Grief touches everyone at some point in their life, and it’s an experience that is deeply personal and unique to the person. But imagine a group of humans coming together to watch Sara Bareilles’s new documentary Good Grief, directed by Josh Alexander, which originally premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival this past June. There was an unspoken support for everyone in the room, and not a dry eye in the audience, because at some point or another, one of the many songs Sara wrote on her seventh studio album Good Grief impacted each person there.
I came prepared with the essentials: popcorn, my emotional support Owala water bottle, and tissues, of course. The opening chords to “Forever,” one of the most heart-wrenching songs on the album, about her best friend Gavin Creel, brought immediate tears to the eyes around me. Tissues were shared, sniffles echoed throughout the theater, and laughter erupted during Sara’s comedic breaks to help lighten the mood.
As a self-certified Sara Bareilles fan from all walks of her musical career (ask anyone in my life), I participated in all the album release activities. In addition to seeing the documentary in theaters, I also attended an exclusive listening party at Resident Vinyl in Orange, CA. Again, I caught myself sharing deeply personal moments with strangers, all hearing this music for the first time. As I sat and listened, every single person in the record store had an emotional reaction to various songs. It was never simultaneous, but we were all on the journey together, supporting and listening to this new work of art.
That same tension, hard truths wrapped in hope, carries through the album itself. True to its title, the 14-track collection is a pure reckoning with loss, yet even its darkest moments are threaded with an insistent, luminous pull toward hope. A classic Sara twist. When she first announced the album, I was preparing myself for some deeply emotional, gut-wrenching songs—and yes, while some of these songs are that, woven in between are anthems like “Hands Off My Body” and “Capsize Me,” and comedic relief moments in her jazz-inspired “Nervous Breakdown.”
That same duality shows up visually, too, in the record’s first music video. Alongside the album’s release came the music video premiere for “Just A Kid.” I remember sitting at the listening party in the record store, immediately feeling a sense of familiarity. The video utilizes archival footage of Sara’s early tours and her close friend and tour manager, Chad Joseph, who the song is written about.
Where “Just A Kid” looks back at friendship, “Heartland” looks outward. “Heartland” pulled at my heartstrings (pun intended). She draws on the Emma Lazarus poem on the bottom of the Statue of Liberty to pen a song for the challenges women have faced in society over the past several years—the overturning of Roe v. Wade, among others.
That same unflinching honesty about women’s lived experience continues with “Ladies in a Line” and “A Love Story.” Sara delivers a gut-punching couple of songs focused on her struggles with infertility, something millions of women face each year, and a topic rarely spoken about in the public eye. The documentary highlighted her struggles while drawing on the experiences of the other musicians in the studio with her. Listening and watching, I thought about my friends who have struggled in this area, and knowing they have a shared experience to hold onto in these painful moments brings a bit of hope.
Through the many chapters of grief Sara explored, the end brings some hope; the quiet closing offers a hand in support, so you don’t have to experience grief alone. Because you’re not. This album proved that even being in a room of strangers can heal our hearts a little. We collectively grieved, and that is why music is medicine.
