The Singles Jukebox

From Thomas, a country-adjacent trans singer-songwriter reflecting on his quarterlife…

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Thomas Inskeep: Heltai’s a trans male folk-adjacent singer/songwriter in his mid-20s who’s been getting better with each release, but “25” is a genuine knockout. The song starts out with him worrying about worrying too much and “try[ing] so hard”; his mom reminds him that he’s got plenty of time to do, and figure out, things. It’s a sweet and simple, loping, strummy number — think Jason Mraz if he were actually good. But then the bridge comes along, and OOF: “And if I peaked in high school/Then maybe I wouldn’t care/But I was just another queer kid/And I thought that I’d be dead/By the time that I turned 20/Guess I’m pushing all my luck/Living past my life expectancy/’Cause trans kids normally don’t get this far.” The first time I heard this, I started sobbing; it still nails me in the gut and the heart. As someone who was a queer kid in high school who thought (and often hoped) I’d be dead, let alone who realized in my early 50s that my gender identity is neither what the world nor I had perceived it to be, I feel these lines acutely. And Heltai’s singing style is so laconic that the lyrics creep up on you. He’s not overly emoting, just being very “this is my truth” about it, which makes the impact that much harder. He’s one of our best right now, and this is without question my single of the year.
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Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Oh no! I think this song is sweet and meaningful and a beautifully honest rendering of trans and queer young adulthood but I also think it sounds like Mac DeMarco! Diversity win?
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Will Adams: There’s an earnestness that elevates “25” above the more cynical spate of mental health pop songs we saw in the late ’10s, and a warm pop-rock arrangement is always welcome. But I’m 31 now; while I still struggle with how to just live in this world — we all do — I’ve aged out of this particular mode of struggle, which verges on the naive. All I can do is take comfort in its existence; what “Vermillion” was for me at a point in my life, “25” will be for someone out there.
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Oliver Maier: I tried for a moment to think of what genre you would call this, but truth be told it just sounds like Spotify to me. It’s Vibe-core. Soulful but not effortful indie rock-lite that’s always home by curfew. I feels like it’s everywhere, but I couldn’t name another song that does it because they all feel so disposable (probably something by Rex Orange County; if not patient zero, he’s surely a super-spreader). And Izzy is trying to sing about something of enormous importance on the bridge here! Why do this topic such a disservice with such nothing music and self-infantilising lyrics? The way he punctuates the god-forsaken therapist line with a seltzer spray of guitar noise (wake up!!! Mental health is happening!!!) makes me groan. 25 is not too old to have a little more imagination. It’s too old to be singing like that, though.
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Vikram Joseph: A neat way to recalibrate yourself in time is to remember all the things you worried you might be too old to do 5 years ago, and then to think about how young your 5-years-ago self seems to you now, and then to think about how young your current self will seem to you in 5 years time. Izzy Heltai talks himself round in a similar way on “25”, a sweet and wholesome (if slightly unadventurous) bit of country-pop. It’s all lolloping guitar and creaky synth, gentle and comforting, at least until Heltai reminds us that “trans kids normally don’t get this far.”
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Ian Mathers: It’d be real easy for me, a cishet white dude who remembers 25 and also remembers not having a lot of ‘real’ problems at 25, to shrug off this guy worrying that he hasn’t done enough at that age. But even if things didn’t feel different in general in 2023 (and they do!), Heltai takes time in this sweet and charming song to make explicit why my demographic peers should maybe shut up and think about it a bit: “Guess I’m pushing all my luck/Living past my life expectancy/’Cause trans kids normally don’t get this far.” It can take a lot to actually feel like you’ve still got time. “25” is lovely because it feels like, even if just recently, Heltai knows he does.
