Nobody

"Nobody" runs disco through a wringer of total isolation, and the joke is that it sounds delighted about it. A bright four-on-the-floor pulse, a bassline with actual hip-shake in it, a glassy synth figure that could soundtrack a roller rink — Mitski and producer Patrick Hyland build something genuinely danceable and then load it with the most naked statement of loneliness in her catalog. She sings the title over and over until the word degrades into pure sound, a mantra hollowed out by repetition, her voice staying eerily composed while the arrangement escalates around her. The verses are almost comic in their smallness: wanting one kiss, one warm body, admitting she'd sell her soul for a bit of touch, then apologizing for wanting it at all. Written in part during a stretch of time alone in Malaysia, it captures the specific modern condition of being surrounded by connection infrastructure and reachable by no one. The final section collapses — layered vocals piling up, the beat pushing on, everything fraying — and the song ends without resolution. It became the anthem of a generation that dances alone in a kitchen at 1 a.m. and means it both ways.