When second-wave emo legends Cap’n Jazz reunited earlier this year, music critics and fans rejoiced. It all seemed a little unexpected: After years of Warped-Tour banishment, emo was being celebrated again.

via Tomorrow: Algernon Cadwallader, Standard-Bearers of the New New Emo – Arts Desk – Washington City Paper.

A preview for Algernon Cadwallader’s D.C. show. Enjoy.

Image via Wikipedia

Popular indie music site Pitchfork announced it will launch Altered Zones, a sister site dedicated to DIY sounds so obscure not even those on staff at Pitchfork have heard of some of the bands or dreamt up cool new tags for the zany new tunes. Pitchfork has some lofty goals for the site, which will premier online July 7:

Uniting an international team of bloggers whose individual sites have proven among the most consistently rewarding outposts for unique and leftfield music, this new site will highlight the most notable and adventurous new artists, serving as a focal point for the flood of creativity coming from deep within the music underground.

Though I don’t doubt the positive intentions behind Pitchfork’s Altered Zones, and though the idea is certainly novel, I can’t imagine anything more detrimental to the idea of the blogosphere than Altered Zones.

One of the many rewarding aspects of music blogging is the conversation that occurs among countless bloggers delving into little niches. It’s created a gorgeous kaleidoscope of perspectives on everything from American pop to Angolan hip-hop, and it’s fostered a dialogue wherein individuals are both experts on a specific sounds and newbies eager to learn about other genres.

Pitchfork, by and large, has stayed out of this conversation. The site will give credit where credit is due, linking to blogs that find the latest radio rip of a new LCD Soundsystem song or ones that post a new Animal Collective video from a European performance. But, the buck stops when it comes to the critical analysis of music. They are the authority on all things music, so why would a reader want another opinion? That authoritative voice is even a part of their editorial voice:

Launched in 1996, Pitchfork is the essential guide to independent music and beyond, and is widely regarded as the music world’s primary tastemaker.

Prior to Tuesday’s announcement, it was easy to find practically any independent blog “at war” with Pitchfork. The site is, to many, the exemplar of “the man.” And they certainly act the part. Though music is, and always has been, an individual choice, many blogs (and music writers for that matter) drew lines in the sand with specific bands.

The blogs boosted bands like Cold War Kids and Sound Team to heights previously unimagined by some dude with a domain name and love for music, and Pitchfork decimated those bands with a couple swift negative reviews. Yes, taste is in the eye of the beholder, but it wasn’t beyond some skeptical individuals to ponder the question of whether or not Pitchfork handed down these negative reviews as if to show the burgeoning blogs who’s in control.

It’s with Altered Zones that Pitchfork appears to be hijacking the conversation occurring on the music blogosphere. Pitchfork’s attitude of absolute authority in deeming certain sounds as credible has been extended to the still-unwieldy world of the blogs, and somehow the folks at Pitchfork believe they can trade some popular web space for a real, authentic blog voice with 14 popular blogging sites.

Thank goodness, the benevolent Pitchfork has arrived to pull some of our blogging brethren from the depths of this cruel CSS-fueled community! Right?

Wrong. Though I don’t doubt Pitchfork’s attempts to get the best coverage of the ever-growing music world, their ideal to provide a closed forum with their 14 favorite blogs on tap is hardly any improvement over what they are currently engaged in.

A better choice could have been a universal forum, where bloggers can submit content that a select few editors could sift through and find the best content. Even though some system like that would merely continue to validate Pitchfork’s supremacy in the modern musical conversation, it’s certainly more appealing than Pitchfork’s ill-minded presentation of the blogosphere. There are hundreds of thousands of music blogs covering valid musical content: To say only 14 blogs, no matter how popular and well-conceived they are, is an absolute fallacy.

Then again, this could be a good thing for music. Not in terms of the music being covered by Altered Zones, although I’m sure there will be artists with great voices that receive some well-deserved exposure on the site. It could be a good thing for the evolution of alternative and independent music not being covered by Altered Zones.

The history of alternative music has been one of an underground culture ignored by the critical elite, allowed to fester and grow in the corners of basements and find audiences in zines. Those zines are now the countless blogs waiting to be discovered, those basements are filled by bands simply not covered by Pitchfork’s all-knowing hand. And 14 hand-picked blogs can’t be expected to cover everything, especially when Pitchfork’s editorial voice has made an effort to ignore certain aspects of modern music.