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Hannah Jocelyn: “Why do I try so hard?” I’m working four jobs, and it’s not enough; I’m lucky to have a supportive family and supportive friends, I’m lucky in so many ways. I have people telling me I’ll get there someday, but it’s a ticking clock, isn’t it? We know where the country’s going; who knows how much time we have left regardless of age. On the bridge of the year, Izzy Heltai says: “Guess I’m pushing all my luck/Living past my life expectancy/’Cause trans kids normally don’t get this far/That’s why I try so hard.” I wasn’t sure I’d get this far, either; my egg cracked at 17, and it took the world ending at 22 for me to pursue transition. Sure, I had the privilege of passing as a cis guy, but ask anyone who really knew me and it did not outweigh the suffering I felt. Even now, I have trouble thinking about a five-year plan because I don’t know what life will look like for people like me and Izzy in the future. So I find the purposeful naivety of this song affecting; we’re going to keep on going anyway and inspiring one another, fuck you. “25” isn’t a masterpiece; the production is pristine but uninspired adult alternative (give or take some distorted guitars and a pretty chorused bit at the end), and the pacing of the song is too slow even if the bridge pays it off beautifully. But it doesn’t need to be a colossal achievement. We’re just trying to live.
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Joshua Minsoo Kim: The perfect soundtrack to an award-winning, coming-of-age tearjerker premiering at Sundance.
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Katherine St Asaph: His heart is in the right place, and his guitars eventually get there. “25” is self-released, so I’m sure this is exactly the sound he wants to make. But as the Mandy, Indiana single demonstrated, it’s possible to have both a message and an instrumental that doesn’t sound like James Blunt.
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Taylor Alatorre: At first this comes across as a less knotty and warbled take on Pinegrove’s emo-Americana fusion, though the unaffectedness of the writing tells me Heltai likely arrived at this synthesis independently. Then that classic alt-rock crunch drops in, with a tone that says “hey, I don’t usually use guitars like this in my music, so you’d better listen up.” It’s a good way to mirror the shifting worries and impulses depicted in the lyrics, without veering too far away from one particular headspace in one particular moment. Unlike the most famous emo-adjacent song about being 25 and aimless, the mood here is more reflective than exhortatory, with an unhurried pace that matches the implied conversational tone between Heltai and his mother.
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Brad Shoup: The plain-spoken nature of this–the genial self-deprecation, the way he names his fears with a shrug, the reminder to get some sleep–gets me thinking about those fantastic queer compilations that the Folkways label put together in the ’70s and ’80s. They’re insular and open: a window to warm and messy worlds I will never truly know, but were everything to the musicians and their communities. It makes sense that the trickster coffeeshop-folk would be replaced with drawling adult alternative, and it’s touching that Heltai sees the anthemic in such a straightforward text. I hope he’s singing this for decades.
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Wayne Weizhen Zhang: “25” comes from that feeling where you look around at everyone else enjoying a pleasant day and wonder if you’re the only one gripped with anxiety inside about things you’ve put off or forgotten to do. It comes from that feeling where even after you’ve done the work of rejecting toxic stress and begun defining success your own way, you still feel self-conscious about your life decisions; where you feel genuinely happy for your peers upon learning about their accomplishments, but secretly and ashamedly wonder how they’ve all managed to reach their full potential, while your own dreams feel like a perpetual work-in-progress. It’s a feeling that one day you realized your other queer friends had too, each of you gripped with the pressure of proving your own happiness and worth in a society that denied your very existence. When Izzy Heltai sings, it feels like he’s one of those friends, reminding you that you’re not alone. Set to an ambling beat, each confessional is accompanied by the crescendo of a lazy guitar. I hear serious healing and self-care in his voice, even as he conversationally shares interventions from his mom and therapist or casually mentions being a trans kid who didn’t think he’d make it to adulthood. I turned 27 last month, officially entering into the late 20s. As an adult, I often experience happiness and community my younger self couldn’t have even imagined. But on my worst days, I still feel like I’m constantly chasing a future version of myself–and I’m exhausted by that chase, and scared that I’ll never stop feeling that way. I’m also a high school teacher who runs a GSA, seeing the cycles of how young queer kids mask their insecurities by pushing themselves to be the best, setting themselves up for standards they’ll later need to unlearn. I want them to hear this song and o know that they’re enough the way that they are and they don’t have to try so hard–and I want to believe those messages for myself. The most powerful message of “25” is about extending ourselves grace. We will never run out of time to become who we truly want.
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Nortey Dowuona: We both got a lot of time left.
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