Album Review: "The Great Divide: The Last Of The Bugs" - Noah Kahan

Tessa Brainard
10 minutes ago
14 min read

Grammy-nominated singer-songwriter Noah Kahan has become a household name since the 2022 release of his album Stick Season. With over five years in the industry and two albums under his belt, Stick Season shot him to new levels of stardom.

Born and raised in the small town of Strafford, Vermont, Kahan used that record to explore themes of loving but outgrowing the place you’re from, as well as struggling with mental health and generational trauma. Despite being specific to New England, where Kahan is from, these themes resonated with people around the world who see themselves in the small details of his work.

Topping this record was a tall order, but Kahan found a way to do it. His fourth studio album, The Great Divide, was released at midnight on April 24, 2026, with 17 tracks. A little less than 24 hours later, Kahan released an additional four songs with the announcement of the deluxe album, The Great Divide: The Last Of The Bugs.

Tracklist

End of August
Doors
American Cars
Downfall
Lighthouse
Paid Time Off
Staying Still
The Great Divide
Haircut
Willing and Able
Dashboard
23
Porch Light
Deny Deny Deny
Headed North
We Go Way Back
Spoiled
All Them Horses
A Few Of Your Own
Orbiter
Dan

End of August

“End of August” opens the album with the chatter of bugs behind a series of soft piano notes. It instantly evokes the feeling of warm air blowing past as you drive through town at the end of summer. This track is gentle and melodic, yet it struck me upon first listen. Kahan and I are both small-town survivors and January Capricorns (four years and nine days apart!) We both grew up in tiny villages where everyone knows everyone, and we both itched to run the moment we could. Yet, we find ourselves longing to return to a life we once longed to leave.

When listening, I get that same panging nostalgia I have whenever I drive through my hometown, and the sunset hits the mountains in such a way that suddenly forces me back to being 17 and coming home from my first love’s house. It reminds me of summer monsoons, the smell of rain hitting the pavement, and that one rare snowstorm we got the winter I turned 18. It’s the feeling of missing the moment while you’re in it, knowing the seconds you’re living are fleeting, slipping from you before you can fully process them. It’s knowing this moment, no matter how simple, will haunt you, no matter how far you try to run from it.

In the second verse, Kahan describes knowing which traffic lights you can speed through in town because the cameras are broken. Simple details like this only come from knowing a place so well, and there is a fear that he might lose this knowledge if he leaves. He desperately loves where he is from, yet he desperately needs to go. As the track fades out, Kahan sings the zipcode of his hometown, Stafford, Vermont, with a haunting lilt, wrapping the song in an oddly perfect bow.

Doors

“Doors” follows a person locking themselves away from connection out of fear of being hurt. The narrator pushes people away out of protection – for himself, or for them, remains to be seen.

The line “I just live here, babe, but you’re the one who decided to knock” suggests the narrator is not fully owning their actions and blames others for trying to get close to them. He has the warning signs up, yet someone still dares to try. When they do, he is afraid they’ll leave immediately. He’s paranoid, writing, “At the rattle of your keys, ‘Oh, are you leavin’?’” The person responds, “No, babe, I’m just waking up.”

From there, he tries to give them reasons to leave. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy of wondering why people always abandon him while handing them the map and keys to drive off with. There is no effort being put into self-improvement, so, of course, the cycle is doomed to repeat itself.

American Cars

“American Cars” is a track that took me a few listens to understand, and hit me like a ton of bricks when I did. It is from the perspective of a younger sibling who an older sibling has left behind, while family conflict arises. The younger sibling is left to deal with the fallout of the family unit, longing for their older sibling to fix it. There is a strained relationship between the two, and while the younger person knows they can reach out, they almost have too much pride to do so.

This song is particularly stark for those of us who have strained relationships with our siblings. As the youngest of four and a child of divorce, I grew up so far removed from my siblings that I often consider myself an only child. Yet, I always dreamed of having that bond, especially in times of trouble. This track puts into words what I often wish I could.

Downfall

“Downfall” was the first song to make me cry on my first listen to the full album, getting me a mere 30 seconds in (I have cried to nearly every song since). The first verse of the track describes the feeling of missing someone before they leave and trying not to resent them in your final moments together for not choosing to stay.

