9/4/15

"If everyone’s built the same,
Then how come building’s so fucking hard for you?
It’s something we’re all born into.
Nothing’s left up to grey.
It’s black or white and sometimes black and blue.
It’s something we’re all born into.
Whoa.
Now I know what’s in a name; not just my father’s.
Three-fifths a man makes half of me.
Why should I bother?
Merchants of misery stacking the deck.
Fuck your John Waynes.
Fuck your God complex.
I’ve got everything in front of me, but can’t reach far enough
To reach these fever dreams they call American.
I am the ghetto’s chosen one.
The privileged bastard son.

They’re getting their anchors.
They’re gathering rope.
You’re pushing to Heaven all alone.

They’re getting their anchors.
They’re gathering rope.

You’re pushing to Heaven all alone."

~Stained Glass Ceiling

The Wonder Years, No Closer to Heaven

You know that feeling when you hear something really great, and you love it and you obsess over it, and it is brilliant, inspirational perfection, and then you feel like shit about yourself because everything you produce looks futile your glazed, tired eyes?

Thanks, Dan Campbell! 

No, seriously, "No Closer To Heaven" is all I wanted it to be - obvious evolution in the band and Campbell alike. We hear a ton of guitars and wild rhythm change-ups and excellent, excellent hooks, wrapped up in the sad fighting light of reality.

I loved "Cigarettes and Saints" pretty hard these past few days. Now my favorite song changes with every listen.  I've stopped and said "Wow" so many times, whether it's the chorus of "You in January," that brilliant tambourine in "Patsy Cline," or the final drum rolls in "Palm Reader." Not to mention, as an album formula, the structure is laid out so well - the mid-section heavy slow jam  ("Cigarettes") like The Greatest Generation did, and hey, they don't ~quite~ end on an epic track to spare predictability. Smart smart smart - but not at all ineffective, because now I just have to go back and listen to it again.

The final verses in "Stained Glass Ceiling" are some of the best TWY lyrics Campbell has produced. If they don't break your heart, you're not paying attention.

What a profound rock band The Wonder Years have become. I am so proud to have loved them for this long , as silly as that sounds - but from the moment I heard "Washington Square Park" the summer I came home after college and I knew I'd find the sound I liked in a lyrical aesthetic I loved. They've only grown in maturity and worldview technical prowess, and I look forward to peeling back every layer of this one. I think I'm going to hold onto it for awhile, as you should with the ones that impress you so much at the outset. The more you listen, the more you learn.

8/14/15

"Twice a week I pass by the church that held your funeral
And the pastor's words come pouring down like rain
How he called you a sinner and said now you walk with Jesus
So the drugs that took your life aren't gonna cause you any pain
I don't think he even knew your name
And I refuse to kneel and pray
I won't remember you that way

I lit you a candle in every cathedral across Europe
And I hope you know you're still my patron saint
I tried to forgive, but I can't forget the cigar in his fist
I know that they were heartsick, but I need someone to blame
And I know how they blamed me
I know what you'd say
You'd tell me it was your fault
I should put all my arrows away.

I'm sure there ain't a heaven
But that don't mean I don't like to picture you there
I'll bet you're bumming cigarettes off saints
And I'm sure you're still singing
But I'll bet that you're still just a bit out of key
That crooked smile pushing words across your teeth

Cause you were heat lightning
Yeah, you were a storm that never rolled in
You were the northern lights in a southern town,
A constant fleeting thing.
I'll bury your memories in the garden
And watch them grow with the flowers in spring
I'll keep you with me."

August is hands-down the strangest time of year. The slow, gorgeous fade of summer begins, fall creeps in around the edges, and every few years or so, my life turns upside down. Given that cycle has continued here in 2015, with the most significant sentimental loss I've ever faced, I'm ready to move forward, and with that comes the corresponding soundtrack. I am undeniably, unimaginably excited for the new record from The Wonder Years this fall and the subsequent tour - so much so that writing down sentences about it makes my finger tingle and I smile to myself. Some things don't change, and that's the way I feel about this band.

With just two songs out, I can already tell "No Closer to Heaven" is going to be an epic, dramatic album - the kind that "The Greatest Generation" was and continues to be. I see l some of my friends and acquaintances roll their eyes when I tell them I'm still - yes, still - really into pop punk and emo music. They're especially shocked if they've only been familiar with my folk and indie obsessions. But I can't get over the heightened aggression and flair for dramatic. I can't stop wanting my heart torn out I cannot stop being impressed by Dan Campbell cutting right to the quick of it, and saying it like it is.

