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"]

Image by AFP/Getty Images via Daylife

Another day, another journalist seeks to kill a genre of music.

Today’s suspect is news.com.au‘s Neala Johnson. The weapon – My Chemical Romance. What got the axe? Emo, of course:

NO MORE angst. No more whingeing. No more playing the victim. When My Chemical Romance re-emerge in early 2010 with their fourth album, any trace of “woe is me and it’s all your fault” will be replaced by such self-aware and self-sufficient themes as “strength” and “self-preservation”.

Yup, emo is dead. Long live My Chemical Romance.

Gasp! News.com.au and My Chem said so, so it must be true.

Right?

Hardly. First, while the article begins with a bullet point that says “Emo is dead, band declares,” there is hardly a single quote by Gerard Way in the article that says “emo is dead.” Period. Way makes references to the problems that fans of mainstream emo have encountered over the last few years, be it facing violence in Mexico or the general misunderstandings that emo culture is akin to a suicide cult, but he himself hardly mentions a “death of emo.” Perhaps of the attitude people have towards what they interpret emo to be, but not of the genre itself.

Right next to hip-hop, emo is the one genre of music that people have been trying to kill off for years and/or pass off as dead. And yet, the genre persists to this day just as much as the wild misinterpretations and misappropriations of the word flourish with any casual reference to Twilight or moody teenagers. Though My Chemical Romance certainly ushered in a period of emo in its hair metal phase and popularized an image of emo as depressed-looking teenagers caked in makeup and cloaked in black, their every moves and motives don’t define a genre that’s existed for nearly a quarter of a century. Though they’ve helped define what a majority of people consider to be emo at a given period of this decade, they did not create emo, nor will they destroy it.

Andy Greenwald attempted something similar to what Johnson did in the My Chem. piece, which is tie a specific artist to the life and death of a genre, more specifically emo. Greenwald’s book, Nothing Feels Good, focused a large portion of its might on one artist – Dashboard Confessional. Greenwald placed all the prose he could muster about emo squarely on Chris Carrabba’s shoulders, and ended the book by saying emo was a phase Carrabba would soon grow out of. And he wrote this all before Dashboard’s peak in popularity, A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar was released.

Sure, Dashboard defined emo in the earlier part of the decade, but Carrabba didn’t define the genre as a whole, and it’s continued to grow. My Chemical Romance has been out of “the game” for a few years, and that’s been more than enough time for groups like Brand New to steal their thunder and re-configure the genre to their own liking. Which was always a large part of the original appeal of emo: its reflection of the individual listener’s perspective and tastes. And if everyone were to conform to the standards of emo as written by My Chemical Romance… well, then I’d be more than happy to put that niche genre to rest.

Doesn’t it all seem a little too, well, soon? It’s still just September! There are four full months left in the decade! Some kid in the middle of Mississippi could be making the best damn pop tune of the century with a jug and Garageband tomorrow, but for some reason the lists are done. Final. Sorry jug players of tomorrow, today’s history lesson is over.

I get why people make lists. It’s not even necessarily about “being the authority,” especially these days where anyone with an Internet connection and the ability to string verbs, nouns, punctuation, and numbers together with a complete thought can upload their list to every foreseeable computer. (Though in some small sense, anyone who makes a list wants to be the authority on their list.)

In most cases it’s because making these lists are fun. How do you think the guys in High Fidelity manage to get along each and every day without going ballistic? Top 5 lists! I know it’s fun because I’ve done it (on this blog no less). It’s especially fun to go back and see what you thought was the end-all-be-all of a particular year and how your tastes have changed over time. These aren’t the final word on anything. No way, no how. (Though consensus always brings “the classics” to the public, and you can’t go wrong there.)

But of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t get flustered at some lists. Take this one by Stephen Ortiz which cropped up on UConn’s The Daily Campus site: “Great Emo Anthems.” Whilest asking himself what the best emo songs of the past decade were, Ortiz came up with this list:

1. Taking Back Sunday – “Cute Without The ‘E’”

2. The Used – “The Taste of Ink”

3. Yellowcard – “Ocean Avenue”

4. Senses Fail – “Can’t Be Saved”

5. A Day To Remember – “I’m Made Of Wax, Larry, What Are You Made Of?”

Huh?

What?

Really?

There are always things one finds questionable with lists like these. But I have to wonder what Ortiz was thinking with this list. Let’s just take a think here for a second. Take out A Day To Remember, because, really, what? And as far as Yellowcard, they were always considered widely to be more pop-punk than emo; that’s the “all sensitivity is emo” argument, and in that style of pop punk, wasn’t New Found Glory always considered to be more “emo” than Yellowcard?

