Boston has seen plenty since- thousands of bands have come and gone, the Boston Red Sox won two World Series, the Patriots three Super Bowls, and the Celtics hung up another championship banner. All these events along with what I can assume are countless smaller, more localized strings of positivity would lead one to believe that the air of sadness and toil that appeared to envelope the city for so long has been lifted. It is not to say Boston is a sad town, in fact, I don’t remember it being so, but as a tourist and an outsider, the many elements that we encounter as being from Boston or part of it, left a melancholia that came with inept sports teams, terrible weather, and a gloomy disposition left in the shadow of taller, more famous cities. Boston hardcore, noted for their contribution through SS Decontrol, Gang Green, DYS and Jerry’s Kids, wasn’t exactly the plum of sunshine you’d need to get over lagging blues.

So what is my Boston? My Boston, fueled by the angry and disenfranchised, came to fruition in a band that lasted one album, 12 songs, and a quiet influence that resonated long after their demise. The Hurt Process by Boxer, this is my Boston.

Part post-hardcore, part mid-nineties emo, Boxer still encompasses all that is the city; gritty, desolate, pained- jarring for the senses but cathartic in its connection. This is what Boston was like to someone who had never lived in Boston. Perhaps if you disagree, then it is something you need to take up with your local tourist board.

Boxer was Vagrant Records’ initial signing, the calling card for a label whose stock rose because their bands wore their hearts on their sleeves better than anyone else. We talk a lot about The Get Up Kids with Something to Write Home About and Saves the Day with Stay What You Are. These two are often considered the staple releases of the early Vagrant catalogue, but we fail to see that the very first band they ever signed, released an album just as poignant as the two, if only, not as polished.

It’s the opening line of “Blame It On The Weather” that feels perfectly Boston. It’s the stringy guitars and the pulsing bass line that accompanies it. It’s the percussions that kick in at just the right time, and it’s the voice that sounds like it has smoked a thousand cigarettes that chime in;

“Sitting in my ditch of self-loathing and of course my mind is roaming / thinking things are worse than they appear to be”

“Blame it On the Weather”

Boxer – Blame It On the Weather

And then there were the girls, or one in particular whose name may or may not have been Georgia. Her hair smelled like a season and she sounds like a girl who liked music you’d only play on a record player. She probably liked the Velvet Underground on Sunday afternoons but wore combat boots and spiked her hair on a Friday night. She’s someone you’d fall in love with from the deepest of your soul only to break your heart. This is the little Georgia girl Boxer sings about, with a sense of sadness and anger wrapped in crunchy mid-tempo riffs and couplets of disappointment. She’s the one that kept you up at night, 2:18am. She’s the one that you’ll forget someday, just not today, the one you’re waiting for, when the sun finally comes, it’ll be when you’ll stop missing her.

“Georgia”

Boxer – Georgia

It’s the romanticism of a troubled city that drives people to write great songs about it. It is the way the rain falls on a lonely streetlight that inspires, and I think Boston has more than one lonely streetlight. I think if I get to drive through Boston some time soon, my mind would automatically play these 12 songs in order. Appropriately perhaps, the album’s title understood the city’s plight on both a personal and cultural stake and its significance on a national and global scale. This was a hurting town, whether you were a fan of sporting teams, music scenes or girls named after southern states. Yet on some level, they knew that this sadness would only last for so long. That someday you could finally leave it all behind.

“We wait until the sun goes down in Boston, the stars are out / We’ll have our way; our time will shine like the twinkle that’s in your eye”

“One for Milwaukee”

Boxer – One For Milwaukee

There is something to be said about not overstaying your welcome. Boxer knew 12 songs were enough. It was for that moment, the perfect capsule of the streets and places no one but themselves knew and understood. I can’t for one imagine any more songs written or recorded by them. It would be strange and out of place, almost like happiness and sunshine down on Harvard Avenue. I would never claim to be from Boston, and I can’t tell you what it’s like now. I can only imagine at least, with all the things that has happened to the city over the past decade, that there has to have been an uplift of some kind. In fact, I’m sure it’s a terribly nice place to visit. But for an outsider like me, until I get to venture down a sun-soaked path leading to the friendliest bar in town, Boston will always be The Hurt Process, where it rains or snows every night.

In a parallel to reality, my subconscious seemingly spared me the relief of having to actually listen to the album in full. Instead, fast-forwarding to the moment where I had finally hit “stop” and was left with nothing but the feeling of disgust and disappointment. Next thing I know I’m in this park, and I come across Rivers Cuomo sitting on a bench. Still geekily bespectacled, he was now looking unshaven and slightly bedraggled- as if the diminished talent had finally taken it’s toll (like that Keanu meme). He soon told me, as I fumbled with the voice-recorder application on my iPhone (the app finally has a use!), that he was tired of being a rock star.

