My 2016 Music Obsession—And Artists I Missed

Graphic by Caitlynn Cabioc-Soriano

In 2016, music surrounded me, infiltrating every part of my life. I did not search for it, did not analyze it, and never gave much thought to the people behind it. Songs simply existed around me, playing on loop through shared earphones, Bluetooth speakers in school corridors, and YouTube autoplay that always seemed to know what to play next. My playlists were a mix of Shreya Ghoshal songs and global hits that had taken over the world. At the time, that felt like more than enough.

Songs like "Closer" by The Chainsmokers featuring Halsey and Sia’s "Cheap Thrills" were everywhere. Around the same time, "All We Know" by The Chainsmokers and Phoebe Ryan and "We Don’t Talk Anymore (feat. Selena Gomez)" by Charlie Puth became staples in my everyday listening. These songs were not just popular tracks. They shaped the pop culture of that moment and quietly became a big part of my teenage years. I didn’t look into who these artists were or wonder about their musical journeys. I just knew the lyrics, the beat drops, and exactly which part of the song everyone waited for.

That was also the era when I discovered One Direction and when I heard Taylor Swift’s "Blank Space" for the first time. I did not consciously decide to become a fan. I simply vibed with the song, the way most of us did back then. Looking back now, I realize how deeply these tracks settled into my memory. 

What made these songs stay with me was not just their popularity, but the emotional space they created. At sixteen, I was listening to songs about longing, breakups, and complicated love long before I fully understood those feelings myself. Tracks like "Closer", "All We Know" and "We Don’t Talk Anymore" carried an adult sense of romance and heartbreak, but they reached me more softly—as moods rather than meanings. They made me feel older, included, and quietly confident, as if knowing these songs placed me somewhere closer to the world I wanted to grow into. The melodies, the lyrics, and even the music videos allowed me to imagine love as something cinematic and exciting, even when my own life was far simpler.

Together, these artists shaped a version of pop music that was emotionally accessible, globally shared, and deeply tied to how my generation experienced its teenage years.

A big part of how I discovered music during that phase came from friends. Someone would recommend a song, pass one earphone, and suddenly it became part of my world. There was no pressure to explore deeper or go beyond what was popular. I loved songs for how they made me feel in the moment, not for who made them. Looking back, that simplicity feels comforting. It was music without context, without expectations, and without algorithms trying to define my taste.

Over the years, something shifted.

Somewhere between growing up and growing curious, my relationship with music began to change. I no longer just wanted songs that sounded good. I wanted to know the artists behind them. I wanted to understand where they came from, what they stood for, and how their music reflected their stories. Music slowly moved from being passive to something more intentional.

Whenever a song began and the lyrics or melody made me feel something, I started looking for it. I remember typing half-remembered lines into Google, clicking through results, and then feeling an unmatched kind of happiness when I finally found the song and the artist behind it. Those small moments of discovery felt deeply personal, as if the music had met me halfway. I would play the song on loop, let it sink in, and slowly grow attached to it until another song came along and claimed that space. Each discovery felt like making a new friend, one that stayed with me for a while before quietly becoming part of my playlist and my memory.

There are artists I listen to today whom I genuinely wish I had discovered back in 2016. BTS is one of them. Years later, while riding the Hallyu wave again after watching a few K-dramas, I entered the K-pop space through "Butter." But every time I listen to "Blood Sweat & Tears" now, I cannot help but imagine what it would have felt like to experience it back then, when it was shaping a global cultural moment. The same thought often comes up with BLACKPINK. I eventually became a girl group stan and a fan of theirs, but there is always a quiet wish that I had discovered and supported them during my early years.

As my musical awareness expanded, it was no longer limited to what was popular or trending. My world expanded beyond the barriers of language. Music stopped being about what I could immediately understand and started becoming about what I could feel. That shift opened doors to artists across cultures and eventually led me to Indian independent musicians like Prateek Kuhad and The Local Train. 

Discovering indie artists felt personal and almost intimate. Their music did not arrive through charts or virality, but through quieter moments, much like how songs once reached me in school. The difference was that this time, I stayed to learn who they were.

What I understand through this evolution is that music finds you when it is meant to be found. Call it timing or destiny, but certain songs and artists connect with you during the hardest moments of your life, offering comfort before you even realize you need it. Today, I enjoy knowing the process behind a song, the thoughts that go into writing it, and the intention behind how it is presented. From BTS, I learned how consistency, teamwork, and believing in a shared dream can lead to something far bigger than success, building a genuine fandom rooted in humble beginnings. 

Watching BLACKPINK’s journey showed me what dedication looks like: young artists leaving their countries, training for years, and holding onto a dream before the world ever noticed them. 

Discovering indie artists like Prateek Kuhad taught me the power of simplicity, how quiet lyrics and honest melodies can say the most. These insights deepen the bond between artists and listeners, adding meaning to music far beyond its release.

Each person has their own musical journey. Mine truly began in 2016, and I feel lucky that the time period shaped my tastes. From loving songs without context to finding meaning in the artists behind them, music has grown alongside me. Even now, every time I press play, it feels like I am reconnecting with a version of myself who first learned to listen all those years ago.  

What’s that one 2016 song you still hold onto? Let us know in the comments below or by reaching out to us on Instagram or X.

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Edited by Michelle Leung