Sure, if I want the latest Wavves sound-alike or a Wu-Tang Clan solo project, I’ll go to Gorilla vs. Bear. But, if I want a spec of info on current world electronic and hip-hop, I’ll go to wayne&wax. If I want anything metal-related, I’ll see what former Pitchfork-writer Brandon Stosuy is up to. Experimental and noise? Anti-Gravity Bunny. Emo? Certainly not Pitchfork, or any of the Altered Zones-related blogs for that matter. And I’ll take Algernon Cadwallader over Real Estate any day of the week.

So, what’s the fear? Well, Pitchfork does have pull. And the idea that they can claim to present the only reputable voices on the blogosphere is less dangerous for bloggers than music listeners. Technology has made instant gratification not only easy to achieve, but a desired goal. By aggregating a select number of blogs into a single site and using their significant pull in the music world, Pitchfork’s Altered Zones could cut music listeners’ web browsing down to size. With everything supposedly worth listening to available on a single site, why would you want to even think of exploring elsewhere? Sure, online searches are easy, but visiting a single site is even easier.

Although many blogs won’t get the Pitchfork seal-of-approval, I’ve got my fingers crossed that they will carry on without a second thought. Music bloggers have dedicated weeks, months and years to their beloved sites. Pitchfork’s sudden “validation” of a “lucky” few sites shouldn’t change things. Frankly, it shouldn’t even matter.

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Matt Harmon has a lot on his plate. The 25-year-old DIY musician and concert organizer is the bassist in mathy screamo quintet Suffix and plays guitar and sings for a punk trio called Cloud Mouth, which is about to drop a new six-song 12-inch, That Ghost Is Always With Me (Ice Age), and on July 2 will embark on a monthlong tour of the eastern U.S. He and his younger brother John, who plays bass in Cloud Mouth, also run a newish Logan Square venue called Strangelight, which will host an ambitious indie record fair this Saturday, June 26, featuring more than 40 midwestern labels, crafters, and zine makers.

via Making Friends and Losing Money | Music Feature | Chicago Reader.

I’d previously written about Matt and John Harmon and their venue, Strangelight. But, there was always more to say about the Harmons, and thank goodness that the folks at the Chicago Reader thought so, too. They let me run with this piece. Of course, a big thanks goes out to the Harmon brothers for letting me bother them at work, home and at any time of day. They really do care about the work they do, and Strangelight is all the better for it. Extra props to Ryan Durkin at Hewhocorrupts Inc. Records, Algernon Cadwallader bassist and singer Peter Helmis, Lautrec bassist Hannah Rosner, and anyone and everyone who attended a Strangelight show and have helped make that place special.

Read more!

Under the proposed rules, promoters would have to apply for a permit from the Philadelphia Police Department (PPD) 30 days before every single event — meaning if you promote a weekly club night, that’s 52 permit applications per year . More than just a bureaucratic nightmare, this would all but abolish last-minute shows or pickup parties. These applications would have to include detailed security plans, the promoter’s business-privilege-license number, the venue’s capacity and the expected crowd. Perhaps most importantly, the bill would hold promoters liable for the actions of the crowds at the events they promote.

Beyond the kind of infrastructure chaos such an ordinance would cause (how many small clubs have the staff required to tackle such a monumental load of paperwork?), the amount of control the city would have over shows is absurd. According to the bill, Philadelphia’s Police Department has the final say:

Application for such promoted event permit shall be made in writing to the captain of the police district in which the event is to take place at least thirty days prior to such event, upon a suitable form prescribed and furnished by the Commissioner. The application shall be deemed approved unless it is denied at least ten days prior to such event.

Seem fishy? That’s because there’s no set list of reasons for the PPD to deny a permit. Which means the PPD can deny a permit for any reason. That isn’t to say that the Department will go on some sort of tirade, denying permits to any event featuring a performer who doesn’t like, say, the Phillies. But, the potential to abuse such a power isn’t just great: It’s already there. The PPD has the ultimate say on what gets approval, and when pop music has a history of churning out artists who challenge the status quo, who knows what shows will be shut down for absolutely no reason. Had N.W.A. toured through Philly with such a law in place when their infamous song was all the rage, chances are Philadelphia would have been removed from their road map.

What’s worse is the bill removes any semblance of personal responsibility from the local government. The law would require all promoters to follow a strict set of requirements. But, among the list of individuals or organizations not considered “promoters” under the proposed bill, one peculiar description pops up:

(vi) any employee of the City of Philadelphia or a city agency or a city-related agency, to the extent that the employee plans, prepares or executes an event in the course of such employment.

Which sounds like a promoter. Nothing like washing away any semblance of responsibility, right?

