![]() It’s an apt description for all of his music: Kahan sings from a perspective situated inside a childhood bedroom or from a passenger seat, staring out the windows onto familiar landscapes at the bleakest and most desolate times of the year, metaphors for sensitive-suburban-boy ennui. ![]() “It’s a term that was used by some of the older folks in the town I grew up in to describe this really miserable time of year when it’s just kind of gray and cold, and there’s no snow yet, and the beauty of the foliage is done.” His album’s namesake single, Stick Season, refers to “the time of year in Vermont, ‘stick season,’ when all the leaves are off the trees,” he told the lyrics site Genius in January. 25 in August for “ Dial Drunk,” his rollicking, banjo-fueled single featuring Post Malone, which he teased on TikTok with the chef’s-kiss word-play “I dial drunk, I’ll die a drunk, I’d die for you!” This month, he was featured on new country star Zach Bryan’s latest EP, and next summer, Kahan will cap-off a huge North American stadium tour with two nights playing New England’s most consecrated ground, Fenway Park. 3 on “The Billboard 200.” After topping the rock and alternative charts, he finally hit “The Hot 100,” peaking at No. This summer, Kahan exploded, thanks to a reissue of his breakout third album, 2022’s Stick Season, featuring seven new songs, that landed him at No. Kahan grew up nearby, between Hanover, New Hampshire, and Strafford, Vermont. And his pop-inflected folk hits different in front of Northeasterners. That number may be a drop in the bucket compared to his 1.5 million followers on TikTok, but Kahan is a long way from where he was last year, playing for audiences of a couple hundred at small festivals. ![]() The sad, sweat-soaked flannel is the first thing I clock when I walk through the sunny open field turned parking lot to the BankNH Pavilion in Gilford, New Hampshire, where Gen Z’s New England royalty, Noah Kahan, is playing his first of two sold-out headline shows for a crowd of 9,000 a pop amid an early-September heat wave. But everyone’s wearing them, including myself (how do you do, fellow teens?) in rugged, muted blues and greens flannel is back, but my friend Sophie points out the punky red-and-black check of our ill-advised hipster youth is decidedly out. When it’s 90 degrees at 6 p.m., flannel shirts wrapped around jean-shorted waists are so foolishly optimistic, so delusional, they circle back around to almost tragic.
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