Bruno Major is an artist near and dear to my heart, and recently, his music has had the same effect on people all over the world. Although his sophomore album To Let A Good Thing Die came out in the summer of 2020, his catalog was reinvigorated the moment his song “Nothing” found a new life on TikTok. Today nearly 450,000 videos on the platform sample his song for a romantic trend. Users post a video with their significant other to the backdrop of Major’s lyrics: “Dumb conversation/We lose track of time/Have I told you lately/I’m grateful you’re mine?”
It’s not that Major hadn’t already had a prominent fanbase: At the time of the original release, he had over one million monthly listeners. But now, his listenership has increased eight times over, all thanks to the success of a song nearly two years after its release. With TikTok dictating the charts, timeliness is no longer a necessity for any given track to trend, as long as a creator maximizes on a moment and the algorithm—which is perfect for Major, given his discography is timeless in itself.
Still, now that To Let A Good Thing Die is relevant to the general public again, I wanted to revisit this album from a critical lens and give it the credit it deserves. Sure, we could’ve had this conversation in 2020, but back then, Major wasn’t viral and I wasn’t a music journalist.
When Major released his sophomore album, it was clear the sound he’d established with previous works was still prominent: his smooth timbre, effortless singing, consistent groove, and use of harmonic structure that hits music nerds right in the music theory. But after coming back to songwriting with a more seasoned approach, To Let A Good Thing Die brings refined production and a lyrical prowess that will be hard to recreate.
Beginning with the song that started it all, “Nothing” trended because of this exact lyricism: co-written with Raelee Nikole, the two songwriters keep the narrative conversational, yet personal; specific, but tangible; and romantic, wrapped together with masterful comedic timing. The song opens with the lyrics: “Track suits and red wine/Movies for two/We’ll take off our phones, and we’ll turn off our shoes/We’ll play Nintendo/Though I always lose/Cuz you watch the TV/While I’m watching you,” and the execution evokes the exact reaction Major intended. When he performed an earlier rendition of the song for the first time, the audience went straight from laughter to a collective “aww,” forcing Major to pause like a character in a sitcom, leaving room for the laugh-track. And in the production, he even samples the nostalgic ding of a 64.
But Major can do more than ooey-gooey. The album’s title and closing track, “To Let A Good Thing Die” is the type of poetic storytelling that every songwriter hopes to achieve, leaving the listener awestruck and pensive post-listen by the bittersweet message. I once learned that the AABA structure had the potential to hit listeners in the gut if used wisely, and this track reaffirms that advice. Each verse brings up melancholic examples of impossible dreams until it’s finished off with a heeding refrain: “sometimes, it’s time to let a good thing die.” By the time we reach the bridge, the lead up makes the section emotionally heightened, achieving an intentionality that impresses audiences and artists alike. Even Billie Eilish called the track one of her favorite songs of 2020.
Speaking of Eilish, Major also co-wrote the second track, “The Most Beautiful Thing” with Eilish’s brother, FINNEAS. This track was affected by the boom caused by “Nothing,” as fans began to discover more of Major’s music. Now, the track has over 50 million streams, and rightfully so. In addition to his storytelling, Major aids his message with the production, featuring crying guitars and understated instrumentation with little build to emphasize the meaning of the lyrics: Wallowing after getting stood up.
Subtlety was a choice for prosody, but certainly not a necessity for the rest of Major’s work. Major flaunts complex progressions and an atypical melody without ever losing the listener in his opening track, “Old Soul.” His playful use of triplets make every rhythmic variation feel like ear candy, making it nearly impossible not to bob your head and crinkle your nose with stank face approval. Flavors of these complex musical undertones are heard in other tracks, especially the instrumental bits of “I’ll Sleep When I’m Older” and “Figment Of My Mind,” where the string sections feel like out-of-body experiences (perhaps metaphorically for the latter, as “Figment Of My Mind” is about what happens after you die).
And one cannot talk about this album without giving a notable mention to “Regent’s Park.” The coyness of the piano makes the sly lyrics even funnier while still managing to be a stunning track. It’s not the first time an artist has paired playful positivity with lyrical disses (Panic! At The Disco’s “Nearly Witches” or Lily Allen’s “Fuck You” come to mind), but there’s a calmness to this track which helps the hidden sincerity in the chorus, as the narrator comes to terms with the fact that they still have feelings for a person who did them wrong. That’s the thing with Major. There’s so much under the surface, and conscious musical choices help listeners analyze and peel back the layers.
There’s a reason TikTok won’t let this good album die. It’s only so often that an artist like Major comes along: a silky crooner, a musical wizard, and a true storyteller. And it’s not just new fans tuning in, but old fans like me who keep coming back to listen time and time again.