These are just a few of the issues that the bill proposed by City Councilmen Darrell Clarke and Bill Greenlee happen to bring up. Such a potential law would drive touring musicians (or celebrities, etc) away from Philadelphia. Booking agents, managers and artists have enough to deal with in the process of planning a tour: The last thing they would want to worry about is that, even with every “t” crossed and “i” dotted, their show could be potentially cut. And 10 days before the proposed concert for that matter. This bill doesn’t instill confidence in the system, it shuts down a vibrant city’s scene.

And, of course, it’s Philadelphia’s homegrown music scene that has to deal with such issues. Tiny clubs featuring up-and-coming bands will be inundated with paperwork they can’t handle, bands who may not be used to the process suddenly have more than they might be able to handle, and suddenly a community is under the penetrating microscope of the PPD. How does that create a welcome, open cultural environment for everyone.

Philadelphia’s produced a wide array of diverse acts that have captured the ears of music listeners around the world. Be it The Roots, Diplo, Paint It Black, Dr. Dog, Spank Rock, Man Man, Jedi Mind Tricks, Algernon Cadwallader, Pattern Is Movement, whatever your taste is, there’s probably been a band or musician that calls Philly home and made a career there during the last two decades. So, how on earth can the City of Philadelphia justify stunting the growth of their vibrant city’s cultural future with such a poorly-conceived bill?

You can read the bill here, find out more about the arguments against the bill here, and, if you disagree with the bill, sign the petition against it here.

And now, a small sample of Philadelphia-bred music and musicians.

The Roots:

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Dr. Dog:

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Major Lazer (Diplo + Switch):

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Paint It Black:

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Man Man:

[youtubevid id="p-7I6Fw5LUY"]

Jedi Mind Tricks:

[youtubevid id="dNITJsOrHr0"]

Algernon Cadwallader:

[youtubevid id="VSV1bCagUyA"]

Spank Rock:

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Pattern Is Movement:

[youtubevid id="3tngJT8epS8"]

It’s bright orange, it rattles when you move it just slightly, and the letter “B” litters the orange surface.

Tiny Philadelphia-based record label Ticklebutt Records produced the tape. It’s called 75:24 and it’s packed with unreleased songs from a little more than a couple dozen of the underground’s most visceral bands. There are tunes by Algernon Cadwallader, 1994!, Snowing, Ape Up! and many more.

I ordered the tape in December. I have yet to hear a second of it. And so it sits on my bookshelf.

It’s not that I don’t want to listen to the tape. That’s hardly the case. I wish I could crack that case open and let the music within pour into my ears. Unfortunately, cassette tapes – and most forms of music media for that matter – aren’t really designed to handle that kind of playback. I’ve been meaning to find a cheap cassette player to listen to the tape, but certain things get in the way. School. Work. Sleep. As much as I want to listen to these tunes, finding a way to listen to the tape isn’t at the top of my list of priorities.

There’s been plenty written about the current cassette culture. Even more space has been dedicated to the resurgence in vinyl. Words like “nostalgia” and “aesthetics” get tossed around trying to describe the appeal of these types of quasi-obsolete media. Yet no one seems to really discuss practically in all of this. Perhaps because it’s the kiss of death to mediums like vinyl or cassettes.

Or is it? Impose recently had Bart Records‘ founder Kevin Stebner discuss his all-cassette label. Stebner’s discussion of his selected medium was quite revealing:

As far as the whole “cassette culture” thing goes, it’s all just a joke. It has nothing to do with nostalgia, nothing to do with aesthetics. Tapes are just the way I could get stuff out there with regards to my means. It simply is, straight-up, the most functional and inexpensive format, with superior sound quality (for reals!), incredibly quick turn over, and the ability to do low-production runs. Not to mention, a tape is relatively impossible to destroy. I value DIY ethics very strongly, and I personally fold every cover, dub every tape, stuff every envelope. Every single thing released on BART has been lovingly assembled with love and care. I don’t know how I’d it any other way.

For Stebner, the cassette is the most viable medium. They’re cheap, easy to produce and allows for Stebner to put his DIY-elbow grease into it. It is practical. The medium that helped change the face of Iran has once again proven its worth for many of the same reasons. Only this time, it’s Canadian post-hardcore bands instead of religious Iranians finding a medium for their culture in the cassette.

The popularity of vinyl is a reflection of practicality, at least, in some ways. For a certain set of music listeners, vinyl is something of a practical reflection of one’s lifestyle. If you have the space for a vinyl player and don’t have to worry about lugging around crates of the stuff whenever you move, you may be in this category. And as much as personal aesthetic taste is a factor, if you’re a person who tends to seek out bands that produce vinyl-only releases, then your love of vinyl is just as much a reflection of practicality as it is a personal choice.

