Soundtracks to Live By: Ritt Momney, Melancholia, and Me

When I purchased presale tickets this summer to see Ritt Momney on his latest tour, I had no idea that the concert would land smack dab in the middle of Columbia’s fall break, locking me into yet another year of spending the long weekend on campus while my peers scampered off to Airbnbs and family vacation homes—but I wouldn’t have it any other way. This November show marks my third time seeing the artist live—the second as a headliner—and each show has been as impactful as the last. There are few experiences as ethereal as seeing your favorite artist perform, and on this cold and quiet Saturday night, I left Irving Plaza overwhelmed by pure contentment, reminded of exactly why I fell in love with the music almost three years ago. 

I first came across Ritt Momney, the project name of singer-songwriter-producer Jack Rutter, in the summer of 2020. “Paper News” from his debut album Her and All of My Friends came on my Discover Weekly while I was driving to pick up Thai food for my family’s Friday night takeout dinner, a weekly tradition conceived during the monotonous days of the COVID era. Coasting with the half-broken sunroof down that dark summer night, the song’s charmingly stripped-back instrumentation and its cynical, metaphoric lyrics about creative block and depression clicked with me. I was hooked, and I quickly devoured the rest of the album.

Her and All of My Friends quickly became the record that characterized the following year and a half of my life; it found me at a time when I needed it most. I was a very anxious and unhappy person in high school. I struggled with persistent depressive disorder and anorexia, conditions that were both caused by and further fed into a loop of isolation from friends and family. On paper, I was a successful student, artist, and athlete, but self-hatred, abandonment, and alienation dominated my mental state. An intense loneliness permeated daily life, and while some things improved slowly over time, the arrival of COVID came crashing down on that progress, compounding the emptiness that became normal for me. 

Rutter captures melancholia in an extraordinary way that I have yet to find with any other artist. While Ritt Momney began as a band, putting out a short four-song EP in 2017, it became Rutter’s personal project after the other members departed, and the influence this had on the music is glaringly apparent with HAAOMF. Written and produced entirely by himself, the album is extremely lyrically vulnerable. Its production subverts the indie-rock sound of the preceding EP, combining guitar-and-piano-heavy acoustic instrumentals with more experimental electronic distortion that often appears in heavier doses towards the ends of his tracks that elevates the emotional strokes of songs like “Command V” and “Wormwood.”

Storytelling is another strength that seems to come easily to Rutter; even the songs that don’t directly relate to your own life engulf you in their narratives. “(If) the Book Doesn’t Sell,” one of the most compelling examples of his lyrical capabilities, recounts a story about Rutter as a boy stumbling upon a conversation between God and the Devil that leaves him questioning God, faith, and his Mormon community (Rutter hails from Salt Lake City, a region known for its heavily Mormon demographic—hence the project’s ironic congressional namesake). “Command V” reflects on a conversation with a soon-to-leave love interest, with simple lines like “I say I think your dog knows that you’re leaving soon / He’s got a sadness in his eyes that I’ve seen before” making the scene poignantly imaginable. The final track, “III,” mourns the passing of a bleak year; “This year, I changed in the sense that I didn’t / This year, I moved, not by foot but by inch / This year, I learned what she’d do to be smiled at / This year, the shape of my mouth never flinched.” In my state of stagnancy and angst, these words felt like they’d been transplanted straight from my own brain. Common threads of love, loss, family, and alienation from community are woven throughout HAAOMF, painting vivid pictures of struggles with interpersonal relationships and mental health that resonated with me on an impossibly deep level.

When I left for college, I anticipated that the fresh start would also bring fresh happiness, but not long after arriving at Pratt Institute, I fell back into a depressive episode. Pratt and I were not compatible for many reasons, but especially because of how unbelievably isolating the school was. Throw in a declining long distance relationship, and I regressed quickly to the lonely, empty state I had been in before. Just as these feelings were peaking with the arrival of colder weather and shorter days, Ritt Momney dropped Sunny Boy in October of 2021, his second full-length album. The timing of this release couldn’t have been more appropriate; similarly to how HAAOMF represented my high school years, Sunny Boy quickly became the definitive soundtrack to my freshman year of college. 

