Noele Flowers’ “Portland” is a New Kind of Break-Up Song

Noele Flowers’ “Portland” is a different kind of break-up song.

It’s a bit upbeat, a bit fast, and its resentment, pain, and frustration is understated, stretched out – subtle but ever present.

See, it’s not a romantic break-up she’s singing about. It’s the more grisly, more gruesome, and horrifying kind.

A friendship break-up.

How was the ocean? Did it change your life?
How was it knowing you were gone by the time I arrived?

Noele’s Molly Burch-meets-Alaina Moore, pop-meets-folk voice flows in over a keyboard playing a video-game style melody. The beachy, sweet beat is emphasized by bright licks of acoustic guitar; the sound, relaxed and soft, is reminiscent of a sadder and chic-er “Island in the Sun“. The layered “oohs” also fit with Tennis’ “Island Music“, though with more pep.

The song recalls back to a time of missed connections. Noele’s ex-friend drives out to the beach while Noele drives in to Portland to meet them; Noele misses a coffee date because of a stomach ache the friend misconstrues. There’s no soul-stripping heartbreak, there’s no Carrie Underwood “Before He Cheats”, Swift “Picture to Burn”, Rodrigo-style heartbreak. No big betrayal or revenge. But still the mundanity of the final straw is infuriatingly relatable: the moments when you’ve both just extended your rainchecks a little too far, and a long, loving relationship dissipates into the void of ever-dwindling birthday texts.

Was I just for fun?
Could I have been anyone?
Did you know I was on my way?
And would you stay in Portland?

Noele herself explains that this song is about realizing some people view friendships as entertainment rather than something to be nurtured. As the chorus rolls in, “In Portland…“, the ethos of the song rests around that one central moment, that one simple choice to choose meeting “Jimmy” by the beach rather than stay to meet their friend.

I think we’ve all been there.

There’s an aspect of pain, resentment, bitterness that never quite finds consolation. A friend is someone we’re expected to grieve little over in their absence, and somehow it’s easy for a four-week boyfriend to take precedence over lifetime friends. Somewhere in the social contract there’s a rule about it, surely: the romantic partner deserves undying attention and love, the friends monthly drinks and Facetimes.

I’ve lost a lot of friendships growing up. Sure, we never say we lost the friendship, and a lot of them are still on good terms… but we moved apart, one started a family, we don’t have time, we grew different interests – the list goes on. In the same way some of those dropped off, yet still haunt me, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m also the haunter – the one who forgot, the one who moved away, the one who didn’t believe the last excuse and dropped the relationship out of tiredness or ego. Really, there’s only so much blame to dole out before you scale the grades and give everyone a pass.

That’s where Noele’s song comes in.

Perhaps it’s because of this grading system that such break-ups never seem “worth” a song. But what if the song was everything you didn’t know you needed? Melancholic yet upbeat, profound and simple, grieved yet nostalgic? What if I told you it’s your perfect end-of-the-coming-of-age movie song as you drive into the sunset? A little sad, but mostly optimistic for the future.

There’s an innocence taken when a friendship breaks.

A piece of us will always be in the people we leave – or who left us – but I suspect somewhere in Portland Noele’s hope and affection and best memories still linger. Somewhere in my hometown I’ve left a million scattered memories that will always stay bright, even if the way we grew past that moment ended up breaking and scratching us up on the way out.

“Portland” ends up encapsulating more than what is lost, but also what is left behind. As Noele sings, “In Portland” for the second or third time, its meaning changes. The first time: the missed meeting. The second: the feeling of being left behind. And last, I’d like to think, what we leave behind and always get to go back to.

Those memories never go, those lessons always stay. And we can revisit them anytime.

A quick perusal of Noele’s TikTok will fill you in that she’s currently undergoing the transformative blossoming of having just turned 30, and she’ll encourage others not to care so much about being a “late bloomer” with textual evidence from Hildegard von Bingen‘s life (whose music I’d review for you if it weren’t already being done by the top academics in the world). There’s also insecurity in quitting her tech job a few months ago to pursue music full time – that weird moment where you try to jump into the deep-end, only to realize success in music is less of an ocean and more of a very careful NASA-esque lift off. And I’m not a rocket scientist.

Truly, the idea of any age being too late for your fullest self expression is ridiculous, and the idea that 30 is too old for anything other than prom and frat parties is likewise laughable. But Noele clearly hits a chord with the younger-skewed demographic on TikTok who’s used to seeing child actors turn into teen stars, and world tours at 19. So it’s powerful to have a role model, someone who has a little more maturity and calm as she heads out into the unknown.

It’s clear Noele has only just begun and has so much to show, carving out a folk-pop-indie sound uniquely her own.

And while she’s still grounded – as she jokes, “underground enough to gatekeep” – you should take your chance to listen before she takes off.