I've been binging on "Cigarettes and Saints" today, and I've decided this song really crushes it. There's some kind of triumph behind that first guitar line, crystal-clear and resonant as it fades, only to come back in a patient pattern before the song erupts. The structure overall is drawn out, but purposefully so, like a funeral march, and the second half of the song begins with an anxious tone before finding its footing. "My whole generation got lost in the margin," Campbell sing-screams in the climax, and I can't help but think how me as well as the 17-year-olds playing this probably feel that way, too. The way he says "I know they blamed me," breaks my heart. What kills me most about this song is the overloading of religious imagery without reverence. The candles he lights feel significant, but futile, the pastor's words are empty and fleeting. And yet our narrator forges ahead, he vows to fight the forces that trigger these sad events, swirling in shame and regret and sadness all the awhile. What a feeling. What a story. I can't wait for more.



"These wolves in their suits and ties
Saying, "Kid, you can trust me"
Charming southern drawl, sunken eyes
Buying good will in hotel lobbies
Buy fistfuls of pills to make sure you don't hurt no more
You don't gotta feel anything
Got their fangs in our veins
Got their voice in our head
Got our arms in their grips
No, we can't shake free
This goddamn machine, hungry and heartless
My whole generation got lost in the margin
We put our faith in you and you turned a profit
Now we're drowning here under the waves
(We're no saviors if we can't save our brothers)
Drowning out under the waves
(We're no saviors if we can't save our brothers)
Drowning out, drowning out...
You can't have my friends,
You can't have my brothers.
You can't have my friends,
You can't have my brothers.
You can't have my friends,
You can't have my brothers.
You can't have me
No, you can't have me." 
~Cigarettes and Saints
The Wonder  Years, No Closer To Heaven

12/10/14

An impending visit home, and the impending close of a tremendous, tumultuous year has me nostalgic for things I don't miss. It has me wondering what I've got to hold onto. It has me questioning if this newfound lightness is adjustment or apathy, maybe it is a little bit of both. Either way, it feels effortless but perfectly unnatural, like tripping off a cliff and falling so far and so fast you may as well be flying. Even though you were born without wings.

I've found the more ordinary and commonplace a feeling becomes - be it sadness or euphoria - the more you start to wonder what you're missing out on with the other extreme. Was the emptiness that bad after all? Wasn't it, in a way, kind of inspiring? Or, is crippling loneliness just a convenient cover for feeling sorry for yourself? And all along you were just missing out on where you were supposed to be?

Is there a better get-lost-in-the-pensive album this year than Aaron West? I answer with a resounding no. In a year where I've spent significant time working hard and trying to focus - always, always trying to focus - in the face of balancing combative emotions, I've found myself consistently coming back to this record for something stirring. Its emotional triggers are strong and significant and its composition is an unoffensive brand indie rock that is equal parts gruff and graceful.I like "Runnin' Scared," it makes me want to run, not scared, and feel a little fresh and free and fiery in the face of all this frozen snow and icy feeling.  I like the subtle references to desperation mixed with the outspoken appeals to it, like the line about the broken taillight. The story of Aaron West is a heartbreaker, to be sure, but I see something inspiring in all this empty, something.What is it to feel anything at all, if not that?

"I'm stuck on a memory,
Of you dancing in a backyard in North Jersey.
You're holding sparklers,
And silhouetted by the porch lights on a summer evening.
So, while I'm pulling my gloves off with my teeth,
It occurred to me you used to be happy.


I curse the dashboard heat,
It's fucking freezing.
Asleep in the backseat,
Oh god, I'm shaking. I'm empty.
I feel so damn empty.


I keep thinking
That I'll feel better when it's warmer across state lines.
Now I'm scraping ice off of the windshield with a piece of broken taillight.
Oh, I wouldn't quite call it homesick
but I keep seeing your face in the northbound traffic.


I curse the dashboard heat,
It's fucking freezing.
Asleep in the backseat, 
Oh god, I'm shaking. I'm empty.
I feel so damn empty.


I'm gonna go to Georgia.
I'm gonna smile in the sun.
I'm gonna pick you some wild day-lilies,
And I'm gonna hold on to them.
I'm gonna keep them in my pocket
Til you let me back home.
I'm gonna go to Georgia,
And I'm coming back whole.

I curse the dashboard heat,
It's fucking freezing.
Asleep in the backseat,
Oh god, I'm shaking. I'm empty.
I feel so damn empty."
~Runnin' Scared
Aaron West and the Roarin' Twenties, We Don't Have Each Other

7/12/14

"If I lay here long enough, maybe the bugs will eat me whole. If I stay here long enough maybe the night could take me home. I won't let go, even if you say so."~Divorce and the American South

I often wonder what it's like to be the kind of person who can be happy just by being present, those yoga-minded folk who can see a blue sky and sunshine and feel at peace, who don't need anything more than the breath in their lungs to feel happy and grateful to be alive. Moments like that, for me, are hard to come by. I've just never been that calm of a person. But, I do get that feeling from certain albums; at least they can chase away the constant companions of anxiety and complication, often through commiseration.

I've long admired the work of Dan "Soupy" Campbell, for his ability to tease out the hardest feelings in realist scenes, his brutal self-awareness and his ever-emotive vocals. I've loved The Wonder Years for a long time now, I've drank in all they offer, and loved them more and more along the way. The news of his solo project, Aaron West and The Roaring Twenties, made me excited and nervous. Listening to it makes my heart hurt in the best way, with the saddest kind of tale of loneliness and regret. Musically, it's the most mature, full, and experimental we've seen from Campbell yet.

