Film + TV

16 teen TV show soundtracks that defined your life

by Anne T. Donahue

Once upon a time we were all tiny, precious baby teens. (Or maybe you still are. And if that’s the case, hello. Please cherish the fact you can comfortably wear low rise jeans.)

Our lives were easy: we went to school, we went to our part-time jobs, and we made sure to be sitting in front of the television for our stories in the era before PVR and torrents. “Don’t even try to fuck with my standing date with The O.C.,” I would think, silencing my Nokia cell for 60 minutes of Seth/Ryan-time bliss. And if I, or you, or anyone did miss an episode, we comforted ourselves with their soundtracks, replaying those precious moments to the music that made the scene so magical to begin with. (Case in point: Coldplay’s “Fix You” will always be the song Caleb Nichols died to, and Sum 41’s “With Me” will always be the song Chuck and Blair have sex to.)

So because I physically can’t listen to Hilary Duff without pretending I’m also in the opening credits of Laguna Beach, here are what I’ve deemed to be the 16 best teen TV show soundtracks. (Even though, yes, some of these shows are technically for adults.) From “worst” (as if) to best, here you go.

 

Ally McBeal (1997-2002)

For reasons I will never understand, eighth graders of my school bunkered down for weekly viewings of Ally McBeal despite none of us knowing exactly what lawyers did, or what that animated baby was all about. But, Calista Flockhart wore a shirt skirt that our parents didn’t approve of which meant this show was obviously for us, rebellious youth, who were armed with our bucket hats and Dr. Pepper scented Bonne Bell lipglosses. Did we particularly like the Vonda Shepard-penned soundtrack? Absolutely not. (We were 13 — all anyone wanted to do was listen to Britney Spears.) But Vonda Shepard sounded adult. And adults liked Ally McBeal. So listening to the Ally McBeal soundtrack not only made us feel adult, it made us think we understood the show. (Which we did not, since I called “Hooked on a Feeling” “that baby song” well into high school.) That dancing baby is old enough to listen to his/her own teen TV soundtracks now, by the way.

 

One Tree Hill (2003-2012)

Bless you, anyone who saw this show through until the end — you have the patience of a saint, and for that you can hold your head up high whenever you hear Gavin DeGraw’s “I Don’t Wanna Be” in Home Depots and Shopper’s Drug Marts . As for the rest of us, we were lucky: the One Tree Hill soundtrack came out in 2005 a.k.a. in the series’ prime. We could bask in the memories of the first two seasons and re-live only the episodes that lured us in, with no additional soundtracks (ala The O.C. and its seemingly never-ending franchise) to jar us into reality once the series began its descent. Through Music From the WB Series ‘One Tree Hill’ we could reminisce about the former marriage of Chad Michael Murray and Sophia Bush, and justify repeated listenings of Keane (“Everybody’s Changing”). And we still can — after all, this soundtrack affords us the privilege of believing Chad Michael Murray never even left.

 

Melrose Place (1992-1999)

In the soundtrack’s release in 1994, none of us — none of us (I don’t care how cool you are, person reading this) — understood just how stacked the Melrose Place soundtrack was. Case in point: Aimee Mann? Dinosaur Jr.? Annie Lennox? 10 Things I Hate About You heroes Letters to Cleo? In what world were we to understand that the poor man’s 90210 would deliver us such a musical bounty? Well guess what: we didn’t understand. And as an adult, I was ready to skip this soundtrack over completely until I double-checked to make sure I wasn’t missing some mystical gift. Turns out I was. And you were. And we all have been. Dare I say, this bad-boy’s a better soundtrack than that of Friends — but of course I can’t rank it any lower because I only discovered this now. I’ll never doubt you again, Melrose. Or you, Place.

 

Party of Five (1994-2000)

At a certain age, you realized there was more to life than Disney soundtracks. And in 1996, friends whose parents didn’t check up on every CD purchase made began ushering in the age of TV soundtrack relevance. (Some of us, meanwhile, were listening exclusively to Celine Dion and Music From Star Wars  on repeat.) The Party of Five soundtrack exemplified relevance, with songs from Stevie Nicks to Chaka Khan to Shawn Colvin. This was the soundtrack you’d listen to and ask your friend about when listening to it on a Saturday night while organizing your collections of Beanie Babies. (Which was followed by mentally telling yourself that these artists were worth checking out, and vowing to rent it from the library the next time you went.) #maturity

 

Beverly Hills: 90210 (1990-2000)

Was I personally allowed to watch Beverly Hills: 90210? Absolutely not because I was five years old when it came out. But my friends were allowed, and their sisters, and even hearing the opening notes of John Davis’ theme song now brings me back to playing 90210 Twister and 90210 Barbies and listening to the 90210 soundtrack (while openly questioning why everybody thought Dylan was so hot because he looked at least 42). Beverly Hills: 90210 was the first teen series that became a currency: if you watched it, you were in. And if you didn’t, it was embarrassing. The same could be said for owning and/or not owning the soundtrack: sure, you may know who Paula Abdul is, but if you couldn’t identify when “Bend Time Back Around” played, you may as well be Brandon when he didn’t know why that one guy had a “4” on his shirt. (Embarrassing.) And for the record, I still don’t think I’m allowed to watch Beverly Hills: 90210 (which makes the soundtrack even cooler.)

