9 of Our Favorite Songs That Remind Us of Mom

Where would we be without our mothers? With less good music in the world, for one. To celebrate Mother’s Day, Pitchfork staffers share their favorite songs that were inspired by moms or highlight motherly pearls of wisdom.

Thin Lizzy: “Philomena”

Whenever Philomena Lynott went to see Thin Lizzy perform, her son, Phil, requested she sit in the center seat in the balcony. That way, when the stage light struck his iconic black Fender Precision bass, he could reflect its glow back up to see her. It was a sweet gesture, indicative of the close relationship they shared, though all those shows took their toll on Philomena. “The music would start: Baaang,” she recalled in 2017. “I think they injured my eardrums.”

Lynott took his adoration a step further in 1974, naming a swaggering battle anthem after his mother. It’s one of his most triumphant, heartfelt letters home: “Give her all of my love,” he sings. “For she has a heart of gold there/As good as God above.” He narrates from somewhere far away, bemoaning the distance his career creates between them. But he’s using his light to shine her way. –Sam Sodomsky, Staff Writer

The Carpenters: “(They Long to Be) Close to You”

A week or so after our daughter was born, my wife made a Spotify playlist to listen to while rocking her to sleep, including Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day,” and Nat King Cole’s “Cachito.” Overwhelmed by emotion and hormones, she later told me, she found herself listening through it with our daughter in her arms and weeping with joy, along with a host of harder-to-pinpoint feelings.

Last week, driving our daughter—now almost four—to school, we dialed up the playlist. The playful, Spanish-language “Cachito” made for a great singalong as always, but as we pulled into the parking lot, I realized that my wife was wiping a tear from her eye. The song on the stereo was the Carpenters’ “(They Long to Be) Close to You,” a tune about birds singing, stars falling, and angels sprinkling moondust. It’s so innocent that it’s definitely kitschy and almost corny. The lyrics actually scan as romantic, but a key line (“On the day that you were born the angels got together/And decided to create a dream come true”) works just as well for mothers and fathers beaming upon their offspring. Some songs—the best songs—defy all our attempts to retain composure, and thank goodness for that. –Philip Sherburne, Contributing Editor

Mitski: “Your Best American Girl”

Our mothers help us take our first steps and discover our favorite foods, in the process cobbling together the outline of who we become. Mitski begins “Your Best American Girl” singing, “Your mother would not approve of how my mother raised me.” She is anguished by romantic yearning, the kind where you pretend to be someone your crush desires at the expense of who you really are. At my lowest moments in high school, when a boy asked me if I use curry as a chaser (yes, for alcohol) and called me and all my friends “The Indians” (...we weren’t all Indian), I wanted nothing more than to change how I was raised.

I still feel an acute sense of heartache at the way I funneled my pain toward my mother, rather than my crush. I yelled and cried and demanded she cook hamburgers and change the ways she pronounced words. This regret has lingered longer than any romantic rejection. “Your Best American Girl” provides some solace, though. Toward the end of the song, as the guitars and drums thrash, Mitski reaches some kind of resolution, if not entirely catharsis. In the video, she stands alone, singing for herself, and maybe for her mother too. –Vrinda Jagota, Associate Social Media Manager

Sampha: “Kora Sings”

Sampha wrote Process, his debut album, in the two years between when his mother was diagnosed with stomach cancer and when she passed away. Every song on the record is heart-wrenching, and “Kora Sings” is a stunning demonstration of how grief can be so many things: frantic, debilitating, unfathomable. “You’ve been with me, you’re my angel/Please don’t you disappear,” Sampha beckons over a swirl of crunchy electronics and frenzied drumming. At the heart of the song is the kora, a West African harp-like instrument that flows mystically, like the sonic equivalent of glitter. Its strings feel like a small way in which Sampha honors his mother, suggesting a glimmer of beauty and hope amid loss. –Michelle Kim, Associate Staff Writer

Carole King and Louise Goffin: “Where You Lead”