However, of the three main selections for physical musical playback, CDs may be the most practical. Of course, from the business angle, CDs continue to be the most viable option in terms of a physical medium. They’re easy and cheap to produce, and easy for listeners to consume. More people have the ability to play and listen to a CD than a record or cassette. If you’re reading this post, chances are your computer has a CD-drive. Pop a CD in and you have immediate access.

It’s hard not to come across any article about the vinyl or cassette resurgence and not see someone bash the format of the CD. And, in some ways, I can see why. For older listeners, the CD appears to be something rolled out as a way for the music industry to make more money in a cost effective manner. To them, CDs seem cold, sterile, almost alien.

I’ve never felt that way about CDs. Growing up, I saw my parents give up their vinyl player and records. Those massive records seemed foreign to me. When I started to get into music, and I mean really get into music, CDs seemed great. I could access the music I wanted to listen to, skip around to certain tracks with ease, and have a nice, compact and (I hope) smartly-designed package. And yes, CDs do have the kind of artwork one can find with a vinyl album release: Sure it’s smaller, but the inventive and creative individual can find a way to work with the medium, in the same way so many people love to reminisce about creating artwork for that perfect mixtape.

And creation is what the CD has above the cassette and record. Considering the personal computer is as common a household item as a refrigerator, it’s lead to the CD becoming the democratizing physical musical medium (sorry cassettes.) Whereas the means of production may have once made the CD appear like the cold hand of industry, chances are you have the ability to produce your own CD right now. Put together a playlist, pop a CD in, and you’ll have your very own CD in no time.

Mixtape lovers lament the decline of painstakingly-created little gems of personalized cassettes. Who’s to say that the ease of creating a CD-R is any less painstaking? Who’s to say a CD can’t have the personal touches of vinyl?

Well, you. You, of course, have the ability to hop onto whatever musical medium your heart desires. But, just because you like a certain medium, it doesn’t make any other less valid so long as tangible, thriving sounds are being recorded and listened to using some random medium. It won’t surprise me one bit if there’s a sudden interest in CD-R culture any time soon: For a young, struggling band, $20 in CD-Rs could very well build a little community.

But, for now, cassettes appear to be the medium of choice for tastemakers. And until then, that little orange tape will sit on my bookshelf, waiting for me to get my act together and find some way of listening to it.

[vimeovid id="9261206"]

Or, so it seems in the case of the Black Eyed Peas, a band so wrapped up in advertising glut that the Wall Street Journal called them the most corporate band in America. WSJ did so with reason too: Main-man Will.i.am appears to conduct his business relations with the skill of a Fortune 500 company CEO:

If will.i.am wasn’t in music, “He’d be the best ad executive on Madison Avenue,” says Randy Phillips, president and CEO of the concert promoter AEG Live. “I’ve never seen anyone more astute at dealing with sponsors’ and companies’ needs and understanding their brands.” He says he’s planning to have the rapper deliver a seminar to AEG’s global marketing team.

Is that a good thing?

Certainly it’s reasonable for musicians to care about their income. But how much time should one dedicate towards putting together PowerPoint presentations instead of putting together thought provoking songs, which is the very reason a band like Black Eyed Peas should be getting attention. (I realize their songs are hardly thought provoking, but their tunes do get the majority of the attention, not their business practices.)

Still, the focus of the article was distinct: Bands and brands – or bands as brands – and the key to a successful career.

These days, with the divergence of music culture into hundreds upon thousands of subsections, it’s hard for any artist to really break through and find a new audience. It’s even harder when you consider the sparse number of acts played on a majority of radio stations and featured in the pages of the most prominent music magazines. The WSJ hints at the big draw a relationship between advertisers and musicians can really offer:

Not long ago, the band was lending its music for relatively paltry fees in exchange for exposure—a common strategy for emerging acts.

In effect, there’s also the chance to grab some multitude of a population previously unattainable. One can be respected and revered within a particular subsection and scrape by day to day. But put together a jingle for Nintendo and suddenly you can feed your kids. That’s not exactly a bad break.

Whether or not the dollar amount is worth it, the exposure can certainly do a lot to a musician’s career. Take a look at the following Google Trends tracking for a particular artist in 2007 in the U.S. Try and guess the musician and the corresponding ad:

Got it? Not sure? Can’t remember ads that far back?

In September of that year, Apple released an ad for the new iPod Nano. It’s accompanying song was Feist’s “1, 2, 3, 4.”

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Though Feist’s 2007 album, The Reminder, came out in April and debuted at No. 16 on Billboard, the real buzz came months later. So did the sales. So did the award nominations.