 

My So-Called Life (1994-1995)

Bless you, My So-Called Life, and your short, sweet legacy. In only one season you delivered to us Claire Danes and Jared Leto, and in only one soundtrack you gave us Sonic Youth, Juliana Hatfield, and Daniel Johnston. And while most of us only found you when we were old enough to use the Internet and embrace counter culture, your music was just as important to the series as plaid button-ups. We weren’t worthy. You were too good for this world. But I will still always hate 30 Seconds to Mars.

 

Felicity (1998-2002)

The Felicity soundtrack implied one important thing: this is what college sounds like. It sounded mature, it sounded like feelings, it sounded like a curly-haired woman forced to choose between two guys, and ultimately, it sounded wonderful. And if you’d just hit your teens in 1998, Felicity and its soundtrack represented nothing but potential: sweet, chill guitar-accompanied potential that promised an ascent into wonder-person, just like Keri Russell herself. Provided, of course, you did not cut your hair.

 

The Wonder Years (1988-1993)

Behold: the perfect excuse to listen to oldies under the guise of pop culture awareness. Obviously, when one’s friends are listening to Bush X, No Doubt, and Pearl Jam (and you’re a kid/teen who’s still not comfortable telling them what you listen to is your business), it’s frowned upon to bask in the glow of Carole King or Buffalo Springfield because, to be honest, they are who our parents listened to. But The Wonder Years soundtrack offered a loophole: it was, like the Now & Then soundtrack, attached to something beloved. Nobody was going to argue the right to relive the Kevin Arnold-Winnie Cooper romance. No one was going judge if you wanted to be Kevin’s older sister Karen (and believed this soundtrack would make that aspiration a reality). Instead, you had a reprieve (an escape!), and could keep the “new” music you didn’t want to listen to at an arm’s length for a little bit longer.

 

Laguna Beach (2004-2006)

If you didn’t crank the shit out of Hilary Duff’s “Coming Clean” whenever it came on the radio, you’re not telling the truth. And if you say you didn’t watch Laguna Beach, you are lying even more. Laguna Beach was our first taste of super scripted reality TV, and while we can pretend to be above all of it, it hooked us then and still has us. (Case in point: after reading this paragraph, you will Google Stephen Colletti to see what he’s doing now.) And because Laguna Beach was produced by MTV, the music was fantastic: thanks to songs by the All-American Rejects, New Found Glory, and Dashboard Confessional, it epitomized the musical landscape of the mid-2000s, ushering in the era of pop-rock and emo 2.0. (With sound bites from actual episodes, obviously.) There was nothing standard about it—listening to it, and I’m totally dunzo. (*Starts calling Lauren Conrad “LC” again, buys flip-flops for the first time in six years*)

 

Gilmore Girls (2000-2007)

Gilmore Girls was a show that made you feel less alone during an age when that was the most common feeling. Star’s Hollow was safe, and it was peaceful, and Rory was genuinely liked by most people she knew just for being herself. (As adults we know this is an anomaly, but just go with it.) So clearly, this magical show deserved a worthy soundtrack — which it found, since songs on it ranged from John Lennon’s “Oh My Love” to Bjork’s “Human Behaviour” to PJ Harvey’s “One Line.” For the Gilmores, musicians (dead or alive) would obviously do anything. Which explains why Carole King sang the series’ theme song—with her daughter, natch—which I will now ask to have played at all important events.

 

Gossip Girl (2007-2012)

Thanks to their campaign, “Every Parents’ Worst Nightmare,” Gossip Girl established itself as a series unafraid to break the rules — which it did, many times, especially in the end when (spoiler alert) Dan Humphrey turned out to be Gossip Girl after all. (Meaning he gossiped about himself? And nicknamed himself “Lonely Boy” . . . ? What a freak.) So while we may all hang our heads in shame at having once truly believed in this franchise (case in point: for reasons I can’t understand now, we continually looked past the fact Chuck tried to rape Little J in season one), the soundtrack still stands. At least in terms of totally embodying an era: Castles, The Kills, and Albert Hammond Jr. (to really remind us that 2008 was definitely a year that existed in music) helped stack the track listing, which, in the era of digital downloading, still proved the Gossip Girl soundtrack warranted a full purchase. (Which I remember making before walking around my school campus, telling myself my beret made me look like Blair.)