What’s left? Nothing I could really consider top 5 emo anthems. “The Taste of Ink” may have been a hit, but it doesn’t place anywhere near top 5 (I’m surprised the band is still around to be perfectly honest). But “Cute without the ‘E’” was always something of a tune beloved by diehard TBS fans. And Senses Fail… I won’t bother there.

But are these anthems? Take a look at the definition of the word:

1 a rousing or uplifting song identified with a particular group, body, or cause : the song became the anthem for hippie activists.

I’d hardly call any of these anthems. I can think of 5 emo songs from this decade that are more anthemic to the general population (nevermind emo fans) than these songs fairly quickly. Let’s take a gander, and in no particular order:

Jimmy Eat World – “The Middle” (really, that song was inescapable in ’02)

Dashboard Confessional – “Hands Down” (wasn’t this the dude that made emo the thing at the start of the decade? Yes, I believe so)

Coheed & Cambria – “A Favor House Atlantic” (fairly inescapable in 03/04)

Say Anything – “Alive With The Glory Of Love” (is one of the few pop songs of the decade that had a 2nd life; once when it came out as a song on an independent record in 04, and then again when the album was reissued on a major label)

Taking Back Sunday – “A Decade Under The Influence” (dur)

See? Fairly easy. I even tossed in a TBS song more non-fans are probably familiar with. And this was all done without thinking what is a better song or a song I enjoy more, but instead what most people would call an anthem. There were so many great “emo” songs of the decade that any list would be missing some stuff. People will no doubt forget the Maritimes, Jeremy Enigks, Pedro The Lions, hell, even the Fugazis when making these lists… and well, that’s the way it goes.

I will probably make a list or two towards the end of the year. Probably nothing as monolithic as a “best albums of the decade,” because my rabid interest in music and knowledge of what was coming out every day wasn’t like what it is today. But, something will crop up. And I’ll be sure to have fun with it.

I’ve never been entirely “in” to TBS. Just something about them never really caught me, even though I was their prime target when they first hit it big. I can understand the positives and the negatives for and against the band, and in most ways they really epitomize the 3rd wave version of emo that was being cranked out five some years ago. Dashboard was the band on every journalist’s lisps, but TBS was the band like all the other emo bands; their lyrics and music was thoroughly average. Average as in they could easily fit in the middle of a set by any guitar-oriented emo band coming out in that period of time… they sounded just like everyone else and vice versa. Not too many folks took to the acoustic troubadeour style in the emo realm, and in that TBS really are representative of the then-hottest word in the music world.

Anyway, back to Friday night, where TBS were set to play at Boston’s Government Center.

I get there a little after 9, which was when TBS were supposed to go on, only to find some random metal band, Crooked X, doing a really terrible cover of “Another Brick In The Wall” that allowed them to show off their wicketd skillzzzz. ZZZ is more like it. Boring and more than a little trite, and they managed to pack in all the rock’N'roll stereotypes into a solid ten minute perfomance of the song (seriously, how many times do you have to introduce every band member while playing the same riff for five minutes and declaring your love for the audience?) Then some random dude from MTV2 (or some MTV offshoot) did his whole routine of pumping up the audience and shouting one of the most redundant questions that there is: “who likes free stuff?!?!” (ans: everyone) …and it’s more like free advertising, w/free t-shirts with some odd company logo on it (who can keep up these days) while a big Verizon sign stood monolithically in the background.

In the half hour it took to set up, people were busy texting to the big Verizon screen next to the stage, while every once in a while someone would come onstage in order to direct a lost kid to their guardian or cousin for the show. It’s really nice to know that, even with all the mass advertisement and corporate machismo, kids of all ages are able to see what is a fairley big and well known band. And for free. Unfortunately, at several points, many in the crowd would shout the name of the lost kid in a taunting manner… as if they were never some lost confused kid in a crowd.

Anyway, half an hour later and the band went on, with what’s probably 4 new band members. I’d seen TBS perform in that very spot two summers ago, and I distinctly remember a bunch of completely different musicians, save the original guitarist (Eddie Reyes) and frontman (Adam Lazzara). It turns out they’ve now got a bit of a history for a revolving cast of musicians, and it’s good to see they’ve got a sense of humor about it with selling “I Used To Be In Taking Back Sunday” t-shirts for $20.

ALL IT TAKES IS $20 TO HAVE BEEN IN TAKING BACK SUNDAY. ($15.99 online + tax + shipping)

And get a nice yellow t-shirt to boot.

Anyway, they played a couple of new tunes to start out, which seem kinda glossed over radio-pop that sort of resemble their previous material, but in a washed up manner. With the sound cutting in and out, and three guitarists, and Lazzara’s vocal rarely audible for some reason or another, it seemed kinda… well, meh. Meh is the perfect describing word.