True, Apple’s ads happen to sell a product that’s as much about the music within it as it is the sleekly-designed player. But it works elsewhere too. Take a peek at the following tracker for a particular band in U.S. online trend ratings circa 2009. Try to take a swing at this one:

Can’t figure it out?

Perhaps taking a peek at one of the best trailers of last year may jump your memory:

[youtubevid id="ILCB_f0IIyI"]

The Temper Trap’s “Sweet Disposition” made the teaser for (500) Days of Summer perfect. That delay-pedal infected melody swept me off my feet, only to bring me crashing down when I saw the unfortunate mess of a film. The Australian band was hardly a blip on the radar in America before Fox Searchlight began their marketing campaign for the shallow, “Family Guy”-like take on “indie films.” Now, with one album under their belt, the band has a great spot on the Lollapalooza lineup, a position some more accomplished acts must gaze upon from earlier time slots.

Again, it’s not a bad thing. It’s fantastic to see a group take off purely on the basis of the strength of a song.

However, advertising can move beyond the form of the traditional and new media. Some of the best band advertising, and branding, takes the form of one thing you can’t see on a screen or in a paper or on a billboard: Merch.

Once a heated topic of discussion in the underground, band merchandise is de rigueur. In many ways, it’s the best advertising a band can get. Have a fan pay upwards of $30 for a shirt and that brand name will work its way into classrooms, dining rooms and all types of places “regular” forms of advertisement will never have access to. Plus, all the money goes straight to the band.

Yet, there’s something a little unsettling about the sheer amount of band merch available. It’s a great way to support a struggling act, sure enough. But is there ever too much? On last year’s Warped Tour, I was astonished by the sheer number of t-shirts available for consumption. Every band had a merch tent, and some bands had more t-shirts on sale than songs in their discography, and often an array of better merch than music. I found myself particularly taken by some the 3OH!3 t-shirt designs despite my reservations about that group.

Is there a line somewhere? Is there a point where a musician has to stop and wonder if they’re spending too much time on a t-shirt design instead of on writing or practicing or recording music?

When I interviewed Algernon Cadwallader frontman Peter Helmis about band merch for a project I was working on, he mentioned not wanting to get a lot of money from shirts instead of music. Still, he knew that merch was a great way for his band to be able to get out and tour:

[vimeovid id="9274148"]

Advertising is, in the changing world of the media, something of a safety net for bands of all walks of life. Saturday night I caught a show featuring Kent, Ohio, emo act Annabel. In the middle of their tour, their van had somehow cracked up. Throughout the night, different bands pleaded with the crowd to buy Annabel’s merch so they could get back on the road.

So yes, in many ways, advertising can be an important cog in the system of a band. It can get the rest of the gears moving. But, too much focus on that one aspect can break the machinery and obscure the main goals of a band. PowerPoint and the like can be great tools to work with, sure. But when the crux of your main focus changes from this:

I see you try to diss our function by stating that we can’t rap
Is it cause we don’t wear Tommy Hilfiger or baseball caps
We don’t use dollars to represent
We just use our inner sense and talent

To this:

Let’s do it, let’s do it, let’s do it, let’s do it
And do it and do it
And live it up
And do it and do it

And all during the transformation into a group intensely focused on advertising, well… Better rethink your corporate strategy before the gears rust.

[youtubevid id="3sCrvZcfqNc"]

Normally, I’m not one for self-promoting on my blog here, but I can’t help but get this story out there. As a friend who organizes DIY shows in Boston posted on my Facebook wall said: “This community has gone horribly under-appreciated for many years.” And that can be said for the DIY and all-ages community country-wide, not just in Chicago.

Growing up in the DC Metro area spoiled me. The very moment I wanted to see a concert by a band I loved, I was able to go. For the most part, I never had to worry about age restrictions holding me back from seeing a musician or act. It wasn’t until I moved to the Boston area that I understood how lucky I was being able to see bands I enjoyed as a teen, and how thoroughly odd it is that there are roadblocks for kids who want to see music in so many cities across the country.

I’ve got to say thanks to everyone I interviewed for this piece. Without them, I couldn’t have put together the article. So, thank you Kevin from the All-ages Movement Project, Todd P., Matt from Schubas, Jim Grimes, Efrat from Chicago’s Business Affairs and Consumer Protection Department and Ian MacKaye.

Most of all, I’d like to thank the people who opened their basements and living rooms to me (and countless strangers) and allowed me to document what happened there. So, to Jason at Enemy, Christine at Ottoman Empire and, most of all, Matt (and co.) at Strangelight, thank you.

