Over the years, I have stated publicly and often that I missed the Get Up Kids when I was in the throes of my emo phase. Most publicly, on the first episode of my podcast, which I host with a Get Up Kids superfan.

As a teen, I had a copy of the B-sides and rarities disc Eudora, but really only loved a couple tracks on it. I have a vague memory of buying Something to Write Home About, regarded by many to be their best, but I don’t remember being very enthralled with it.

However, a couple months ago I bought a box of records from a friend that had a number of emo classics, including many from TGUK. “I might as well keep this one,” I said of this disc, before putting it on and realizing something surprising…

I knew every word to this album. 

I’m not sure what it was that Eternal Sunshined me about the Get Up Kids. Admittedly, my tastes in emo leaned much more to moodier, more intricate bands, like Sunny Day Real Estate, Cool Hand Luke, Further Seems Forever, and Thursday. The irresistible ear candy offered up by the Kansas City Emo Stalwarts very likely might have struck me as pop punky schlock, which was anathema to me in a time when I was embroiled with self-seriousness and experimental meter changes.

But I’ve done a lot of growing up in the last twenty years. And part of that maturation is allowing myself to become a poptimist—to allow myself to get caught up in the current of popcraft instead of fighting to appear “above it all.” And let me tell you: if the only fruit of that process is falling in love with this record, it would have been worth it.

From the bittersweet hope of “Holiday” to the underhanded compliments of “Action & Action” to the tragic romance of “Valentine,” every song is drenched in the sort of pop earnestness that can come across as cloying if it’s not done perfectly. Lucky for the Get Up Kids—and the rest of us—it’s done perfectly here.

Because what besides pretentiousness can guard you against the lovelorn tenderness of “Out of Reach” or the rock and roll goodness of “Ten Minutes” (which Jim Suptic called, “sort of our ‘Takin’ Care of Business'” at Furnace Fest) or the stalwart devotion of closer “I’ll Catch You“?

As for me, I’m done being too proud to let this record overwhelm me with its layer-cake-magnitude of sugary pop goodness. I’ve learned the error of my ways, and I’ll borrow these lines from “My Apology“: you’ll be accepting my apology for taking things too seriously.