Cribbing shamelessly from The Smiths and New Order, Michael Grace, Jr., Andrea Vaughn, and their bandmates released several EPs in the early ‘00s that represent the pinnacle of erudite indie pop. Their songs’ characters are all angst-ridden losers, hopeless romantics, and mopey art school kids. As such, songs like “The Black Cassette” would drown in their own solipsism if it weren’t for Grace’s lyrics — which are by turns sardonic, sentimental, and poignant — and the band’s pristine pop arrangements.

“The Black Cassette” perfectly captures the awkwardness of being in the same room as the object of your (unrequited) affections, your feelings unspoken but painfully present. The song’s protagonists spend their time together “feverish and celibate,” all the while realizing that love is “never like the books you’ve read.”

I’m glad My Favorite wasn’t around when I was a high school student; their lyrics would’ve become my personal anthems, songs I’d endlessly repeat to myself whenever I felt the pangs of angst. As a 50-year-old, though, they remind me of those awkward years, when every unrequited crush seemed so much bigger, deeper, and more sincere than it actually was, when life felt way more miserable and way more important.