I will be the first to admit that sometimes, my opinions about certain bands or albums have absolutely no rational sense behind them. Take for instance The Power of Failing. I have been a huge Mineral fan ever since I bought a CD copy of EndSerenading at my local record shop in high school, even following Chris Simpson on to his wonderful project The Gloria Record.
So what line of thinking led me to not care at all about The Power of Failing until I was well into my thirties?
Ever since I’ve discovered that screamo was an actual subgenre and not just what my mom calls any band with screaming (Thrice and Alcest have both bore the term), I’ve found it very difficult to find much screamo that I like. Bands like envy and Boneflower are gorgeous and cathartic in a way that hits me to my core, but most of the pioneers of the genre—Orchid, Saetia, pg.99, et al, have inspired an almost visceral rejection from my ears. As a relatable tweet once said, “scream fans will say, ‘this track is legendary’ then play the absolute worst song you’ve ever heard.”
But every once in a while, something will come out of that scene that blows me away. Don’t Think About Death, the long-awaited debut full length from Brighton UK’s Chalk Hands, definitely uses screamo’s conventions as a sonic center, but it uses that palette to create one of the most moving records I’ve heard yet this year.
Somewhere around 2005, I decided that emo was dead.
I had spent my formative years in devout reverence to bands like Sunny Day Real Estate, Thursday, Appleseed Cast, and Further Seems Forever. But when the wave shifted to bands like Fall Out Boy, Anberlin, and My Chemical Romance (who, even they will tell you, were not emo), I let my attention stray from the scene and moved on to things like indie, folk, and post rock.
The last decade or so has ushered in an honest-to-goodness emo renaissance so profound it’s not even fair to call it a revival anymore, with bands all over the world resurrecting the best parts of the halcyon emo scene of yore with stunning results.
And while Florida emo outfit least may bear some superficial resemblance to the guy-linered mallcore that put such a bad taste in my mouth in the first place (some have jokingly referred to them as “Transberlin”), if any of that stuff sounded like this, I never would have retired my girl jeans in the mid-oughts.
By now, anyone who knows me should already know that there are some inexplicable and inexcusable gaps in my music knowledge. There are plenty of bands that I should have grown up loving but ignored for one reason or another.
In the case of Hot Water Music, my suspicion is that I had confused them for Poison the Well, who I never cared for. And yes, I know how stupid that was.
I’ve set to mending these gaps over the last few years, but few of those undertakings have been as satisfying as Hot Water Music’s Caution, a fiery burst of melodic post hardcore that checks just about every box of what I was looking for as a high schooler.
The seeds of my rediscovery of the Get Up Kids were planted in 2019. I was writing for a music review site, and the site owner messaged me asking if I was ever into the Get Up Kids, because they had a new album coming out and he needed someone to review it. I said that I listened to them a little bit, but wasn’t a superfan. He said, “that’s better than anyone else,” and sent me Problems.
What greeted me when I listened was a collection of emotional power pop that hit many of the same sweet spots of their classic work.
Sometimes, context has a way of tainting our perspective. When we’re in the midst of events, we’re sometimes too close to be able to see clearly.
Case in point: On a Wire, the follow-up to their classic sophomore album, Something to Write Home About. While I personally wasn’t enthralled enough by that record to follow them any further*, many die-hard fans were disappointed with this disc to the point that they felt betrayed.
But for me, having come back to this record with two decades of space between its release and my listening, hearing it without the crushing weight of anticipation and dashed hopes allows it to blossom into a wonderful collection of great songwriting and catchy pop rock.
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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.
In my perception, Cursive has had two distinctive characteristics. The first is Tim Kasher’s conceptual and self-referential lyrics, which really came to their own on Cursive’s Domestica. The second is the presence of a cellist, which marked The Ugly Organ and their two reunion albums.
In that perspective, this is the first release in their chronology that really sounds like Cursive to me before my recent deep dive into their discography.
On paper, it shouldn’t have worked. An emo concept album about a failing relationship loosely based on the singer’s own divorce doesn’t exactly sound like a formula for a hit record.
Lucky for all of us though, Cursive’s Domestica manages to avoid all of the self-indulgence and clunky storytelling that too many concept albums fail to avoid. Instead, it shows a huge leap forward in both Tim Kasher’s songwriting and the band’s musicianship, leading to an undisputed emo masterpiece.
After their Crank! Records debut Such Blinding Stars for Starving Eyes, Omaha natives Cursive joined up with the then-burgeoning Omaha record label Saddle Creek. In a few years time, Saddle Creek would become a staple of the underground emo-ish scene, enlisting such bands as Rilo Kiley, The Faint, and Bright Eyes to their roster.
Now, when people talk about Saddle Creek, Cursive is always one of the first bands mentioned. But on their second album, released just five years after the founding of the label, Cursive was still building their legend alongside their new label. And while it might not be remembered as one of their best works, The Storms of Early Summer: Semantics of Song is an important chapter in their mythology.