Then they launched into some of their older material. And there was a difference. Back in the day, I would always wonder at how they were on the radio. Crammed between the average Creed and circa-90s Green Day song, it would focus on how odd they sounded on the radio. It literally sounded like a revolution was happening, that musical change was occuring on corporate radio. Lazzara’s vocals are the least bit typical of anything you could hear on the radio – neither particularly strong or confident, and yes a bit whiny. And the lyrics crammed every word viable into a short amount of space. And the chug-a-lug of the songs mixed in with these blasts of noise around the chorus, even given what grunge did, so odd.

And yet I forgot how damn catchy they are. TBS now aren’t nearly as catchy now, their lyrics are even more bland, etc etc etc. But man, is there this blast that just hits you and it’s unexpected, and the vocal harmonies. You don’t expect it. Especially today, when they’ve gotten so formulaic.

I left a couple of songs after “A Decade Under The Influence,” because there was nothing more I really needed to see. The band was slopy and a bit of a shadow of what they once were. Even in that one moment, I could somehow, somehow overlook the malintented lyrics and overall bland output of the band recently. But, it was a solid few minutes, and that’s all I could ask for from that band and on a Friday when there really wasn’t much going on at 9:30. Backhanded compliment? Perhaps. But it might be the best I could ever give ‘em. It could be the nostalgia speaking (but really, I’m not terribly nostalgic for high school), but those few minutes were O-KAY.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=olY93YusWq4]

Saw the above t-shirt at Warped on Tuesday. It may just be a shirt, but nowadays fashion is oft as important – if not the important – as the music that a band chooses to define itself. In My So Called Punk, Matt Diehl notes the clashes between “emo” kids and traditional “punk” kids at Warped came out in the t-shirts they wore. Just like during the earlier part of this decade, the same thing is happening currently, but pitted between scrunk and traditional “punk” acts. There were more black punk shirts in support of traditional punk virtues – though none as straightforward anti-scrunk/crunkcore as the photo above. And they faced a host of bright, neon colored shirts from acts such as 3OH!3, brokeNCYDE, Millionaires, Jeffree Star, etc. Take a look at some of the designs below:

3OH!3 shirt. They also had a shirt that said "This is a 3OH!3 Shirt," which I wasn't sure if it was a humorous send up of the "This Is Not A Fugazi Shirt" or not

brokeNCYDE shirt. Their "crowns," when done by hand in concert, is similar to the 3OH!3 hand design. Also, not the most annoying brokencyde shirt

Even check out the Babycakes shirt, which screams (pardon the pun… or play on the situation) scrunk:

Anyway, that was an interesting aspect of Warped I took notice of.

As another aside, while stopping by the Vagrant merch tent on Tuesday, I noticed the tip sign by the guy running the tent. Most tip signs usually have some gaudy or humorous note to get people to drop a buck. The Vagrant guy’s merely asked people to donate to fly his girlfriend out to Warped. In many ways, this image (and I wish I could have gotten a picture of it, but the weather was really hit-or-miss, and this was a miss moment) is perfectly representative of Vagrant’s take on emo: there’s a clean cut guy with a simple message trying to get his significant other to come accompany him on a big event for the summer. And the guy was nice to boot and quite enthusiastic about their selection of $5 Dashboard Confessional albums. Couldn’t have been a more perfect match. Needless to say I dropped a buck.

That’s all for now… check in to Bostonist in the late morning, as the Warped piece should be online at that point.

33 1/3 Book Proposal:

The Promise Ring’s Nothing Feels Good

Guilty pleasures tend to rear their heads in an interview with music’s next big thing. So when a VBS TV correspondent was chatting it up with No Age, the uber-hip and critically acclaimed experimental punk duo from L.A., singer/drummer Dean Spunt interrupted guitarist Randy Randall’s ruminations on MC Hammer with a shocking revelation:

“I used to like The Promise Ring.”
Beat.
“Yeah, so did I,” replied the stylish interviewer.
The three guys proceeded to awkwardly chuckle and talk over each other until the interviewer brought up his stunning thought:
“Is it really at the point where MC Hammer is less embarrassing than The Promise Ring?”

Great question. And not unlike one I ask myself just about every time I crank up my stereo while playing 30 Degrees Everywhere or Wood/Water. What’s so embarrassing about The Promise Ring? It could be the band’s association with emo, the now-repugnant term for a post-hardcore genre that’s all but taken over the Billboard charts. It was the release of 1997′s Nothing Feels Good that the four “averages Joes” that made up The Promise Ring were presented with the title of poster boys of a genre once thought to be six feet under. The rest of the trials and tribulations of emo remain embedded in our international conscience thanks to numerous pop-punk acts influenced by The Promise Ring. Say what you will about your Fall Out Boys, My Chemical Romances, Dashboard Confessionals, Cute Is What We Aim Fors, Thrices, Taking Back Sundays, Panic! at the Discos, Saves the Days, Coheed & Cambrias, Alexisonfires, New Found Glorys, and Underoaths; when push comes to shove, most of these bands don’t come close to the potent passion, intelligence, and vibrancy of The Promise Ring and their sophomore effort, Nothing Feels Good.

