Noah Kahan released his fourth studio album, “The Great Divide,” in the dead of night on April 24. About half a day later, he dropped another four songs in a deluxe version called “Last of the Bugs.” After his previous work “Stick Season” became a breakout smash hit in 2022, expectations were high for the folk-rock singer.
As expected, he stuck with his familiar themes of addiction and depression; his songs are the same mix of sadness and unfulfillment that felt like a relatable yet quiet cry for help four years ago. But despite his consistent acoustic/rock mix, he introduced dramatic new emotions to this album that make it distinctive: anger and envy.
While “Stick Season” seemed to follow the ups and downs of a romantic relationship, through trauma and torture, “The Great Divide” feels like an open letter to a childhood friend. This allowed the lyrics to be more brutal and charged, because there wasn’t romance to protect.
And while the former was all about the nostalgic, fall-to-winter, in-between season in Vermont, the latter takes us east, across the “twin-state line” into New Hampshire.
I hear the songs in the voice of a friend watching his companion turn famous, unrecognizable. It revisits the same question that he presented in “Godlight” back in his 2021 album “I Was/I Am:” is the fame all worth it?
I could use this review to write vast paragraphs of each song individually. Song for song, it’s a near perfect album. I could talk about the addictive baseline of “Dashboard,” the fiddle melody of “Doors,” or that unforgettable riff of the title track. I could write on and on about how meaningful “Headed North” feels as a rising college kid leaving for New England in a few months. If you got me started, I would have a tough time moving on from that brilliant opening track, “End of August,” that features a crescendoing tune perfect for backing your car out of the driveway on a big day.
But this album doesn’t deserve the everyday album review treatment. It’s a story that winds through 21 songs.
The story of this album isn’t some perfect ‘good guy, bad guy’ story. The character stuck in the small-town wants to be there for his friend, but even more he wants him to come back to earth, as he sings in “Porch Light”: “I hope you tell me…that you lost the taste to face the crowd.”
The one who made it to fame wants to remember his roots, but he can’t seem to reach his home without feeling performative and unauthentic. His rise to fame sacrificed those around him and left a trail of destruction—“Haircut” says that his good deeds are just virtue signals, “help me if it helps you sleep.”
It’s undoubtedly easier to empathize with the small-town perspective. The man he trusted cast aside friends and his home to reach stardom. But this perspective is more of an antihero than anything. He’s sick with envy and though he “leaves the porch light on,” hoping his friend will return, at his core, he’s “praying on [his] downfall.”
Just how a single conversation or text message can change our emotions towards a person, these songs tell the story of a constantly changing relationship. “American Cars” expresses love for the same person “23” despises. “All My Horses” is a painful song of regret from the side of fame that reminds us that life is hard for both perspectives.
Maturity is the core of what makes this album so great. Musically, Kahan’s signature falsetto has aged so well, and his talent shines through more than ever. But through that storytelling, it’s his ability to forgive and forget and heal that’s matured.
In “Dan,” it feels like a reunion of long friends, reminiscing about their hometown friends from “both sides” of that great divide. And it doesn’t matter what fights and trauma have led them here. That moment is perfect. “Where do we go, when we die? I wouldn’t mind right here, no I wouldn’t mind at all.”
In his recent documentary “Noah Kahan: Out of Body,” footage showed Kahan during that in-between period in 2024. The “Stick Season” saga was over, after a grand finale show at Fenway Park. He was starting the winding process of the next project and it was taxing on his mental health. The cameras captured a raw moment of pain and uncertainty.
“I am sad it’s over and I don’t know what the next thing is and it’s scary,” he said. “I don’t have a vision for what’s next for myself.”
You figured it out, Noah. And we’re grateful. You allowed yourself to work through the pain and burnout and gave us a masterpiece. As usual, it’s art that makes us feel and helps us through our own pain. Even more, it makes us appreciate what we have.
“Stick Season” felt like pain, but “The Great Divide” feels like healing. It feels less like “Orange Juice” and more like “Dan.” The last album was fall to winter, and it’s springtime now. But we’re talking about the king of Zoloft here. If you try hard enough, you can have seasonal depression anytime of year.
