“Never Better” opens Year of the Snake by quietly challenging the idea that self-improvement is a finish line. Night Teacher frames the song around a familiar inner dialogue: the sense that life is always happening somewhere just ahead of you, once you’ve fixed one more thing. Rather than offering resolution, the track lingers in that realization, holding space for the sadness and relief that come with noticing how often we treat ourselves like unfinished projects.

The production feels intentionally unforced. The arrangement moves with a soft, deliberate confidence, letting textures breathe rather than crowding the song with momentum. There’s a gentle pulse underneath everything, but it never pushes, more like a steady nervous system than a beat meant to drive the room. Synths and subtle rhythmic elements drift in and out, creating a sense of motion without urgency.

Lilly Bechtel’s vocal delivery is calm but exposed, almost conversational at times, which gives the song its intimacy. Nothing is oversold. The restraint becomes the point. It mirrors the song’s emotional posture: observant, self-aware, and quietly unsettled.

At its core, “Never Better” is about catching yourself in the act of postponing your own life. The song examines how easily growth turns into self-surveillance, how the language of healing can slip into another way of withholding permission to be present. Bechtel doesn’t frame this as a crisis; more like a strange, almost darkly funny discovery.

There’s a tenderness in the way the song approaches this realization. It doesn’t judge the instinct to improve or evolve; it simply asks what it costs when that instinct becomes constant. The emotion lands not as despair, but as a soft reckoning. One that feels deeply human and unpolished.

“Never Better” will resonate with listeners drawn to introspective indie and art-pop that prioritizes emotional clarity over catharsis. It fits late-night listening, quiet mornings, moments when reflection feels more honest than answers. The song doesn’t demand attention; it earns it by surrounding you like something you might think to yourself but rarely say out loud.

For anyone navigating healing, burnout, or the subtle exhaustion of self-optimization, this track feels less like advice and more like company.

“Never Better” doesn’t try to motivate or reassure. It simply notices. In doing so, Night Teacher offers a song that feels lived-in rather than constructed, a reminder that transformation doesn’t always arrive with fireworks, and that sometimes the most meaningful shit is realizing you’re already here.

It’s a quiet opening statement, but a confident one, setting the tone for an album concerned less with becoming and more with paying attention.