The entire song follows the narrator, not-so-secretly hoping for the downfall of this person’s plans, so they are forced to return to him. He hopes that they are miserable in their new life and miss him badly enough to return. He vows to keep the house as it was for them to come home to, and he promises not to rub it in their face when they fail. A large part of him doesn’t mind being their dead-end, something to settle for, so long as they do come back eventually.

Lighthouse

“Lighthouse” is the first of four bonus tracks on The Last Of The Bugs. It describes the feeling of being stuck in your grief following a loss (likely after someone you love has left abruptly). Kahan vows to stay in the wreckage this person has left behind, unable to move on. He decides to tell their story because anyone else will get the details wrong. While the rest of the world might judge them, Kahan knows who this person was at their core. Even though he always knew they would leave, he still holds hope that they will come back one day. He stands at the metaphorical lighthouse, ready to welcome them home and help them burn the boat they escaped on.

Paid Time Off

“Paid Time Off” describes a couple stuck in a toxic relationship, where one is “a running car, and you’re a closed garage.” People around them are reminding them that there is a world out there to see, but they’re too codependent on each other to worry about anything else besides each other. They will likely stay in their hometown, despite any dreams they might have outside of it. They settle into a routine: “a pack of cigarettes and a round of golf // make a livin’ workin’ for the paid time off.”

Staying Still

“Staying Still” is the second bonus track on this album and was highly anticipated before its release due to a snippet shared on TikTok. It follows Kahan’s heartbreak as he watches someone leave to chase their dreams. This track brings back the same themes from “Downfall,” as Kahan hopes that Boston Logan International Airport “crumbles and gets hit by a tornado” before this person can go.

He feels like he keeps getting left behind and forced to start over in love. Yet, he’ll keep trying in the hope that he’ll find the one who stays. He writes, “Oh, I can’t keep starting over… All love must leave, but search for it I will // Honey, tell me, are you good at staying still?”

In an effort to keep moving forward, he pushes his feelings aside, singing, “Never mind, never mind, I’ll forget about it // I’ll be good, I’ll be fine, I can laugh about it.” With a set of loud electric guitars and crashing drums, “Staying Still” blends the insecurity and loneliness of letting go of someone, again.

The Great Divide

“The Great Divide” was released as the album’s first single on January 30, 2026. The record’s title track is a five-minute whirlwind that perfectly encapsulates the album's overarching themes of miscommunication, loss, and emotional turmoil. This track made me cry the first time I heard it, and has done the same on every listen since.

It reflects on a past friendship or romance in which you realize how little you actually knew about the person you spent so much time with. Kahan describes listening to a song with this person and coming away with a completely different understanding of it. Their inability to see what the other was thinking defines the entire relationship, ultimately creating a distance between them that becomes impossible to close. It’s truly loving someone, but never being able to meet each other’s needs.

Kahan expresses profound guilt for failing to see how badly this person was struggling and for avoiding the difficult conversations that could have helped them. Ignorance is bliss, until it costs you someone you love. Clocking in at just over five minutes, “The Great Divide” is relentless and heartbreaking. It feels like a tense car ride with someone you should be able to open up to. The words are on the tip of your tongue, so why can’t you say them?

Haircut

“Haircut” is one of the tracks on the album that seems to shift perspectives throughout the verses. It opens with Kahan returning to his hometown after his success, only to be met with pushback from the town’s residents. He thinks he’s trying to help, but it isn’t being well-received.

It shifts to the point of view of people in Stafford who aren’t thrilled about Kahan's return. He has been vocal about his issues with his hometown, and his former neighbors don’t want him back if he feels he’s now too good for them.

They view him more as a dark cloud over their town, refusing to feel pity for him after he’s been publicly complaining about where he’s from. The verse goes, “Got bored of the New Hampshire space, left us for the New York Times // And now you stumble around like a ghost, tellin’ people how you died.”

Willing and Able

“Willing and Able” is another track that shifts perspective midway through the song. It unfolds like a conversation between two people from the same town. While one had the courage and opportunity to flee, the other stayed behind.

