A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar
Maybe because now, at 30, I’m just so far removed from it,
but I have a super hard time comprehending the simple fact that emo bands still
exist.
Emo has taken many shapes and forms throughout its
much-maligned lifespan as a theoretical genre. And as embarrassing as it is to
admit, ten years ago, you could catch me wearing a Juliana Theory t-shirt, and
tearing up at the lyrics to a Jimmy Eat World song.
God I was so emo.
I think I’ve probably touched on this concept before in
other pieces I’ve written for this blog, but there are really, when you think
about it, two kinds of music—the kind that is temporary; and the kind that you
can take with you as you age. Not everything is meant to travel with you into
adulthood. Some of it, well, you can leave it behind; write it off as a phase,
or as your attempt to hop on the bandwagon of a trend.
Green Day will always have an audience because there will
always be junior high kids, and emo bands are no different—they will always
have an audience because there will always be misunderstood teenagers who shop
at Hot Topic.
Because I grew up in a rural area, and because we had dial
up, AOL internet access until I went to college in the halcyon days of 2001, I
was oblivious to emo as a genre. This is funny, actually, because two records I
immensely enjoyed when I was 16 or 17 were Nothing
Feels Good by The Promise Ring, and Something
to Write Home About by The Get Up Kids—both of those bands were, at the
time, considered to be emo. I just thought they were “alternative rock,”
because I had watched their videos on “120 Minutes.”
When I was in college, I was introduced to a whole new,
emotional world of music.
I distinctly remember burning copies of Clarity and Bleed American
by Jimmy Eat World, Emotion is Dead
by The Juliana Theory, and being introduced to the song “LoveLetterTypewriter,”
by Mineral. Later on, it was emo poster boy Chris Carrabba and Dashboard Confessional,
The Early November, Brand New, Something Corporate, and Copeland.
But when you are no longer a child, you leave behind
childish things. And when I was no longer a misunderstood and emotional
teenager, this music no longer spoke to me. Never you mind the fact that I was
more than likely a misunderstood and emotional young person in their early
20’s. Once you’re 21 or 22, it’s best to move on, and try to see about the
trade in value on all of your emo albums.
Because I’m always looking for music to write about for this
blog—including music that takes me out of my comfort zone, or things that I
more than likely shouldn’t be listening to with a critical ear, or attempting
to talk about with any kind of intelligence because I know nothing about it…
so, because I’m always looking for music to write about for this blog, I went
on Metacritic to see what some of the highest rated releases of the year were.
The one that had the highest rating (granted, it’s based out of 4 legit
critical reviews) was The Greatest
Generation, by the band The Wonder Years. I started previewing some of the
record on YouTube, because that’s the best way to listen to music in 2013, and
I was like, “Oh holy shit, these guys are so emo.” And it was like I was
magically transported back to 2002, being 19, and being emo as fuck.
So this opened up not so much a black hole, but a somewhat
ironic renewed interest in the genre of music I so identified with a decade
ago, that I have since disowned. And
then more emo bands kept popping up on my radar, and it’s not like I was going
out of my way to find them—Pitchfork strangely reviewed, and gave a 8.1 to, an
album by British emo kids Crash of Rhinos—well if Ian Cohen can shit out a
poorly written review of it and give it a high rating, IT MUST BE GOOD, RIGHT?
AND I SHOULD CHECK IT OUT, RIGHT?
And just the other day, in looking at the new releases
scrolling by in the iTunes marketplace, I saw an album cover that seemed to be
making a tip of the cap to Sonic Youth’s Daydream
Nation. Yeah, more than likely no one else will see that. But so here I am,
checking out The Dangerous Summer—yet another from the ever growing crop of
contemporary emo bands.
All of these band names are kind of unfortunate right? I
mean, “The Dangerous Summer?” Oh, wow you guys. It’s taken from a fucking
Hemmingway novel. “The Wonder Years?” The band’s Wikipedia entry claims the
name has no connection to the television show—but the knee jerk reaction to
hearing those words together is to think of a little Fred Savage. “Crash of
Rhinos?” What does that even mean? It’s about as bad as the band Cage The
Elephant. Here’s a fun way to pick a band name—do something to the fill in the
blank with the animal of your choice.
I’m making just a huge, sweeping generalization here, but
it’s safe to say that every lead singer in every emo band sounds the same. Like
if I put these three albums I’m focusing on here on shuffle, I have a feeling I
wouldn’t be able to distinguish one band from the other.
Specifically, two of three make sure their lead singer has
that “edge” to his voice—while all three are in the same-ish range, and there
are some pretty tight harmonies happening here (a must in an emo band), but
both Crash of Rhinos and The Dangerous Summer showcase vocal stylings that occasionally
teeter into “unhinged” delivery—a trait that was exemplified very well in the
year 2000 by the NYC post-hardcore/emo band Glassjaw.
Of course, none of these guys can pull it off as well.