 

Dawson’s Creek (1998-2003)

The Dawson’s Creek soundtrack track listing may now read like an easy listening manifesto, but that’s exactly what makes it so important: in the midst of the post-grunge and boy band resurgence of ’98 and ’99, the Dawson’s Creek soundtrack had teens across the globe blaring the likes of Paula Cole and Sophie B. Hawkins — out of all the other music in the world. It may as well have come with a complementary pair of khaki pants. But it resembled life (as we thought it was) on the American east coast: kind of romantic, kind of melodramatic, and appropriate for nights spent near and on boats crying about emotions. (And may we never forget that Dawson’s dad died pretending his ice cream cone was a drum stick while singing “Drift Away” in the car.)

 

Grey’s Anatomy (2005-present)

Okay now for the record, I am absolutely only referring to the Grey’s Anatomy Collector’s Edition soundtrack, as well as only to the first three seasons when we knew everyone in that dysfunctional hospital. These facts are important, because there are now people on that show I’ve never seen before, and whose presence frightens me. (I take comfort in familiarity. I live in a world where Izzy’s still dating Alex, and I’m fine with it.) And with those first three seasons, we had feelings. Real, crazy, heartbreaking feelings which were perfectly articulated by Tegan and Sara, Maria Taylor, Rilo Kiley, and The Radio — all of which had their own place both on the soundtrack and in the show. Grey’s Anatomy — like Shondra Rhimes’ Scandal — was (and is) rooted in music. Every song is chosen for a purpose, every song works perfectly, and each serves to make you bawl your face off because two people are standing in an elevator and they can’t be together GODDAMN IT. And how well does the Grey’s Anatomy soundtrack do this? I still tear up when I hear Ingrid Michaelson’s “Keep Breathing” because I remember how it played when Burke (that garbage human) left Christina at the alter. And that was years ago.

 

Friends (1994-2004)

While Beverly Hills: 90210 was the currency of cool, the Friends soundtrack was the gateway into  mainstream music — which, in 1994, was a step up from the default “whatever our parents were listening to” (even if the soundtrack did contain a song by Hootie and the Blowfish). Friends was a sitcom that didn’t  discriminate based on age, and its soundtrack reflected as much — which is important. You don’t go from The Lion King soundtrack to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” (or maybe you do — who are you people), and the step between is The Pretenders and a voiceover about the guy Monica dated who kept shouting “I win!” (Which, naturally, made little to no sense, despite laughing along to fit in, desperately.)

 

Veronica Mars (2004-2007)

On those cold, lonely nights after the cancellation of Veronica Mars in 2007, we had only memories to keep us warm; we had only repeated playings of the Dandy Warhols theme song and “I Know I Know I Know” by the pre-super popular Tegan and Sara. We justified repeated listenings of Mike Doughty and of Stereophonics, and when a cover of “We Used To Be Friends” played during the Veronica Mars movie, we cheered and clapped because we were home. I mean, fine: on its own, the Veronica Mars soundtrack does not hold up against any of these previous greats, but it was a life raft. For years we were promised a movie, and for years we had only DVD box sets and a 14-song soundtrack to remind us of that promise. Ultimately, the Veronica Mars soundtrack kept Veronica Mars alive. And if not Veronica Mars, then the  memories of everything we were in the mid-2000s. (*Solves a mystery, is Kristen Bell*)

 

The O.C. (2003-2007)

Here was a show that meant soundtrack business. First, the show’s creator Josh Schwartz always made it his intention to have music be a focus, and with the powerhouse music supervision of Alexandra Patsavas, it worked. It had four (FOUR!) different soundtracks. Second, it, like Grey’s Anatomy used  music to make a scene. Nada Surf’s “If You Leave” is Seth chasing Anna through the airport. Jem’s “Maybe I’m Amazed” is Marissa and Ryan’s last dance before he goes back to Chino. (Stupid Teresa.) Matt Pond’s cover of “Champagne Supernova” (did this show have a cover thing?) is Summer and Seth’s impromptu Spiderman kiss. On top of that, every song on each soundtrack is accompanied by one of us, somewhere, saying “Oh my God! This is from the part where etc. etc. etc.” And what made it even better was the exclusivity of each: none of these songs were ones you heard on the radio. These weren’t jams you were going to hear at the bar. They were indie and they were hip — and you felt like part of something bigger and secret because you could identify each and every one of these if anybody asked. (Nobody did.) But if they do, you tell them you saw Modest Mouse perform at The Bait Shop. And you have no regrets. Our love of this soundtrack is no secret—check out 32 (!!!) of our favourite moments from it.