An evolution from the slightly DIY production of the previous album, this new project featured cleaner, more confidently executed production with the same masterful lyricism and subversion of the indie-rock and bedroom-pop genres. Opening with the delicately sweet “Intro” that transitions smoothly into the title track, the album begins on a nostalgic and upbeat note as Rutter recalls his youth and anticipates maturation into adulthood with cautious optimism. “Not Around,” which has been my most played song for the past two years, digs into the aches and pains of maintaining a relationship against the current of distance as Rutter describes a conversation with a significant other in a car ride from the airport. Beginning with timid guitar strumming and slowly building drums, the song culminates in an explosive 50-second electric guitar solo. Having been in a difficult distance relationship for the entirety of my first year at university, these lyrics hit home for me, and the intense buildup to the pure emotional outburst at the end makes the listening experience cathartic time after time. 

The song, co-written and co-produced with Sloane of Dayglow fame, is one of a few collaborations on Sunny Boy (which HAAOMF was notably lacking). The album also departs from its predecessor in that it ventures into more upbeat and rock-inspired territory with songs like “Sometime” and “Set The Table.” This doesn’t mean that Rutter strays from the vulnerability that made his first album so special; the majority of the tracks range somewhere on a scale from contemplatively bittersweet to profoundly depressing, in the best way possible. “Show Runner 99” mulls over the sense of dissonance between the career success Rutter has attained on paper and the discontentedness he feels on this path. “Screwtape,” arguably the most gut-wrenching moment on the album, is a piano ballad that escalates into a fiercely mournful instrumental ending in which the singer wails over repeating, resonant synths. The closing track “Dress Song,” possibly my favorite of Ritt Momney’s discography, reflects on adolescence, on feeling small and lost as simpler times become an increasingly distant memory; “If I saw that kid now / I wish I could say I’d be looking down / But I’ve gotten smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller.”

After enduring one extremely challenging year at Pratt, I enrolled as a transfer student at Columbia University, a decision that changed my life. By no means am I free from turbulent emotions or strife, but I am significantly happier; I’ve found community and purpose. Seeing Ritt Momney live in the cozy basement of Brooklyn’s Elsewhere the winter of freshman year was an incredibly rewarding experience that came at a time when I was heavily leaning on his music for support. Now, two years and one college transfer later, I stepped into Irving Plaza a different person. 

Paralleling this change, the show itself was a transformation from Ritt Momney’s previous headliner tour. Set in a much larger space— the biggest show of the tour, we were told—Rutter’s stage presence was more confident than ever. Jumping between instruments, he played a wide variety of tracks from his discography (everything from the pre-solo departure “Young Adult” to new unreleased songs) and seamlessly carried the show through waves of energy. There were several powerfully tear-evoking moments, my favorite being when Rutter had his band leave the stage for an intimate solo keyboard performance of “Dress Song.” In the same breath, Rutter lit up the crowd with a few fist-pumping bangers, too, like when he stomped around stage and held the microphone out to the front of the barrier to sing along while we moshed to “Set The Table.” Impressively, he mixed a majority of the songs live, double-wielding the mic and the board where he toyed with knobs and slides whilst singing. Rutter’s voice might be the most special part of seeing Ritt Momney live; the depth carried by his vocals just hit different in person.

Following the show, I waited patiently in the merch queue until it was my turn to buy my men’s size large T-shirt and tour poster. Despite having time to prepare myself, I blanked when I met Jack at the end of the merch table. Everything I wanted to say got stuck in my throat for fear of coming off like a “fan” rather than a regular person who just wanted to chat and expressing gratitude for his work; my thoughts were replaced by some stumbling comments about seeing him live previous years and a reference to the piece I would be writing about the show. I failed to mention how great it was to hear his new material, the tattoo of the cover of Sunny Boy under my left knee that I got this past summer, or just how much of an impact his music has had on me. 

Despite this, I left with a full heart. The night felt like a full-circle sort of closure on an adverse chapter of my life. Ritt Momney’s albums have served as soundtracks through some of my lowest lows; they’ve shared in my growing pains, offering me solace and giving me space to scream and cry and wallow as I’ve navigated young adulthood. Long gone may be my days of high school and Pratt, but the personal connection I hold to the music remains. This is what Ritt Momney means to me.