There is a deep misunderstanding between the two, and neither knows how to resolve it. They’re looking at each other, wondering how they’ve become strangers. Kahan writes, “I wish you could know me // I wish I could know you.” Yet, they’re both willing to keep kicking the metaphorical rock of the same argument around just to keep some semblance of a relationship. They may never come to a resolution, but being hostile towards each other is better than feeling nothing.

Dashboard

“Dashboard” is a callout for the avoidant travelers who feel most at home when they’re far away from where they grew up. The person described in this song is restless, never settling in one place for too long. They refuse to face true responsibility, always looking for the easy way out by constantly leaving and repeating the same cycle. They’re forced to wonder why they’re not suddenly a better person with each move, but it’s a harsh reminder that, “wherever you go, there you are.”

This track is a completely different take on his other long-distance-daughter ballad, “You’re Gonna Go Far,” from Stick Season. Released in 2023, that track feels like a hug to those of us who have experienced the guilt of moving away from home, letting us know that it’s okay to choose ourselves. “Dashboard” instead voices the exact anger we’re terrified to get from loved ones. It forces you to think, “Am I a selfish person for running away?” While perhaps not his intention with this track, Kahan knows exactly how to tap into our deepest fears about ourselves in the most gut-wrenching ways.

“23” explores an estranged relationship with an older sibling struggling with addiction. The narrator reflects on the little things that they shared with their siblings growing up. Their mental image of this person is frozen in time, forever remembering their sibling as the age they were before everything changed. Despite missing them, the narrator hopes they never return, so this image of them isn’t ruined. He writes, “If I never see you again, you could be anything I want… Stay gone.”

Porch Light

“Porch Light” is the second single from The Great Divide, written in collaboration with celebrated producer and musician Aaron Dessner. Dessner is known for his band The National and for collaborating with artists such as Bon Iver and Taylor Swift.

This track is written from the perspective of a parent watching their adult child navigate the world of fame and temptation. It is inspired by the burdens that Kahan feels he has imposed on his family because of his career choice. It describes a parent who wants their child to come home to a safe place, but knows they’re no longer able to protect them. There is a fear that they may never come home or be the same person they once were. Yet life continues; bills must be paid, the seasons must change, but the porch light will always be left on.

Deny Deny Deny

“Deny Deny Deny” follows two people who are doomed to repeat the same cycle of dishonest dialogues. Opening with the line, “Conversation within the conversation // I wanna drop the gloves, but you’re far too patient,” Kahan takes the listeners to the moment in an argument where you realize the things you’re leaving unsaid are louder than anything else. Both people are too scared to be direct, so they avoid confrontation while silently hoping the other will be brave enough to say what they really mean.

These kinds of relationships are draining, and eventually, you’re too tired to care what the other person is trying to hint at. You know they’re keeping secrets from you, but the truth isn’t worth searching for. This song is for anyone who has ever gotten (or given) the silent treatment. You know this relationship has a rapidly approaching expiration date, but maybe biting your tongue will prolong it.

Headed North

“Headed North” continues the theme of missing someone who has left and hoping they’re heading back home for good. It is reminiscent of “New Perspective” from Stick Season, in that Kahan is filling this person in on changes in town. There’s not much to report, and in fact, the town he hated before is worse without them. Recorded live, the sound of bugs can be heard behind a single acoustic guitar, and Kahan is heard laughing with friends as the track fades out.

We Go Way Back

“We Go Way Back” is a gem of a love song hidden in an otherwise very sad album. Kahan recounts the small joys of daily domesticity that he misses when on tour. After seeing the world, he has realized that there is no sight more beautiful than seeing his wife welcome him home after time away.

After hearing the roar of adoring crowds, there is peace in the silence. He’s able to hear the song of a robin without feeling pressure to write more music. He can hear his lover’s sigh and nothing else for miles. When off the road, he has to readjust to feeling useful outside of his role as an entertainer. He learns to appreciate the small responsibilities like sweeping the porch or taking his dogs out.

My favorite line comes in verse three, as Kahan writes, “I’ve never seen the rain fall so hard, honey, we’re north of nowhere now // Heaven is a drink in the backyard // As we watch the storm touch down.” It embodies one of my favorite quotes, “Heaven is my kitchen table, my friend drinking coffee I made him.”