Embarrassment aside, Spunt should have nothing to be ashamed of for name-dropping The Promise Ring as a band that’s clearly influenced the critically-lauded musician. The Promise Ring’s back catalog is filled with nugget and gems of post-hardcore-meets-pop bliss, and much like when No Age’s current work combining elements of pop with hardcore, the results are fantastic. Nothing Feels Good is The Promise Ring’s best and most succinct work, an anthemic, passionate burst of homegrown pop-punk, filtered through tales of existential crises, cross-country road trips, and references to modern Americana. The hooks are sharp, the lyrics poignant, and the performance still as unbelievably urgent as the day the original tapes were mastered over a decade ago.

Part of what’s so phenomenal about The Promise Ring’s Nothing Feels Good is the impact the album had when it hit record stores in the fall of 1997. Neatly-packaged emo-pop amalgams are a dime a dozen these days, but there was nothing “neat” about Nothing Feels Good when it was released. Although the album’s music has the sugary-sweet taste of bubblegum pop that numerous artists today no doubt want to tap into, the band’s sound subverts the pretenses of slick pop on Nothing Feels Good with quick bursts of hardcore-influenced instrumentation that seem intent on spilling out of each track marking and into the life of the listener. To mis-quote The Promise Ring, it displays a sense that the band had of having no defined sense or absolute understanding of the world around them, but simply enjoying the view. Life’s peculiarities, ambiguities, and “big questions” aren’t shunned, but brought to the surface with keen observation. In frontman Davey von Bohlen’s hands and sweetly contorted lisp – a performance factor that only makes the music on Nothing Feels Good sound an umpteenth more sincere – The Promise Ring made an album of daring proportions and a musical document to the banalities, every day norms, and even celebrations of human existence not heard since Nirvana’s Nevermind.

Nothing Feels Good cover

Part of the story behind Nothing Feels Good is known, but little of it has a concentrated focus on the actual album or the band behind it. Beyond the musical content, Nothing Feels Good was a smashing success. For Jade Tree – The Promise Ring’s label – it meant financial stability, as the album surpassed their modest predictions and allowed the company to flourish, something of a miracle in the years following the alternative music buyout which had left many independent record labels for dead. For the national emo scene – a ragtag, ambiguous assemblage of independent artists around the U.S. – it legitimized their work in the face of the post-grunge milieu that ruled the radio waves and crippled mainstream creativity. For the members of The Promise Ring, it meant video premiers on MTV, critical acclamation, a position as one of the most creative bands operating in America’s underground music scene, and, much later, a place in cult-music lore for having inspired countless musicians to take emo (or whatever genre they called their own) in new and distinctly personal directions.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srU0xhkfIFw]

Although we’re still feeling the impact of Nothing Feels Good today, the known-narrative of the album’s creation is bare. What inspired the dozen songs on the album, and what transpired in their evolution from muddled creative concept into full-blown pop gold? What about the practices that hammered out the hooks, high-hats, and lo-fi hits in The Promise Ring’s oeuvre? What about the guys behind the instruments, their day-to-day existences and thoughts that no doubt burrowed their way into the band’s sophomore album? What were the moments before, during, and after 1997 that made Nothing Feels Good stand out from a mass of other bands and recordings that make up emo’s so-called second wave? What about each member’s upbringing, their lives in the Milwaukee area, relationships with friends, family, and significant-others? What made four young men band together to form The Promise Ring and create such a phenomenal release as heard in Nothing Feels Good?

These are the pivotal questions I’m seeking to answer with my book on The Promise Ring’s Nothing Feels Good for Continuum’s 33 1/3 book series. Here is an album and a band who’s impact on music today in innumerable. Part of the unknown quality of The Promise Ring’s importance is due to the fact that these deep-seated questions have never been asked – or rather, published – on such a large-scale forum. Considering the fans that the band amassed since forming in 1995, a list that no doubt has been growing with every article, band, or cultural critic name-checking the quartet as one of indie rock’s great cult bands, The Promise Ring are more than due for their proper place in the rock narrative limelight. And the 33 1/3 series is the place I would like to bring the tale of The Promise Ring’s best album.

For this project, I plan on writing the kind of book that exemplifies the credence imbued in Nothing Feels Good. My model for this manuscript isn’t confined to the band-nostalgically-reminiscing-on-a-piece-of-the-past-type writing you may see in a lot of oral histories or straightforward music books out there. Certainly my work will represent the mold that previous 33 1/3 books have upheld, but I’m also inspired by the writing styles of the great new journalists and literary non-fiction pieces. In essence, I’m looking to produce a book that lives, breathes, eats, speaks, and plays music the way that the members of The Promise Ring did when they made Nothing Feels Good. I want to make someone who’s never heard the album feel as though they’ve been following the band since Day One, that they’re back in 1997 and sprinting to the record store in order to merely touch an album by a band that has touched them. Essentially, I want to write a book about The Promise Ring in the same way the band created their music.