Emo bands sure have a “sound,” don’t they? The same crunchy
kind of guitars, very unassuming bass, big drums, high energy—every song is
destined to be some teenager’s personal anthem. It’s just funny that the sound
hasn’t progressed very far in the last decade plus—bands like The Dangerous
Summer and The Wonder Years formed in 2007 and 2005, respectively, so the big
emo boom of 2002-3 was long gone. So who were these bands being influenced by?
Or as junior high students, did they spend hours online, looking for the tabs
to “Just Watch The Fireworks?”
And oh how these bands emote. There is so much emotion going
on here that I was actually taken aback by it at first. Every song is super
dramatic, and even the 30 year old me couldn’t help by dive into the lyrics to
analyze them. Take “Passing Through a Screen Door,” by The Wonder Years—
Jesus Christ
I’m 26
All the people I graduated with
All have kids
All have wives
All have people who care if they come home at night
Well Jesus Christ, did I fuck up?
I’m 26
All the people I graduated with
All have kids
All have wives
All have people who care if they come home at night
Well Jesus Christ, did I fuck up?
And honestly, I totally identify with this lyric for many
reasons. Sure I am married, and I don’t have kids, but I have companion
rabbits, and they are WAY better. But it’s the same as a Ryan Adams lyric from
the song “29” that I always come back to—“Most of my friend are married and
making them babies. To most of them, I’ve already died.”
I think I went into this concept a little on the piece I
wrote about turning 30, but it’s still difficult for me to grasp people that I
went to high school with having kids—and not even just one kid. Some of them
have many children. The same goes for people I knew in college. I just can’t
wrap my head around it—it still seems like we are all entirely too young for
responsibility like that.
Ten years ago, almost exactly ten years ago, actually,
Dashboard Confessional released their very commercially successful album A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar. It’s
an album that I remember buying, at a Best Buy, on the day it came out, and
it’s an album that can be viewed as a turning point—for me, for Dashboard, and
for emo as a genre, I think.
For me, it was a somewhat underwhelming album, and it was
then that I could start to see my interest waning. For Dashboard—I think it was
one of their last two attempts at true relevancy at the time—the second being
the song from Spider Man 2—“Vindicated.”
It took Chris Carrabba and company three years to put out a follow up, and by
2006, emo had retreated back to being an underground genre—only really understood by the misunderstood.
Even the name of the album reads like a eulogy to the
genre—from what it started as, what it became, and then finally, how it was
something you tried to hide.
While many of the countless and forgetful bands of the early
2000 boom have faded into obscurity, where they certainly belong, veteran acts
like Jimmy Eat World are still at it, and still consistently put out a new
record every three years. Their most recent came out earlier in 2013—and even
though the members are all pushing 40 by now, their sound still has yet to
mature with them. And even when compared to the seemingly grown up Clarity from 1999, it would appear that
at times, they’ve taken many steps back, rather than forward.
I’ve been listening to Crash of Rhinos, The Dangerous
Summer, and The Wonder Years, off and on, while writing this piece. These
records are pretty bad. Like really, when you think about it, there is really
no substance to any of this. Every song sounds nearly identical, the lyrics,
save for that gem I mentioned earlier, are all presumably melodramatic and
vapid, the kind of things you’d scribble in your diary or post on your Live
Journal. And the more I think about it, I don’t understand how these bands are
meant to be taken seriously—and how the members of the bands themselves think
they are meant to be taken seriously.
The Greatest Generation
debuted at #20 on the Billboard 200 charts the week of its release, selling
nearly 20,000 copies. So, there is obviously still an audience for such a
specific genre that markets itself almost exclusively to a specific
demographic. We were all once a member of that specific demographic. What
listening to these albums, as well as revisiting some songs I haven’t thought
about it over a decade, has taught me is that it’s fine to run from your
musical past, but eventually, it’s best to lighten up and embrace it.
I could never see myself seriously
listening to any of this—I mean, in browsing around old bands and songs from my
formative emo years, I came across “August in Bethany” by The Juliana Theory.
Holy shit. This song is so emotional. I forgot all about it. And while it’s a
little too earnest to be believed now, you know what? It’s an okay song.
I know most of you won’t fess up to it, but at one point or
another, I’m confident that most of us all had a copy of Significant Other by Limp Bizkit in our c.d. collection. And maybe
you won’t admit to it, but probably, there’s at least one Dashboard
Confessional song that brought you to tears for reasons you can’t even fathom
now.
Everybody who grows out of emo music completes the
aforementioned cycle of a mark, a mission, a brand, and finally, a scar. Some
choose to cover their scars up. Some will display them proudly. And no matter what you choose to do with it,
you should know that like a legit scar on your skin, it’s always going to be a
part of you.
PS- I really went above and beyond here. Rather than posting individual links to 10 individual mp3s, I have MADE YOU A MIX TAPE. Aren't I the best? You can download it here. I labeled the files so it should form the suggested track listing, but just in case it doesn't...
PPS- A bunch of those songs are You Tube rips. So sorry in advance 'bout the quality of the mp3s.
Hey man,
ReplyDeleteJust to fill in a gap there, 'crash' is the collective noun for a group of rhinos. So that's what that means. The rest is subjective stuff so that's fine.
Richard (from Crash of Rhinos)