If 2025 Had a Playlist, These Songs Would Be on It

By Shaina Cole | Contributing Writer, Commentary, Rocky Mountain Voice

This was a year that kept interrupting whatever you thought you were doing. It arrived unevenly. Some moments swallowed entire news cycles. Others barely registered at first, only making sense months later, once the consequences showed up. 

Most of the arguments about 2025 focused on motives or ideology. The consequences were easier to feel than to argue about. 

Music, oddly enough, ended up capturing that better than summaries or charts. Not as nostalgia or a clever hook, but as a record. If this year had a playlist, the following songs would be included.

We Didn’t Start the Fire — Billy Joel

Inflation wasn’t theoretical in 2025. After years of high accumulation, it continued to show up on grocery receipts, lease renewals, insurance notices, power bills, and loan statements. By the time inflation slowed, prices had already reset higher.

Read straight, We Didn’t Start the Fire doesn’t deny responsibility so much as it acknowledges sequence. The lyric “We didn’t start the fire” points to conditions already in motion. “It still burns on and on and on” describes what households were still dealing with. By the end of 2025, fuel costs had dropped, inflation had cooled, and some prescription drug prices declined.

Those changes helped. They didn’t undo the increases families had already absorbed.

Bills, Bills, Bills — Destiny’s Child

Households adjusted. The state did not.

Colorado lawmakers approved budget increases that grew faster than both the state’s population and the rate of inflation.

A Common Sense Institute analysis of household budget pressure, inflation, and taxes showed residents paying more to live in the state while government spending expanded.

Health care accounted for much of that growth. RMV reporting on Colorado’s expanding budget and the rising dominance of health care spending documented how the Department of Health Care Policy and Financing became the largest budget item, growing faster than any other department as enrollment and costs increased.

Bills, Bills, Bills doesn’t require interpretation. “Can you pay my bills?” assumes there’s always another source—the taxpayer. “All your money’s gone” is what happens when long-term commitments pile up and budgets deplete.

Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2) — Pink Floyd

Education rapidly turned into one of the year’s most divisive issues this year. Parents pushed back against gender policies, lack of transparency—and decisions made without their input or consent.

That tension sharpened after a Jeffco Kids First report documented 33 staff misconduct cases in Jefferson County Public Schools, raising questions about oversight that schools struggled to answer.

In Eagle County, disputes over student political clubs put school neutrality to a real-world test.

At the same time, Colorado schools reached a landmark settlement protecting female athletes and removing biological males from women’s sports. The contrast was hard to miss: parents demanding boundaries while institutions debated whether they still existed.

Pink Floyd didn’t hedge. “Teacher, leave them kids alone.” That lyric hit hard for those fighting school systems that prioritized gender ideology over education and safety. 

I Fought the Law — The Clash

Immigration enforcement stopped being theoretical in early 2025.

Federal agencies expanded interior operations, resumed coordinated removals, and prioritized individuals with criminal convictions. ICE focused on fugitives, repeat offenders, and organized smuggling or fraud networks. Prosecutors followed through when officers were assaulted or operations obstructed.

The law was unchanged. Its enforcement was not.

“I fought the law and the law won” described what played out in courtrooms across the country. Arrests held up. Warrants remained valid. Children were rescued. Political disagreement didn’t suspend statutes.

The shift drew criticism. It, also, restored clarity.

No More Mr. Nice Guy — Alice Cooper

That same posture appeared beyond immigration. 

Investigators wasted no time cracking down on pandemic relief scams, Medicaid fraud, large-scale money laundering operations—and much more.

In Minnesota, federal cases linked to Somali-led fraud rings revealed how years of ignored warnings led to the loss of massive amounts of taxpayer money.

“No More Mr. Nice Guy”, as a lyric, fits because it marks a decision point. 

The Alice Cooper song signals the end of indulgence after repeated red flags. “I used to be such a sweet, sweet thing” could just as easily describe oversight systems built on accommodation.

What was meant to be flexible turned out to be predictable.

War Pigs — Black Sabbath

Political language sharpened in 2025. Elected officials and activists increasingly framed opponents as existential threats. The Trump administration was labeled a “threat to democracy.” Immigration enforcement agencies were described as “fascist” or “Nazi.”

Those words didn’t stay confined to speeches or social media. Protests escalated. Property was damaged. Physical confrontations followed. War Pigs warned about leaders who “plot destruction” and “hide themselves away.”

After months of hearing repeated slurs in interviews and online, they stopped sounding like buzzwords. They started to feel like marching orders.

The Sound of Silence — Simon & Garfunkel

There was silence where leadership was needed, after many of those incidents. No statements, no accountability. Attacks on federal officers, damage to property, and blocked operations were largely ignored by Democratic leadership—even as those actions became more frequent and widespread.

The absence of response became the message. “People talking without speaking” captured the public posture—statements issued, language chosen carefully, but responsibility never named. 

As days passed and no lines were drawn, “silence like a cancer grows” stopped sounding poetic and started sounding descriptive. When leaders declined to condemn violence outright, the quiet didn’t calm tensions. 

It signaled that consequences were optional, and that message carried farther than any speech.

Hallelujah — Leonard Cohen

After the Charlie Kirk assassination, the public response didn’t stay confined to politics. In Colorado, thousands turned out for memorial events, including the CSU vigil held the night he was scheduled to speak. The conversation shifted away from campaign language toward grief, faith, and what people lean on when public tragedy turns personal.

That’s why Hallelujah fits. It isn’t a victory song. It’s a song for bruised conviction. “It’s a broken hallelujah” reflects belief shaped by loss, not certainty. “Even though it all went wrong, I’ll stand before the Lord of Song” echoes the tone that ran through memorial remarks—pain acknowledged, but not surrendered to.

You don’t have to claim a nationwide revival to see the pattern. After a very public killing, many people didn’t reach first for policy. They reached for prayer.

Proud to Be an American — Lee Greenwood

As the year closes, the country looks exhausted, not directionless.

Even people who disagreed on nearly everything could recognize the same reality: the year tested public safety, institutions, and whether disagreement itself had become something dangerous.

That’s why Proud to Be an American works as a closer. It doesn’t pretend the year went smoothly. It plants a reminder underneath the chaos. 

“Where at least I know I’m free” lands differently after a year where speech, protest and politics repeatedly collided. It’s a reminder of those freedoms—regardless of differing views.

“I won’t forget the men who died who gave that right to me” reminds us to be grateful for the right we have thanks to those who fought for them. 

The song doesn’t ask for applause. It asks for gratitude. After a year like this one, that isn’t just sentimental. It’s practical.

Shaina Cole is a contributing writer for Rocky Mountain Voice who covers societal and governmental issues through a practical, real-world lens. Her writing focuses on accountability, common sense, and examining the gap between policy narratives and everyday experience.

Editor’s note: Opinions expressed in commentary pieces are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the management of the Rocky Mountain Voice, but even so we support the constitutional right of the author to express those opinions.