At once I knew: I was not magnificent.

If you want a cheat code for making every piece of art you see or hear suddenly seem incredibly moving and profound, might I suggest suffering the most crushing failure of your life?

Justin Vernon knows a thing or two about heartbreak and failure. For years and years, the singer-songwriter behind the Bon Iver project was perhaps the person in the indie rock world most synonymous with sadness. Bon Iver’s debut, 2007’s For Emma, Forever Ago, was famously the outcome of Vernon retreating to a remote Wisconsin cabin to nurse a broken heart. The follow-up, 2011’s Bon Iver, Bon Iver, was far more sonically audacious, but often circled back to the same kind of tender pain as its predecessor – especially on “Holocene,” my favorite Bon Iver song, and one of those songs that will always, always put a lump in my throat.

For Emma, Forever Ago is one of my go-to wintertime albums. I fell in love with it during the December of my senior year of high school, listening to those delicate, beautiful songs over and over while driving to school on cold, snowy mornings. A choir kid in high school, I loved how Bon Iver songs felt almost choral in their composition, with Vernon frequently layering his falsetto vocals on top of one another in songs like “Lump Sum.”

Bon Iver, Bon Iver felt different. A summertime release that I listened to for the first time in the midst of a mighty northern Michigan rainstorm, that album came to evoke for me, so clearly, the feel of muggy summer nights. Where For Emma, Forever Ago had essentially become Christmas music to my ears, the follow-up was a go-to driving soundtrack for late, late nights that summer. I especially loved how the closer, the ‘80s-washed power ballad “Beth/Rest,” sounded against the backdrop of pitch-dark roads.