Spoiled

“Spoiled” explores themes of generational trauma and the fear of passing down toxic traits to your future children. Kahan wrote extensively about the negative personality characteristics he believes he inherited from his parents; he now worries he will extend the same to the children of his own. He imagines his kids blaming him for their mental health struggles the way he has blamed his parents.

He hopes to provide for his kids, but knows he will inevitably disappoint them. He hopes they will one day understand his shortcomings, but knows they’ll hope not to be anything like him (and he hopes they’re not anything like him, either.)

All Them Horses

“All Them Horses” opens with an anecdote of Kahan seeing his hometown from an airplane above, watching the veins of rivers and roads get smaller the farther he goes. He describes the feeling of never feeling settled as he travels constantly for his career.

He sees everyone he loves continue without him while he’s away for long periods. He’s chosen this life and the consequences of it, but he is still deeply affected by the distance between him and those he cares about. He writes, “Everyone looks happy in a photograph // I’ve crossed the county line, I cannot go back // I’m always on my own.”

This song is especially poignant for those of us who have lived far from home and have had to settle for spending time with our loved ones in small doses. There is a sense of guilt that comes with missing key moments and milestones, a profound loneliness of figuring out life on your own. You no longer feel meaningfully connected to the community you were raised in, but you miss it all the same.

A Few Of Your Own

“A Few of Your Own” recounts the moments of Kahan falling in love with his wife over the years. Kahan met his wife, Brenna Nolan, when they were roommates in college over 10 years ago. He recounts the joy of being young and madly in love, growing up together, and evolving as a couple. Yet, he still has an underlying fear that one day, he will wake up from this dream and the two will part ways. Should that happen, though, he hopes that she will take the memories they’ve shared with her and “make a few of [her] own.” This is a beautiful track that expresses the profound love between two people and the quiet fear of losing it. Yet, should this person leave, you will continue to love them, anyway.

Orbiter

“Orbiter” offers insight into Kahan’s relationship with fame as he’s managing preexisting insecurities. He describes learning to manage his expectations while simultaneously feeling profound disappointment at losing at an awards show. His impostor syndrome is palpable, and he can’t help feeling like a kid in the industry surrounded by adults who already know what they’re doing. He’s completely disconnected, like a satellite orbiting around his own life.

Dan

“Dan” closes out the album with a bittersweet anecdote of spending time with an old friend who knows you better than anyone in the world. Kahan describes sitting outside on a camping trip with his best friend, Dan. Together, they stay up under the moon and rehash stories from high school, laughing at some of their favorite memories and quietly reflecting on painful ones.

He writes about remembering the death of his friend, Carlo (namesake of “Carlo’s Song” from Kahan’s 2019 album, Busyhead). He describes the feeling of feeling light years away from the grief he experienced at that time, despite standing in the same spot he did, when “every day from back then is like a bad old dream.”

This song feels like those special moments when you look over at someone you love and realize everything you need is sitting right next to you. As you’re contemplating the meaning of life and where we all go when it ends, you realize that it doesn’t matter at all, and you could live in this moment forever. Kahan writes, “Where do we go when we die? I wouldn’t mind right here.” This track is the perfect sign-off to the fragments of time recounted on this record.

The Great Divide: The Last Of The Bugs follows many of the same themes as Stick Season, this time with a more mature perspective on certain matters. He’s not reinventing the wheel, but he doesn’t have to. His lyrics are hyperspecific in a way that shouldn’t be relatable, but often is. He knows how to tap into emotions that I never knew how to express, and I often found myself wondering how he knew such intimate things about my life. While I don’t resonate with every track, the ones I do feel like looking in a mirror. While uncomfortable at times, it’s still validating to know that somebody can put your experiences into words. The record is home to Kahan’s classic folk-pop sound, but it takes on new rock elements that will lend themselves well to live performances.

Kahan will embark on his sold-out tour this summer, and The Great Divide: The Last Of The Bugs is now available on iTunes, streaming platforms, and in physical form.

Written By Tessa Brainard