There's very few times that I get nostalgia from listening to a song, but listening to the new song "2005" from The Academy Is…, definitely is one of those times. From the very first seconds of “2005,” it felt less like listening to a comeback single and more like opening an old message you forgot you wrote to yourself. Not cringe. Not embarrassing. Just honest. The kind of honesty that only lands once you’ve lived long enough to understand what you were chasing back then—and what you actually miss now.
Musically, the song immediately wraps itself in the DNA of The Academy Is… without trying to cosplay their younger selves. The guitars shimmer with that familiar mid-2000s pop-rock warmth, but they’re cleaner, more restrained, and intentional. The rhythm section moves with confidence instead of urgency, like it knows exactly where it’s going. It doesn’t rush to prove anything—and that alone says a lot.
William Beckett’s voice is the emotional centerpiece here. There’s maturity in it now, not just in tone but in delivery. He’s not singing at the listener; he’s talking with them. When he references adult milestones—jobs, houses, writing songs again—it doesn’t feel like flexing or forced relatability. It feels like someone checking in after a long time apart and saying, “Yeah, life happened. I’m still here though.”
The chorus is deceptively simple, and that’s exactly why it works.
“Oh, kiss me / Oh, right here / Oh, like it’s the summer of 2005.”
It doesn’t beg for the past—it remembers it. The line captures a very specific kind of longing: not for being young, but for how things felt when everything still seemed possible, when moments stretched longer, when connection came easier. It’s less about the year itself and more about the version of ourselves that existed inside it.
What really stuck with me is how self-aware the song is without becoming self-indulgent. The meta nods, whether it be acknowledging the band’s history, the gap, the return—are woven in with restraint. There’s no overexplaining, no grand statement about legacy. Just quiet confidence and acceptance. It’s reflective without sounding tired, hopeful without sounding naïve.
Importantly, “2005” doesn’t try to recreate the chaos or angst of early TAI records. This isn’t a song written by kids trying to make sense of everything, it’s written by adults who already did, and still feel something when they look back. That evolution is the song’s greatest strength. If anything, it makes the emotion hit harder, because it’s grounded in reality instead of fantasy.
By the time the track ends, I’m not left wishing it was 2005 again. I’m left appreciating that it existed, and that the people who soundtracked that era of my life are still capable of writing something that resonates now. That’s rare. And it’s earned.
“2005” isn’t just a return. It’s a reminder that growing up doesn’t mean losing the feeling—it just means understanding it better.