Here’s a little clip of a performance by Algernon Cadwallader at Strangelight before I began to work on this piece. Enjoy:

[vimeovid id="9261206"]

Some Kind of Merchandiser from Leor Galil on Vimeo.

“Merchandise, it keeps us alive,” Fugazi proclaimed on their song “Merchandise.” Though the D.C. punk act saw merch as a distraction, many Do It Yourself punk acts use money from selling records and clothing to survive as a band.

When Philadelphia’s Algernon Cadwallader played Strangelight – a new Chicago DIY venue – on Friday, Feb. 5, singer/bassist Peter Helmis took some time to discuss the process of creating and selling merchandise. Peter highlighted an important attribute of creating one’s own records and merchandise that many artists are beginning to take advantage of in the digital era:

It’s really helpful, if you’re a band that’s playing lots of shows, to have a bunch of your records. If someone else puts it out, they’ll give you a bunch of free ones to start out with, then you have to buy them from the label whenever you need them. If you put it out yourself, it’s more money up front, but you have like 1,000 records at your disposal whenever you want. You don’t have to buy them again, you just sell them, have them whenever you go out.

As the band saves money by putting out its own records (Algernon’s DIY label is called Be Happy Records) and bringing their merch on tour, fans have the chance of saving money as well. Buying a record at a concert is usually cheaper than ordering it online or through a mail order, and often some of the merchandise isn’t available online. Three items onsale at the concert – the 75:24 tape, the Fun 7″ record and the tour T-shirt – are either sold out online or not available elsewhere. The group’s CD – Some Kind of Cadwallader – cost $6 at the concert and costs upwards of $8 online (plus shipping and handling).

Like a lot of DIY punk bands, Algernon Cadwallader isn’t getting rich and famous from its merchandise or playing concerts. As Peter said:

It’s anything but full-time, but it’s definitely a full-time hobby. It’s our passion.

To get a glimpse of Algernon Cadwallader’s Friday night performance, take a look at the video below:

Algernon Cadwallader – “Some Kind of Cadwallader” from Leor Galil on Vimeo.

Before the turn of the millennium, emo was a term best used to describe an ambiguous, post-hardcore punk sound that had been evolving in the American underground music scene for about 15 years. Perhaps “best used” isn’t the right term as much as the term was saddled upon this sound: Just as many musicians tagged with the name today, it had been a point of annoying contention since it was first uttered in the community centers and tiny, all ages clubs in D.C. where the first “emocore” bands performed. Unlike the close-minded term the sound was often described as, these teens fused the cathartic dynamics of hardcore with a confrontational pop-twist and blended it all with introspective lyrics that had that was ambiguous as the genre within which these bands found themselves.

Flash forward to the beginning of the 21^st Century, and emo hit an odd nexus between the past, present and future just as it approached its tipping point. 2001 was the year that bands from emo’s first, second and third waves all convened, a year before the “genre” hit its tipping point in mainstream popularity. Fugazi – the band formed by members of two of emocore’s progenitors and the group that influenced nearly every second wave emo act, be it Drive Like Jehu or Sunny Day Real Estate – released their final album, The Argument. A map of the band’s evolving sound, The Argument was perhaps the group’s greatest album and an excellent farewell as the quartet called an indefinite hiatus in 2002.

All the while, many second wave emo bands began to end their respective musical runs in the early part of the decade, and many did so in challenging fashions. Although emo would transform into something of a tangible genre for millions, an almost shallow form of pop-punk in the guise of some bands, many of the second wave groups would exit not with a bang, but with a sound that left many emo apologists scratching their heads. There was Sunny Day Real Estate’s prog-heavy 2000 effort, The Rising Tide, an album that perplexed many longtime fans and left the chaos of their earlier albums on the studio floor. The Promise Ring dropped Wood/Water in 2002, a record that eschewed the group’s potent poppy-punk sound for a retrained, oft-acoustic sound driven completely on harmony. The Get Up Kids followed a similar route with their 2004 album, The Guilt Show.

While many of the titans of emo’s second wave bowed out in seemingly unfashionable ways, one of the period’s second fiddles would push emo onto the charts and into confused adolescent hearts. In the ‘90s, Jimmy Eat World was hardly an emo headliner. But, after being dropped by Capitol Records for failing to produce a big hit single or record, the group quietly recorded what would become the album that helped make emo a sought-after commodity.

