree sounds, though they now read as nostalgia. And while nostalgia often puts a glossy sheen on history, it does beg the question of its usefulness in this moment—escapism, delusion, and all. 

Gen Zers and millennials are not the first generations to use music as a way to express societal insecurity. The Great Depression gave birth to blues and swing music. Disco was used as a form of escape from the perils of the Vietnam War. The hip-hop generation used music to express themselves, as Black and Brown youth, living on the margins of society and deep economic disfranchisement. Young people have used music as a way to snapshot their reality and speak life into the tensions and frustrations of being sidelined by those in positions of power.

Gen Z-ers and millennials, for all our generational bickering, have much in common with these past generations—and with each other. Both generations have come up against a challenging job market resulting from global crises: for many older millennials, it was the ‘08 recession and for Gen Z, the COVID-19 pandemic. Both events impacted their financial standings. Both are also battling “negative wealth,” a financial predicament where people’s debts outweigh their assets.  And both are doom spending to gain some sense of normalcy and control in an ever-changing, unstable world. 

It’s no wonder that the music we consume, now and then, reflects these same levels of uncertainty—or is, at the very least, trying to help us fantasize our way out. The music of the ‘08 recession was indicative of the latter. Since discretionary spending habits were low, major record labels tried to, as pointed out by journalist Olivia Bennett in DAZED, convince consumers to come outside and party any way they could, financial consequences be damned. 

Over a decade and a half later, a new generation of young people feels the same level of economic frustration. Last year’s series of chart-topping releases—the synth-pop of Chappell Roan, the hyperpop of Charli XCX, and the bubblegum pop of Sabrina Carpenter— displayed our desire to escape current conditions for the dancefloor. It’s nice to receive comfort from the nostalgic sounds of the past, whether it be a gay bar in West Hollywood, a rave in England, or the warmth of the California sun. Anything is better than being unable to pay your bills.

Read More: Leave Chappell Roan Alone

But nostalgia is a tricky thing. It is equal parts happiness and gratitude, loss and longing. It also produces a never-ending cycle of micro trends in culture. If a newer generation relies too heavily on the past, then it will never move forward— its cultural productions and manifestations a distorted regurgitation of an older generation. And yet, young artists have made nostalgia work for them. For instance, “Anxiety” by Doechii—which interpolates the post-recession era pop 2011 hit “Somebody I Used to Know” by Gotye and Kimbra—went viral on TikTok and inspired a dance trend on the social media platform. The song encapsulated what many young people feel right now: anxiety, fear, depression, and trauma. (According to a Gallup and Walton Family Foundation report, Gen Z has the poorest mental health of any generation.)  In response, Doechii created a digital hub for fans to connect with mental health resources and organizations. Roan, after her rousing speech at the 67th Grammy Awards, donated $25,000 to struggling artists to Backline, a non-profit organization that provides mental health and wellness resources to professionals in the music industry. Carpenter and XCX, among others, matched Roan’s initial donation. A few days later, Universal Music Group announced a partnership with the Music Health Alliance to launch the Music Industry Health Fund.