Billy Joel is Gen-Z Coded

When I was 12 years old, I figured out that I could not only listen to music on YouTube, but that the algorithm (I didn’t know this word then) would recommend similar songs to me. Previously, I had listened to music mainly on my iPod. It contained a few CDs I had accumulated over the years: Frank Sinatra’s Greatest Hits (which I got when I was 8 because one of his songs appeared on the Tony Hawk Underground 2 soundtrack) and Green Day’s 21st Century Breakdown, among others. Otherwise I was at the mercy of my parents’ alternative rock station (I never got into Shinedown) or my grandparents’ solid gold oldies (I did get into Buddy Holly).

The algorithm soon opened things up for me, though I mainly stayed in the 20th century rock and folk lane that would eventually dominate my taste. I expanded my fledgling interest in Johnny Cash (“A Boy Named Sue” was kitschy enough to grab my attention as a young kid) to include more poignant and painful ballads like “Folsom Prison Blues” and “San Quentin.” I got on board with mainstream artists like Queen and The Beatles (both of whom I would eventually lose interest in) and deeper cut artists like Dexys Midnight Runners and their cult-favorite “Come on Eileen” which would not appear in Perks of Being a Wallflower for another several years.

All of this paled in comparison to my obsession with Billy Joel, who I knew almost nothing about, even if I had heard the oft-overplayed “Piano Man” a handful of times. There was something about the energy in his songs that I found intoxicating. He wasn’t just crooning the sweet, soporific ballads of Sinatra or McCartney – “Uptown Girl” notwithstanding. Most of his songs were incisive, straight-talking, and honest. He homed in on themes of hardship and illness and regret.

Gen Z knows Billy Joel mainly from “Vienna”, which The Guardian called an “anti-hustle anthem.” “Vienna” is currently Joel’s third-most streamed song on Spotify and it’s not particularly close. You might remember it from 13 Going on 30. A few years ago, a TikTok commenter said of the song: “Every teenage girl has their unexplainable emotional attachment to this song, no one knows why, it’s just a pinnacle part of girlhood.” Here’s a bit of it:

Slow down, you crazy child

And take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while

It's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two, oh

When will you realize Vienna waits for you?

Gen Z has no concept of taking the phone off the hook, either literally or figuratively. The average teenager gets over 200 notifications per day. We live with a constant hum of things demanding our attention. Gen Z is in the throes of a mental health crisis, reporting rising rates of anxiety and depression, suicide and suicidal ideation, and social isolation and loneliness. Our dependence on tech – which far from a conscious choice was thrusted upon us by big corporations who knew what they were inventing – is no small reason why. 

It’s not surprising either that the generation subjected to more high-stakes standardized testing and college prep than any previous age cohort may also feel they’ve been on the hamster wheel too long. The educational system prized degrees and high-paying jobs over creative passions at every step of the way. It warped our concept of learning, working, and what it takes to succeed. “Vienna” tells us life doesn’t have to be a sprint, that success can come in time, that fulfillment is supposed to be, well, fulfilling. “Vienna” is like a warm hug.

Gen Z’s interest in Billy Joel more or less begins and ends here. But it shouldn’t! There are so many other pieces that tackle the intersection of mental health, economic anxiety, burnout, and relationships. After all, it’s Joel who famously sings, “Who needs a house out in Hackensack? Is that all you get for your money?” 

Notable is his focus on mental illness. Joel crafts characters that are not just navel-gazing but truly suffering. "Summer, Highland Falls" lays bare the struggles of a manic-depressive (Joel’s words) whose ups and downs tear at the fabric of their existence.

Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity

Our reason coexists with our insanity

And though we choose between reality and madness

It's either sadness or euphoria

These lines from “I Go to Extremes” paint a dire picture of someone in the throes of a severe mood disorder:

Call me a joker, call me a fool

Right at this moment, I'm totally cool

Clear as a crystal, sharp as a knife

I feel like I'm in the prime of my life

Sometimes I'm tired, sometimes I'm shot

Sometimes I don't know how much more I got

Maybe I'm headed over the hill

Maybe I set myself up for the kill

Sometimes I lie awake, night after night

Coming apart at the seams

Eager to please, ready to fight

Why do I go to extremes?

In “Tomorrow is Today”, one of my personal favorites, he zeroes in on the painful repetition of a life marked by disappointment.

I don't care to know the hour

'Cause it's passing anyway

I don't have to see tomorrow

'Cause I saw it yesterday

There’s reason to believe no age cohort feels this way more acutely than Gen Z. In a study from 2017, researchers found that the percentage of 18-25 year olds who report “serious psychological distress” was up 71% from 2008. And that’s before the pandemic; we have evidence to suggest it’s worsened.

There’s more. In a decade that has seen an uptick in worker solidarity not seen since the early 20th century, songs like “Allentown” and “The Downeaster Alexa” may be particularly resonant with a generation seeking to unionize their coffee shops and Amazon warehouses. Take this part of “Allentown”:

Every child had a pretty good shot

To get at least as far as their old man got

But something happened on the way to that place

They threw an American flag in our face

It’s pretty much the sort of refrain you hear on a Starbucks picket line or in the comment section of an AOC livestream. Then there’s this from “The Downeaster Alexa”:

I was a bayman like my father was before

Can't make a living as a bayman anymore

There ain't much future for a man who works the sea

But there ain't no island left for islanders like me

Most Gen Z are not baymen or the children of baymen. ₁ Regardless, the sentiment – that rising costs are pricing people out of their communities and making the American Dream appear dimmer and dimmer – is evergreen, if not more relatable than ever. Rates of homeownership are dropping for Gen Z adults compared to their parents. You have to make, on average, $68,000 to comfortably rent a 2-bedroom apartment in this country. The median Gen Z worker makes nowhere near that.

In “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” (eight minutes of wild, spasmodic glory) the high school sweethearts eventually part due to money troubles.

Well, they got an apartment with deep pile carpets

And a couple of paintings from Sears

A big waterbed that they bought with the bread

They had saved for a couple of years

They started to fight when the money got tight

And they just didn't count on the tears

You might need to replace “carpet” with “faux wood laminate,” “Sears” with “Target,” and “waterbed” with “Casper mattress” but you get the idea. A survey in 2023 found, disturbingly but understandably, that nearly half of Gen Z say that similar attitudes about money matter more than romantic attraction in a relationship. Bleak!

If you find these lyrics could have just as easily been written by a sad-boy indie-folk artist today, you’re not alone. The Billy Joel renaissance is in full swing on TikTok, where you may find a duo like Wendlo scratching an itch with “Movin’ Out” (working too hard can give you a heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack ack!) or Sarah N’dri belting out our favorite “Vienna” (613,000 likes, by the way.) There are thousands more with whom these tales of isolation and anxiety and fear seriously resonate.

This essay is not a paid partnership with Billy Joel. I’m not exactly recommending him as a role model, either. I just think his music is neat, and that it – more so than much modern music! – is a window into the heart of my generation; a generation struggling with its identities and habits and brain health. Listening to Billy Joel has helped me understand myself, so maybe the next time you’re at the record store in your low-waisted jeans and ironic haircut you’ll give him a try.

Thanks for reading.

Devon

₁ If you’re interested in the saga of how Robert Moses (my arch-nemesis) screwed over the Long Island baymen, I recommend The Power Broker by Robert Caro (my hero.)