My main informants for this project will be the members of The Promise Ring; as I want to get into their heads and extract information about their environment, attitudes, and memories, they will be my go-to source for the book. I’ve been in touch with Promise Ring singer/guitarist Davey von Bohlen for well over a year, having recruited his current band (Maritime) for a concert and Davey himself for a previous writing project. I have been corresponding with von Bohlen about this proposal for well over a month, and he has given this project his supportive and enthusiastic seal of approval, and has gotten me in touch with the other members of The Promise Ring. At the moment that I’ve submitted this proposal, I’ve been in touch with two other Promise Ring members, Jason Gnewikow (guitar) and Dan Didier (drums), and both are quite enthusiastic about the project. I plan on having extensive interviews with these three members, as well as the two bass players who played in The Promise Ring during their Nothing Feels Good era, Scott Schoenbeck and Scott Beschta.

Although interviews with the members of The Promise Ring will constitute a large portion of my research, I plan on culling information from as many sources as possible in order to make the narrative more vibrant and colorful. I plan on soliciting interviews with not only those closely associated to the band, but also their detractors and adoring fans. Alongside a list that includes friends and family, I plan on speaking to Tim Owen and Darren Walters (Jade Tree owners), J. Robbins (Nothing Feels Good producer), Stuart Sikes (Nothing Feels Good engineer), Jessica Hopper (former publicist), Tim Edwards (former booking agent), Josh Modell (creator of Milk Magazine and close friend), along with musicians who’ve worked with, influenced, or been influenced by The Promise Ring, including Tim and Mike Kinsella (Cap’n Jazz), Jim Adkins (Jimmy Eat World), Bob Nanna (Braid), Jeremy Enigk (Sunny Day Real Estate), Matthew Pryor (The Get Up Kids), Eric Richter (Christie Front Drive), Eric Axelson (The Dismemberment Plan/Maritime), Chris Carrabba (Dashboard Confessional), Pete Wentz (Fall Out Boy), Chris Simpson (Mineral), Chris Conley (Saves the Day), Mark Kozelek (Red House Painters/Sun Kil Moon), Ian MacKaye (Minor Threat/Fugazi), and countless others for their involvement in this project. Although not everyone listed is guaranteed to be involved, with my personal connections to some of the people previously listed and with the help from the former Promise Ring members, I will have an enormous number of people contributing to the book’s dialog.

Interviews aside, I plan on digging through swaths of information to aide in the creation of the book. Included will be the usual sources of information; articles on the band, reviews of their albums, zines, blogs, and any other published work that would enhance the narrative. But, I plan to go beyond those musings as well. I will approach the band members to see if I could use personal paraphernalia to help me spin a more personal yarn. This would include anything from old photographs, letters, journal entries, lyric sheets, music sheets, and even doodles scratched into scraps of paper they’ve kept through the years. I will also approach the narrative from the direction of an informed anthropologist by researching the socio-economic background of The Promise Ring’s hometown of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Through census information, background information on area high school and college education systems, and the resources for youth in Wisconsin that was available at the same time Nothing Feels Good was in the making, I hope to gain a better sense of The Promise Ring’s background. I’ll also dig up information on American society’s views of Wisconsin and the Mid West and how that was reflected in the actions of those who lived there. It may seem onerous, but the brief scene in Wayne’s World that takes place in Milwaukee speaks volumes about the international perception of the place where The Promise Ring was formed. Throughout all of this, I hope to get a sense of why The Promise Ring did what they did, but from an entirely different perspective than the usual interview could warrant.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bXEGGOjAe7I&feature=related]

What I hope to accomplish after 15 months of research and writing is a work that can live up to how I felt after first popping Nothing Feels Good on the stereo, and something that will be as powerful as each subsequent listen to that album. My work may lack the aural quality of the album, but I hope it will be able to bring an entirely new sense of being to Nothing Feels Good, and one that will only boost the listening experience of longtime Promise Ring enthusiasts and bring some new fans to the album as well.