The first few times I heard this record through I knew instantly it was fabulous but I couldn't tell why. It took a morning or two of feeling unsettled and a little desolate myself before it fully washed over me, as if I needed some kind of target before I let the arrow drive through my heart. That's because it is really fucking sad. This fictional narrative is fueled by emotion of the most broken, busted kind. This is an album told from a lost and lonely soul from the bottom of an empty bottle. Each scene symbolizes defeat, if not admitting to it directly.

From start to finish, Campbell gives imagery to desperation with his story of a man whose lost seemingly everything but the conscious awareness of how fucked up his life has become. Songs like "Runnin' Scared" and "The Thunderbird Inn" are testaments to what it means to be hopeless, a feeling that shouldn't translate itself to sing-along choruses. But this is where Campbell's storytelling abilities come in, with his full-fingered grip on how emptiness manifests itself in drinking, sunken eyes and late rent checks.


"Well I know I'm a coward and I feel a bad night coming, didn't know that I looked that pathetic." ~Runnin' Scared

When discussing this album, Campbell talks about the "expansive tonal palette" he wanted to create, which I think he hits dead on. For all its loneliness, "We Don't Have Each Other" is incredibly warm, satisfyingly so. His strained throat and acoustic strumming are a pretty constant presence, with background vocals and plenty of build in the rhythm section adding a folk-rock weight. I'm always a bit cautious when I hear about musicians tinkering with horn sections, as they can become gimmicks. But here, they add dimension, a depth just theatrical enough to soundtrack the desolate Aaron's journey through his own depression. Even from this depth, though, the album is never frantic or madcap. The timing on this album is so measured and I think that adds to its literary capacity. We've heard TWY take it slow before, but I think Campbell sounds great in this mid-tempo world, with its varied roots of punk and folk creating this indie alt-rock tale, more in the style of The Mountain Goats or Neutral Milk Hotel than his Warped Tour compatriots.

This is a story told in front of stained glass windows and bartenders, crying out from abandoned streets and motels with memories of nurseries, mother's kitchens and old cars. Each turn around the corner stumbles on a little more smoke-tinged heartbreak, like the regret of watching it all fall apart, the strange mix of pride and guilt of your roots, and the slow, sudden sink into drunken depression. This is captured lyrically, with Campbell-as-Aaron's direct cries for help from God and his departed love Dianne, but musically as well - exemplary of this is "Get Me Out of Here Alive," a slow-burn full of pain and restraint, never erupting but wallowing on the brink. This might be my favorite track, at least it is this week. "Carolina Coast" is similarly heartbreaking as a closer, one that gives just a glimmer of hope that our anti-hero won't give up, as if he's realized there's nothing else to do when your choices are to chase ghosts or let yourself drown.



"Hey, Holy Ghost, why'd you leave me? Where'd you go? I know we ain't spoke in so long, but I've gotta know if I'm alone. If I start drinking, I'm gonna be the town drunk. You always said I should lighten up, so I'm gonna lighten up. I'm gonna lighten up. So long. I'm sorry that I wasn't who you want. If I can't make you happy, I'm no good for anyone. So long. I'm sorry that I was who you you'd want. If I cant make you love me.." ~Grapefruit

I haven't read many, or any, reviews of this. It was a highly anticipated release from one of the most popular artists in my favorite genre, so I think in many ways I was predisposed to fall all over it. But listen after listen, I hear more and more of the story behind this all this and how it was built, the channeling of pain and the setting of a scene. The story of Aaron West may be an artist's invention but the resonance is powerful when it taps into this much forlorn defeat and vivid imagery. It's always interesting to see where your favorite musicians take their side projects. The results can be very disappointing or simply forgetful. This, though, is fulfilling and dramatic, well-thought out and incredibly produced, and mostly just the product of careful, gifted writing.

I'm going to go find a physical copy of this CD today. I think I'll be holding onto it for awhile. I think I'll be singing along for sometime. I think this kind of sadness, captured in a bottle, is timeless and transcendent, like a fire-orange sunset that burns up the sky, and maybe for a moment, lets you get lost in something other than yourself.

"When I met you we were young

And like gasoline to matches
Waking up drunk
Sleeping through your early classes
I grew up and grew dull
And you say you wished I hadn't.
Well I'm drunk again
And you're guilty like you're Irish catholic

You ain't no saint
I ain't one either
Guess that's why I'm lying here
'Cause I know that I'm banged up
I got bruises I can't place,
Oh, I've been coughing out blood.
I know that I'm banged up,
I got bruises I can't place,Oh, I've been coughing out blood.
I got a gut full of ulcers
They're gonna burn out like dead stars
and turn to dust."
~You Ain't No Saint
Aaron West and The Roaring Twenties, We Don't Have Each Other