Sometimes a song doesn’t just find you—it stops you in your tracks, sits you down, and holds up a mirror. That’s what Night Teacher’s “Never Better” did for me. The project of songwriter and vocalist Lilly Bechtel and producer Matt Wyatt, Night Teacher isn’t simply about songs—it’s about invitations. Their upcoming album, “Year of the Snake (due October 31), promises transformation, but with “Never Better,” I felt like I was already stepping into that season of shedding and renewal.
What struck me first was Lilly’s voice. It’s not just singing—it’s confiding, questioning, even unraveling in real time. When she delivers lines like “I went to sleep when it was time to be awake” or “tell me now, have I become strange to you”—it lands like a late-night conversation where the truth keeps slipping out, unfiltered. There’s sincerity in her phrasing, a conversational weight that makes the lyrics feel like they’re happening to both of us at once. She’s not performing transformation—she’s embodying it, shaky footing and all.
The song’s rhythm mirrors that unsettled energy. The groove is slightly off-kilter, never too polished, and that’s the point. Transformation rarely is. It’s steady enough to keep moving forward, yet uneven to capture the disorientation of change. The production feels lived-in, even gritty—like a diary entry recorded in a dim room with the mic catching every breath. Wyatt keeps the sound intimate, allowing space for the rawness of the lyrics. You hear the human weight in lines like “Couldn’t trust the process, kidnapped it instead, hear it stomp from below while I microdose the internet”—and the production doesn’t dress it up, it lets it breathe.
There’s also something playful in the pain, a sly wit running through the storytelling. The hairdresser vignette—“I said I’m so sorry, but excuse me, but I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just I don’t care about your daughter’s birthday party by a tiny pool”—lands with humor and sting. It’s this blend of absurd everyday detail and existential questioning that makes the song feel so alive.
Instrumentally, the track doesn’t need grand gestures. It thrives on atmosphere—a taut pulse, textures that hover between warmth and abrasion. Every sonic choice leans into intimacy rather than spectacle. It’s as if you’re in the rehearsal room, watching something unfold that hasn’t been sanded down or sterilized.
For me, “Never Better” is less about perfection and more about presence. It’s the sound of someone losing the game again, as Lilly puts it, but still playing—still reaching for something better, still trying to become “a better human” without losing herself along the way. That honesty makes Night Teacher an artist worth leaning into right now.
So here’s to Night Teacher: thank you for refusing to hand us an easy transformation story. Thank you for showing that growth can be awkward, unresolved, even funny at times. With “Never Better,” you’ve given us not just a song, but a companion for those in-between moments when life feels messy and miraculous. And for that, I’m listening—closely.
Listen to “Never Better” on Spotify
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