Nothing Feels Good: on the final moments of the 90s, being Emo, and The Promise Ring
Prior to its total format change, and eventual cancellation
from MTV, “120 Minutes” was an incredible block of programming. As a teenager
with school the next day, I would set my VCR to record from 11p to 1a, and
watch the tape the next day. Aside from the odd inclusion of very popular,
mainstream rock music of the day, “120 Minutes” was a great place to learn
about independent or relatively unknown bands and artist.
It was in the summer of 1999 that I saw the video for “Why
Did We Ever Meet?” by the Milwaukee ban The Promise Ring, a song lifted from
their 1997 LP Nothing Feels Good.
Being that I grew up in a relatively rural community, in the yet-early days of
the Internet (we used American Online), I would describe a band like The
Promise Ring as being indie rock.
It wasn’t until two years later, in college, when I learned
what the much-maligned musical genre “Emo” was. Apparently The Promise Ring was
considered “Emo,” and apparently I was, by default, “Emo” long before I knew
it.
I purchased a copy of Nothing
Feels Good shortly after turning 16, procuring it from a really awesome
record store (the name of which escape me now), located in the shopping mall in
the next large town over from mine. From start to finish, it’s nearly perfect
(save for a few clunkers) and it’s a record that I listened to so many times
when I was a teenager, it feels familiar like an old friend now when I listen
to it.
The record, incredibly short, like most indie rock/pop
albums are, is a blend of organic production values, jangly guitar work, and
well…emotion. Over 15 years later, it doesn’t sound aged at all. The first four
songs, in sequence: “Is This Thing On?,” “Perfect Lines,” “Red and Blue Jeans,”
and “Why Did We Ever Meet?” are still an amazing thirteen minutes of music. And
in fact, there are elements of it that you can hear in today’s more
straightforward popular independent rock.
While I was two years late to the party on Nothing Feels Good, I was right on time
when I discovered their follow up, Very
Emergency, was being released in the fall of 1999. Again, purchased from
the same awesome record store, I grabbed a copy of the new record with my
Christmas money that year, interested in hearing it after seeing the video for
“Emergency, Emergency” on a taped episode of “120 Minutes.”
Very Emergency is
a much larger sounding record, production wise. It still sounds very organic,
but it’s better mixed in comparison to its predecessor. The songs are
exponentially catchier, the song writing pushing the band into a more power pop
direction. Similarly with Nothing Feels
Good, this record is a total smack in the face by nostalgia, taking me back
to days listening to a dubbed cassette of this in my van, or enjoying it with
headphones on as fell asleep.
Truth be told, there’s not really a bad song on Very Emergency.
“Jersey Shore” is really the only song that is not as strong as the others; and
even the side closing slow jams: “Things Just Getting Good,” and “All of My
Everythings” showcase a different side of the band not present elsewhere in
this record, or on Nothing Feels Good.
Three years later, The Promise Ring released a follow up—now
signed to a slightly larger independent label, Anti-, Wood/Water was a record that I largely ignored for some reason. And
a decade later, I’m uncertain why I did. By 2002, I was a freshman in college,
and a large portion of my music was “obtained” using early file sharing
services, filling up a hard drive, burned to a cd, never being listened to. The
stigma against Wood/Water was how
drastic of a change in sound occurred.
Not that the early records by the band were immature, but
they obviously grew up, shedding the ramshackle characteristics that made them
a joy to listen to. Wood/Water is an
album made by adults, for adults—lots of acoustic guitar, slowly paced songs,
and in truth, it’s just kind of boring. And shortly after its release, the band
called it quits. In 2012, the band got back together for a string of reunion
shows—but there has been no talk of new music for the future.
About two or three years ago, I revisited Nothing Feels Good and Very Emergency, and found them both to
be as listenable, if not more listenable, than they were when I was a teenager.
For me, now, it is another delightful stroll down memory lane when I listen to
these records. It’s not heavy or serious music, it’s not sad bastard music—it’s
fun, well-crafted pop music that has been able to transcend the label “Emo.”
And sometimes I even
need to listen to something fun every once in a while.
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