Originally titled Bleed American when it was released in 2001, the band changed the name of their third album to Jimmy Eat World following September 11^th. And the album became a smashing sensation, a venerable hit parade and moneymaker at a time when industry types first began to fear illegal downloading. Perhaps Jimmy Eat World’s late career success can be boiled down to timing. In 2001 and 2002, Americans were looking for a certain kind of somber and comforting sound, but one that was ultimately positive following the national tragedy. When there was nowhere to turn in the world of shallow boy-band pop, a song called “The Middle” provided all the comfort one could ask for in a pop song:

It just takes some time/little girl you’re in the middle of the ride/everything, everything will be just fine/everything, everything will be alright

Throw in one heck of a pop hook and mix it in with that undeniable chorus and some positive, comforting lyrics and Jimmy Eat World came away with one of the strongest singles of the decade. Considering “The Middle” helped usher emo into the mainstream, it’s odd to think of how “emo” has become almost synonymous with “depressed.”

While Jimmy Eat World survived emo’s second wave for 21^st Century chart glory, emo’s third wave was well in full swing. Often described in Christ-like fashion amongst his most-rabid fans and critics, Chris Carrabba was stirring things up in the world of emo. Cathartic and punk inspired, Carrabba’s most affecting moments came in the form of his solo, acoustic-guitar driven ditties under the name Dashboard Confessional. Carrabba became something of a fixture in the mainstream music press, and his role as poster boy for the genre seemed solidified.

Though Carrabba plays the same heart wrenching tunes to a smaller group of cult fans today, his meteoric rise in the mainstream and substantially-longer career as an afterthought in the press have transformed Carrabba into a different kind of poster boy for emo. If emo had any solid definition following the aughts, it’s been lost in the translation of pop culture this past decade. Carrabba was the image of emo at the first half of the decade, but thanks to pop culture’s ever-shrinking attention span, emo’s transformed into something completely different at the end of 2009. Carrabba represents the odd staying power and ambiguity of the genre at a time when everyone seems to have a definition of “emo” down pat. Whereas earlier in the decade, emo was synonymous with well-adjusted, upper-middle class teenagers who wore Abercrombie & Fitch and sought to force all their existential quandaries on failed relationships and romantic longing, emo has somehow become associated with depressed, potentially-suicidal tweens who drape their bodies in all things black and could potentially be members of a cult, maybe.

Or has it? For every person that thinks they know what emo means, there are about several hundreds of people ready to disagree. For that, we’ve got the middle aughts to be thankful for. At a time when “emo” was being used to describe any up and coming independent band by the most well-meaning of music critics, the linear “genre” of emo saw a number of inventive albums and bands. Say Anything’s …is a Real Boy. Pedro The Lion’s Achilles’ Heel. Thursday’s War All The Time. Coheed & Cambria’s In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth: 3. The Format’s Dog Problems. Even the “backpacker rap” of Rhymesayers artists like Atmosphere and P.O.S., or Rhode Island spoken-word rapper Sage Francis, followed some of the same post-hardcore dynamics of their emo peers to produce a solid number of albums often roped into the “emo” bubble and augmented the definition of the term.

While emo (and screamo) was getting the full court press style coverage in everything from The New York Times to Rolling Stone, something was awry. It was something that only Jessica Hopper was able to verbalize in a 2003 Punk Planet article titled “Emo: Where The Girls Aren’t.”

And then something broke—And it wasn’t Bob Nanna’s or Mr. Dashboard’s sensitive hearts. Records by a legion of done-wrong boys lined the record store shelves. Every record was a concept album about a breakup, damning the girl on the other side. Emo’s contentious monologue—it’s balled fist Peter Pan mash-note dilemmas—it’s album length letters from pussy-jail—it’s cathedral building in ode to man-pain and Robert-Bly-isms—it’s woman-induced misery has gone from being descriptive to being prescriptive. Emo was just another forum where women were locked in a stasis of outside observation, observing ourselves through the eyes of others. The prevalence of these bands, the omni-presence of emo’s sweeping sound and it’s growing stronghold in the media and on the Billboard chart codified emo as A SOUND, where previously there had been diversity.

And though some artists pushed the boundaries of where a term like “emo,” could go, others shoved it into a misogynistic, uncreative box. For all their cathartic bleedings, bands like The Used produced “hits” rank with the negative sound Hopper described so well. This, quite unfortunately, became the face that emo has worn throughout the decade, and is part of the reason the genre’s thought to be so worn out.

And the backlash came, though much of it not nearly as intelligent or even knowledgeable as Hopper’s critique. Warped Tour, the preeminent punk summer tour, became ground zero for anti-emo sentiments in the punk community. Elsewhere, the dynamic and image of emo shifted under the guise of two new scene bearers: My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy. Though Fall Out Boy achieved a cross-pop-cultural popularity unsurpassed by most bands, My Chem grew the kind of “cult” fan base that attracted the kind of negative publicity for emo that couldn’t be made up.