*”Halfway Home” = The Promise Ring – “Why Did We Ever Meet”

Both of these songs exercise a certain sense of juxtaposition by combining uplifting instrumentation with relatively dark lyrics about the death of/confusing state of a relationship. And with both singers (Tunde Adebimpe of TVOTR and Davey von Bohlen of TPR) taking on the between-lyrics vocal melodies of “ba-ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba-ba” (“Halfway Home”) and “do-do-do-do do-do-do” (“Why Did We Ever Meet”), it stretches those juxtapositions to pop power’s upper reaches.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srU0xhkfIFw]

*”Crying” = Egg Hunt – “We All Fall Down”

“Crying” details the trials and tribulations that people go through in life (drug abuse, disaster, biblical disasters, the works) and how they face those problems, often taken in the guise of releasing one’s emotions with crying. Egg Hunt, Ian MacKaye and Jeff Nelson’s post-Minor Threat studio project, crafted their sound in a similar light to what TV on the Radio do with “Crying”; that is, combine the gamut of pop influences into a powerful musical force. “We All Fall Down” does that, discussing the potential pain one endures in attempting to accomplish things and get somewhere in life, and all with a bit of funk that’s heavily imbued in “Crying.”

Unfortunately, no video/music presentation for this one – check the Dischord site.

*”Dancing Choose” = Atmosphere – “National Disgrace”

And they said emo-rap was weird. Here, TVOTR run into new territory as Tunde’s lyrics are delivered with the kind of spit-fire fury and speed of most hip-hop. With lyrics that portray an odd underbelly of society, it hearkens to Atmosphere, who’s place in the emo spectrum was one of many kinks in the genre’s definition but one that added some fluidity and originality to its constraints, and “National Disgrace.” Fueled with an overwhelming sense of anger towards America’s vapid consumer culture, “National Disgrace” recalls the same fiery passion of “Dancing Choose” by distancing the creator from the negative aspects of a culture they’ve become a part of.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oY7YlauqWoc]

*”Stork and Owl” = Cap’n Jazz – “Oh Messy Life”

TVOTR’s “Stork and Owl” is a dazzling and affecting start and stop song a la’ “I Was a Lover,” with an electronically-plastered back-beat and muddled lyrics about life through the eyes of a couple of animals. “Oh Messy Life” is a brash interpretation of life that’s no less affecting, with lyrical outbursts that turn into-run on rants similar to the section of “Stork and Owl” when Tunde delivers “it goes it goes it goes it goes.” It’s all in the stories of other individuals, and the quick snapshots seem to say a lot about life without ever pointing anything out in a cliched manner.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83BRULUXqlI]

*”Golden Age” = Dashboard Confessional – “Hands Down”

For those who’s only math involves the equation of “punk + crying = Dashboard”, “Hands Down” is perhaps the happiest song in Chris Carrabba’s canon. It’s simple, catchy, carefree, and yes, happy. It’s also easily one of Dashboard’s best-known songs. And here comes “Golden Age,” a simple, catchy, carefree, and happy song by TV on the Radio, a band that’s certainly known for addressing the negative undercurrents of society. And “Golden Age” looks poised to be one of TVOTR’s best-known songs, hands down.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YAqi7Q7PphU]

*”Family Tree” = The Get Up Kids – “I’ll Catch You”

Here are a couple of songs that are almost a departure from these bands’ passionate, bombastic rock sound, but also happen to be just as affective as any ear-bursting blast (if not more) and more haunting than most other tracks. “I’ll Catch You” trades in The Get Up Kids’ usual pop-punk persuasion for a near-ballad, a piano-based ditty that flat-out addresses romantic love, while staying true to the band’s punk parallels with fits of guitar squeal. “Family Tree” is just as moving, letting TVOTR’s sea of feedback settle to reveal an affecting vocal performance similar to Desperate Youth Bloodthirsty Babes‘ “Ambulance.” And it’s all about love, but not without TVOTR’s nom ‘de artiste, with the symbols of death and rapture close behind.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eEJDn9cvIk]

*”Red Dress” = Fugazi – “Nice New Outfit”

Here are two songs that discuss the nadir of society’s underbelly – war – with the symbol of clothing. TVOTR note society’s ability to ignore war, slavery, and pain with the line “go ahead put your red dress on,” while Fugazi comment how that “nice new outfit” with its “straight clean lines” was woven with fabric made of blood and war in foreign countries. And all over a jittery, repeated guitar squeal.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4odQMSvlg2M&feature=related]

*”Love Dog” = The Appleseed Cast – “Hanging Marionette”

These are two slowly paced songs that seem to send shock waves with each painstakingly sung chorus (or lyrical break) and attain something of a similar melody. Their lyrical qualities can be seen as different sections of a long narrative. In “Hanging Marrionette,” the narrator is stricken by the loss and complete absence of someone near and dear, while light years later that person has transformed into a lonely little “Love Dog,” completely lost to the world.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppcY2D3sji0]

*”Shout Me Out” = Brand New – “The Archers Bows Have Broken”

TVOTR’s “Shout Me Out” has the aesthetic ideal of casting off the ails of old, facing your problems, and defiantly shouting in their face, all to the tune of an electronically-inclined dance beat. “The Archers Bows Have Broken” is a song that builds and rises, with the characters/band overcoming the death of the old world and facing whatever adversity they had built in their minds with a defiant shout. And man are they a couple of victoriously-charged songs.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKZkkBFCceY]