While on maternity leave a couple of years ago, I watched the entire series run of “Gilmore Girls” while nursing my newborn daughter. The show’s theme music, a version of Carole King’s “Where You Lead,” is probably the song my daughter has heard the most times in her nearly two years of life. (“Baby Shark” is currently giving it a run for its money, though.) Originally recorded for King’s 1971 album Tapestry as an ode to romantic fidelity, “Where You Lead” was re-imagined in 2000 for “Gilmore Girls” as a pledge of maternal devotion, sung as a duet between King and her daughter, Louise Goffin. My Tapestry LP used to be my mom’s; it has her initials written on the cover and the record’s center label, to prevent it from getting stolen from her dorm room. One day, I’ll pass it down to my daughter, along with all my “Gilmore Girls” DVDs. –Amy Phillips, Managing Editor

Taylor Swift: “The Best Day”

Every time I listen to this ballad from Fearless, I become a puddle of tears. Written as a surprise for Swift’s mom Andrea, “The Best Day” perfectly captures the nostalgia of childhood and the feeling of security that a parent can provide. Swift recalls a harsh memory involving middle school mean girls; to distract her daughter from the pain, Andrea drove them to a town far away. They don’t get up to much on this little adventure, but it doesn’t matter—the company is enough. “Don’t know how long it’s gonna take to feel okay/But I know I had the best day/With you today.” Recently, I was very sick and my mom traveled to visit me. We didn’t do anything notable together, but when it came time for her to leave, I knew exactly what Swift meant. –Quinn Moreland, Staff Writer

Stevie Wonder: “My Mother’s Eyes”

In 1950, a 20-year-old singer-songwriter named Lula Mae Hardaway gave birth to her son six weeks early. Though the boy, Stevland, was born with the ability to see, side effects from the medical intervention left him permanently blind. As Stevland grew older and took after his mother musically, she nurtured his gift and helped him sign his first record deal with Motown. He was 11 years old.

It’s this backstory that makes Stevie Wonder’s cover of “My Mother’s Eyes,“ a Tin Pan Alley classic from before Lula was born, so incredibly poignant. Performed here during a TV special about celebrities and their mothers, it‘s a perfect encapsulation of the legend’s relationship with his mom. Lula was Stevie’s eyes—a woman who poured her entire life into giving her son the opportunity to flourish. When he sings, “God's gift sent from above/A real unselfish love/I found in my mother's eyes,” you know he means every word. –Noah Yoo, Staff Writer

David Bowie: “Kooks”

Throughout my childhood, my mom quoted the best line from “Kooks” so often—“And if the homework brings you down/Then we’ll throw it on the fire and take the car downtown”—that it almost sounds foreign to me coming out of David Bowie’s mouth. He wrote “Kooks” for his newborn son in 1971, in the process creating his own manual for unorthodox child rearing; my mom dog-eared many of its pages. Under her roof, milkshakes were an acceptable breakfast food, playing hooky was a basic human right, and bed-in movie marathons were always encouraged. She understood the hidden wisdom of “Kooks”: that childhood is brief and should be carefree and joyous. It was a concept I couldn’t grasp until years later, when in hindsight I realized that throwing just one homework assignment into the flames wouldn’t have killed me. –Madison Bloom, Associate Staff Writer, News

Local Natives: “Colombia”

Local Natives’ second album, Hummingbird, is a truly sad record, largely inspired by singer Kelcey Ayer losing his mother to breast cancer. The evening I’d planned to see Local Natives perform in 2016, my own mother told me she had discovered an alarming lump in her breast; she said, “It’s probably cancer,” then insisted I wipe my tears and see the band anyway. In a bittersweet moment, they played “Colombia,” a Hummingbird piano number in which Ayer challenges his virtues after his mother’s death, doubting he can match her capacity for love and selflessness. On this evening in particular, the song assured me that even if my mom’s cancer won, she had raised me strong enough to endure the grief. She’s now cancer-free, but I still find peace of mind in the song’s mantra: “If you never felt all of my love/I pray now you do.” –Abby Jones, Editorial Fellow

Originally Appeared on Pitchfork