Courtesy of Stereogum.

A refrain that repeats “I‰’m not telling you all I‰’m going through‰” sounds like something you might find in a Papa Roach song, an unpolished, unambitious exercise in wallowing in one‰’s own misery. But in “I‰’m Not Part of Me,‰Û  Cloud Nothings mastermind Dylan Baldi uses those words in concert with a sugary yet brooding riff as a sort of lure, suckering in the listener and what must be a pretty dastardly ex into the trap that is the first salvo of the song‰’s chorus: “I‰’m not, I‰’m not you/You‰’re a part of me.‰Û

Translation: Dylan‰’s not telling you all he‰’s going through because you don‰’t matter anymore. You‰’re just a footnote in his life‰’s story, a bad habit he‰’s kicking to the curb with the help of furious guitars, hurtling drums and a bassline that throbs like the vein on a screaming man‰’s neck. Whenever the song reaches the chorus, all of those composite parts threaten to burst at the seam, power chords swooping every which way while the rhythm section powers down the highway to hell.

Somehow, Cloud Nothings are able to control the chaos and craft it into the catchiest rock song of the year, seemingly mimicking the way Baldi‰’s narration is able to sift through the psychic pain of gouging out a familiar yet destructive element of your past to make way for the inevitable light of your future.

Despite the dense, black core of righteous ire the band constructs for most of the track, there‰’s a part in the song‰’s bridge where it sounds like Baldi‰’s gazing at an old photo album, lamentably repeating, “You‰’re the thought that‰’s haunting me,‰” as what was once a confident declaration of independence threatens to collapse in on itself. He‰’s tricked us again, though, as he ends up hurling that photo album into a billowing bonfire in the form of one last chorus, the tightest yet, seemingly indicative of a confident, new, “no looking back‰” approach.

Intoxicated with the madness but never in love with his sadness, “I‰’m Not Part of Me‰” isn‰’t the sound of someone helplessly caterwauling into the abyss; rather, it‰’s the sound of the painful, violent yet hopeful process of clawing out a new lease on life.