*”DLZ” = Jawbreaker – “Boxcar”

“DLZ” is an ambiguous indictment of hipsters/trend-chasers/whatever you want to call them, and the general “mess” they make of things. But when it comes down to it, there’s a certain amount of disconnect between their actions and the ideal they like to say they play out. So when Tunde shouts at the end, “this is beginning to feel like the dawn of the loser forever,” is he eulogizing the 90s punk ideal of loser that Jawbreaker was defending against posers over a decade ago in “Boxcar”? That just may be – both groups seem to notice how the out-crowd has been stifling with too many in-crowd seeking individuals, and are taking their frustration of their culture to the front-line, backed by some pop-friendly panache.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37dBq_4TsZI]

*”Lover’s Day” = Pedro the Lion – “Rapture”

Now, here are two songs about one of the three tenants of rock ‘n’ roll – sex. And while they have divergent views on the issue – TVOTR discuss it in positive terms, while Pedro’s take has a certain element of guilt as the song’s characters are having an affair – the ravenous description of “love making” ties the two together. TVOTR’s celebration of the act (“Yes of course there are miracles/a lover that love’s is one”) eventually meets the orgiastic height of Pedro’s heaven’s gates-as-sex narrative (“Oh my sweet rapture/I hear Jesus calling me home”).

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9eIzD46QiU]

And what do I think of Dear Science,? Well, I think it’s clear that I’ve always been a fan of the band. And this has just been another wonderful treat from a group that I feel like I’ve grown with. Simply put, one of the best of the year.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnHllNDcv4A&feature=related]

Yep.

Somewhere along the line, I guess this had to happen. David Zucker, the man responsible for bringing absurdity-through-seriousness in the comedic splash that is Airplane is also one of the men responsible for the recent rash of (enter genre name here) movies. You know the ones. Date Movie. Epic Movie. Superhero Movie. And what looks to be the worst yet, (it’s sure to be a) Disaster Movie. Somewhere along the line, Zucker found the idea to restart his brand of craming every humorous idea possible in a solid minute of film when he took over the Scary Movie franchise at number 3.

David Zucker

And now he’s back. But is it to seek vengeance or add to the pain? It’s really a toss up. From the trailer, An American Carol could actually go either way. Sure, if you hold it to any standard, the movie is sure to be doomed. But, unlike the relentless “Movie” movies that have been churned out, Zucker wrote and directed this baby; aside from his role as producer for Superhero Movie, all the other films didn’t bare any of his trademark brand of humor – just the residue of his influence. And Zucker no doubt pulled out all the stops for this one with a cast that would never touch Epic Movie with a ten-foot pole; Kelsey Grammer, Jon Voight, James Woods, Dennis Hopper, Kevin Sorbo, Leslie Nielsen (alright, he has done some terrible stuff, but he’s Zucker’s go-to guy) all star, and there’s even a cameo from Bill O’Rielly. What’s more, An American Carol seems to offer at least some semblance of a conversation on society rather than a pool of tossed out fifth-rate jokes. If anything, the movie is just as much a skewering of the recent rise in terrible film satire as it is of the political world. But honestly, the entire movie rests on one Kevin P. Farley, who is probably turning the stomachs of many Chris Farley fans simply for staring in such a similarly-characterized role.

My thoughts on An American Carol are reminiscent of Say Anything‘s In Defense of the Genre. Both appear to be an effort to resurrect their individual fields of artistic (I use that word lightly) expression; Carol for modern film satire, Genre for modern emo. And yet their over-the-top presence is so off-putting and reminiscent of the very concepts and ideas most people detest about both types of expression. Then again, the significant pull of “celebrity guests” (in Genre, everyone from Dashboard Confessional’s Chris Carrabba to Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance to Hayley Williams of Paramore) and the initial draw of the original artist is enough to draw attention to any production. Yet just as An American Carol has its faults, In Defense of the Genre is far from perfect, weighed down in too many songs (two full albums worth) and not enough content. But what’s probably the most irritating thing is derived from the fact that Say Anything (and to an affect, Zucker) is capable of creating great stuff and settles for driving the stereotypic points of emo home. And therein lies the friction in whether or not Genre is simply good or bad. Something like “Shiksa (Girlfriend)” is so blatantly over-the-top and conservative in its employment of typical modern emo diatribes, it makes it all seem like the track and the rest of the album is almost a mockery of itself and the very thing it’s supposed to defend. Maybe its a challenge – the fact that Max Bemis can whip out a double album of this stuff in no time with what appears to be very-little creativity spent on it (at least, in comparison to …is a Real Boy) is both a tribute to and a scathing diatribe against emo. And maybe the thing I like most about the album is that idea… then again, emo is invariably whatever one makes it out to be.