Suddenly, more than before, emo transformed from something of a musical term, to a catchall term for an odd subculture, with little to no roots in the “genre.” It became a type of fashion, inspired by My Chem’s obsession with gothic Tim Burton wear. It became a “state of mind” which parents were told to fear for their kids’ safety. It became hated, like nothing before. Be it the anti-emo beatings in Mexico, the threats of banning emo in Russia, or the simple-minded misunderstandings of local news reporters across the U.S. warning parents of the “dangerous new trend,” emo became huge, and not in the good way.

Although all would seem lost for emo at the end of the decade, it’s reached a curious nexus not unlike the one at the beginning of the decade. Though all signs would seem to point to its “death,” emo has continued to evolve, perhaps in some cases, mutate. Emo is still a misunderstood and maligned “culture” in some circles. And yes, many of the negative aspects of its popular form have continued to thrive in the guise of fifth wave emo-inspired bands operating under the scrunk and crunkcore sounds.

But, perhaps there is a light at the end of the decade. The reunion fever that has caught the indie world by storm churned out headlines that screamed “Sunny Day Real Estate” and “Get Up Kids” across the country. Though nostalgia is so often a dangerous poison in pop culture, every Jawbox reunion performance on TV allows people to refocus their perceptions of emo, and even where it can go.

More over, with band like Brand New challenging the very sonic nature of what emo has become and crushing the Billboard 200 at the same time, it can spell a new crossroads for emo. And all he while, the “indie” scene has been a source of newfound evolutions for emo. Groups like Maritime, The Appleseed Cast and Owen have quietly been creating some of the best music to be paired with the term “emo” this decade. Over the past few years, there’s even been something of an “emo Renaissance” in the underground punk scene, with tiny, DIY bands with names like Algernon Cadwallader, Empire! Empire! (I Was A Lonely Estate) and Monument producing songs steeped in emo’s second wave.

Though emo would seem to be a lost cause at the end of what has been a very long decade in the genre’s existence, if anything, it’s merely proven the definitive point that’s made emo such a longstanding presence in music: It’s all about perspective.

Jimmy Eat World – “The Middle”:

[youtubevid id="tVP0b8qvZg8"]

Don’t expect a reunion show!

I write this because we recently celebrated our third anniversary. Three years are a long time for a band such as ours, especially when you take into consideration that many of our predecessors and inspirations barely made even one. By now, you’d think we’d have built for ourselves a solid fanbase, but the truth is, we still find ourselves playing to crowds of about ten people.

Far be it from me to pass judgment. I realize a lot of you simply can’t make it to all of our gigs, and I understand. We’re all working and going to school and engaging in other activities that prevent us from attending local shows. And some just aren’t into what we play, which is perfectly alright with me. If we were completely accessible to every last person, then we’d be doing something wrong. Do more people like Dashboard Confessional than Rites of Spring? Most definitely. But would Dashboard Confessional exist without Rites of Spring? Most certainly not.

Is it all so odd that a band entrenched in 80s and early 90s emo is somewhat making a humorous jab at the recent reunions of 2nd wave emo acts while placing themselves in something of a similar narrative. There’s something so interesting with all these tiny, almost neo-nostalgic, emo acts popping up in little “holes” around the country. The backwaters of Pennsylvania and Maryland, over in the Midwest… hell, there’s even a record label, Count Your Lucky Stars, the seems to focus on just these kinds of bands.

These little bands with such a similar sound popping up across the U.S. again is simply fascinating… It’s something to do with emo that I haven’t been fascinated with for a solid month. Which is partially why I haven’t really taken the time to update the blog, or work on America Is Just A Word. The passion for it is still there, I just don’t want to force it.

Time is a killer too. I figured grad school would be a time consumer, and a lot of the times it is. And when it isn’t, I just want to stop staring at a computer screen for the length of my day. And then there’s an entire world out there not strictly traced back to emo for me to write about. Like with True/Slant, or, now, The A.V. Club:

It’s been a fantastic experience writing for these outlets. It’s given me the chance to broaden my niche music-writing base into areas that I would otherwise not really be able to write about in the guise of this blog. Which is fine – I made this blog for a specific reason, and I’d like to keep it in the same general idea. And I like having the ability and opportunity to write for other places.

So, don’t call it a comeback… this stuff is always on my mind. Just sometimes I get a bit tired thinking about sifting through endless articles and blog posts about Twilight when all I want to do is uncover another Algernon Cadwallader or Shinobu. And darn it if a love of music isn’t what this whole thing is all about.