Touche.

Say Anything – Shiksa (Girlfriend) (live):

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xe8bIrBuqQY]

They really don’t make ‘em like this anymore. That was one of many thoughts that jumped in my brain while watching Rock N’ Roll High School the other day. Camp doesn’t even begin to describe it. Joyful absurdity. Now that might do it. Whoever had the idea to take a simple B movie, combine it with Airplane-esq comedy theatrics, and center the entire movie around a punk band that had only achieved some semblance of cult status must have been a mad genius. The Ramones may be icons today, but back in 1980, they would have been the last choice to place at the center of a movie. The Jonas Brothers – or whatever third-rate mechanized creations Disney churns out for the center of some made-for-TV movie – they ain’t.

The original Ramones

Aside from style and vision, the simple juxtaposition of a small-time punk band that failed to realize their dreams of Billboard big-shots playing the role of a big-shot band was enough to make the film such a phenomenal treat in my mind. It’s hard to remotely think of a band today that could be subsumed into a rock-star elite status for a camp film while they struggle away in the real world. Perhaps the only group that could have pulled it off with style and finesse would have been the Promise Ring. The high-calcium pop of their second and third albums would have fit perfectly into a happiness-is-all-the-rage B-movie; moreso, the Promise Ring’s status as a cult-band and icon for the bubbling emo scene would have been a great juxtaposition in the seat of rock kings at the center of a film – their affable attitude is a great base to work with. Not to mention a certain sense of humor and delight that seems to bubble up in their videos:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srU0xhkfIFw]

If anything, one real world emo event seems to have brought Rock N’ Roll High School to reality. When MTV re-started its Unplugged series, it was simply to make good behind the cult of Dashboard Confessional. Not even a cult-group in terms of the mainstream, Dashboard had barely been a fashionable musical name to know when MTV picked Chris Carrabba to be the new face of their once-famous series. So to give a no-name their own special, one which featured high schoolers flanking him in the wings, literally brought Roger Corman’s film to life. You know, if Rock N’ Roll High School were a bit more melodramatic…

Dashboard Confessional – Living In Your Letters (MTV Unplugged):

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7STWVR_Quq4]

Before and After

Now that’s a beard. Honestly, it’s hard to tell that Karadzic and “Dabic” are one in the same. You have to appreciate the finer points of facial hair growth, and it certainly benefited Karadzic (if only for a period of time).

As facial hair has provided safety for some, it’s always been something of a completely different use in my experience. Being able to grow a beard, mustache, or anything else that would never naturally fill a child’s face had been a sign of maturity (or even male superiority in some cases). Whomever managed to squeeze out the first batch of hairs beyond simple peach fuzz immediately gained some semblance of adulthood – or perceived adulthood – in the world of my youth. I still marvel at certain individual’s ability to crop facial hair into whatever whimsical shapes and sizes they could pick from.

Like a young man’s first set of sideburns, much of emo is a reflection of a growing maturity. If rock (and moreover, punk), as Lester Bangs described it, is innately youthful in its purest form, and if hardcore punk is merely an extension of that, then emo and other post-hardcore genres is an immediate reaction to those forms of music. Post-hardcore and emo were birthed as a growth from those primordial forms of music, of which many originators found themselves playing a communal role in. While Calvin Johnson proclaimed himself to be forever a teenager, he intended his mental state to be in that of the youthful open-mindedness, striving to grow beyond the binds of childhood but keeping those freewheeling ideas at heart. Johnson may have been tangling with the close-mindedness of age with his statement, but the emo movement developing in DC confronted those bonds of age in light of everyone’s physical and psychological changes over time. No doubt about it, those who were involved in harDCore had experiences that made them grow mentally as they grew into adulthood, and those changes are reflected in the cultural output of the emocore scene.

Tooth Paste For Dinner's Beamo

Although it may not seem like those ideals of personal growth as reflected in music have held true to emo over time, it most certainly has been an important part of the culture to today. Sunny Day Real Estate addressed their evolving thoughts on life and religion even as it tore them apart. The Promise Ring observed the existential crisis of the modern American young adult as a method of moving across the country – the physical movement reflecting the mental change. Hell, even Dashboard Confessional’s tear-stained rants about love are representative of a greater longing than simply puppy love; Carrabba may sing solely about love and loss, but the loss isn’t simply the physical (ie, the lover) but a loss at a future greater than the present situation (a time of growth).

True, these are only a handful of groups in discussion. But for every act discussed, there is a wealth of other emo bands and cultural elements that reflect the ideology focused on grappling with (and simply about) maturity. It may not be a full beard, but it’s all about the journey of growth (be it facial hair or mentally) that’s in focus.

And now, a word on the awesome power of beards from Clone High:

[youtube=http://youtube.com/watch?v=IqvmKh5r9x0]