Some of the details here get a little hazy but I ask him why, among other things, he can’t write more music like he did for that first Blue Album. I tell him it’s still one of the greatest albums ever written (okay, so a slight exaggeration by my dream self- I apparently have no critical control of him) and it seems to bring a light to his face, a brief and recollective smile. Almost as if, he too remembers that one time long ago, he was a great songwriter. One that penned uniquely intelligent but accessible pop songs that were neither patronizing or self-absorbed, but that moment was fleeting, a flicker long gone. “My Name is Jonas”, “Undone- The Sweater Song”, “Say It Ain’t So”, all since replaced by an endless array of tripe like “Pork and Beans”, “The Girl Got Hot” and “Beverly Hills”. It has been one big joke at all of our expenses that only Rivers and the label were in on. How many more terrible videos can we be subjected to? How does the album cover just get worse and worse? No answer.

I ask him if there is any difference to being on Epitaph than it was to being on Geffen before he lets out a prompt, but ample sigh, “no” he says.

This is where the dream ends. As quickly as I had begun asking him all these questions, a pack of older, slightly overweight gypsy-looking women appear at our table with what I can only decipher as either a television or a karaoke machine and scare Rivers away.

So as I awake from this rather hazy slumber, I hastily jot down this bizarrely memorable dream. What was my subconscious telling me? Was it that the side effects of this medicine need to be studied further, or that Weezer have become so appalling that even a drug fueled dream can tell you so. I didn’t even need to listen to the new album to know this is true. And I’m sure that when I do, I will come to the same conclusion.

I am not surprised to hear rumblings are abound that a possible Blue Album/Pinkerton-only tour could happen. Imagine a Weezer performance where you wouldn’t have to listen to anything they wrote after 1996. Glorious. Think of it as ‘Good Time Weezer’ or ‘How Weezer Should Have Ended’.

In case you doubted my subconscious, Weezer have released the first single from their upcoming Epitaph debut streaming below. Safe to say gypsies singing karaoke are much preferred.

“Memories”

Hurley is out September 14th via Epitaph.

For the sake of reference, here is a small reminder of Rivers’ one time genius:

This post originally appeared on Sound the Sirens Magazine

Suburbia is home to the bored teenager encapsulated in Richard Linklater movies and better yet, Penelope Spheeris ones. Hours to kill and with little to do, they tend to gravitate towards basements and garages, talk shop about the cute girl who works at the cookie stand at the mall, and of course, get together with little to no music ability and start bands. Now, back in the very early 90s when my musical taste buds were growing, this was the most exciting thing I did on weekends- get my similarly inclined friends and “jam”. Influenced by great suburban bands like Screeching Weasel, we strung together the best three-chords we could muster and had a damn ball. To quote Fat Mike, “you don’t need talent just sing out of tune“, and that’s what we did. In the end, if you did just that, the “out of tune” part starts to sound a lot like “attitude” and that’s what made bands like Screeching Weasel great.

Fast forward to today and I’m getting this strange and unpleasant vibe that that kids would rather be crunk than punk. Suburban bands are sounding a lot less like Screeching Weasel, old Green Day, Operation Ivy, MxPx and more and more like 3Oh!3 and the Gym Class Heroes.

Well, damn that nonsense all to holy hell.

They say “youth is wasted on the young” and George Bernard Shaw wasn’t kidding. The decades pass and youth has found new levels of wasteful, a taste that tend to fluctuate between the most terrible of radio friendly to the most terrible of the underground that wants to be like the terrible mainstream anyway.

And yes, I am painfully aware that this all comes down to personal taste but let’s face it, if you grew up wanting to play Wembley Stadium instead of CBGB’s then shame on you. If you wanted your high school band to sound like Prince Kanye and not The Ramones, then shame on you. If you would rather buy jewel-encrusted necklaces instead of a leather jacket, then shame on you. If you would rather score a Top 10 hit instead of changing the life of a suburban kid then fuck you.

Attitude makes a wasteful youth a worthwhile one.

“Try and tell us our future’s at stake / we’re gonna slam dance on your grave / cause we don’t give a shit about tomorrow”

Screeching Weasel – “Hey Suburbia” (from the album Boogadaboogadaboogada)

They spoke like Springsteen, sang songs the way Kerouac wrote, and held strong the values of American rock n’ roll. They were in every respect, the great American band for the current generation. American Slang is an album endlessly rich, the albatross on which they will undoubtedly fly to immeasurable heights with.

Yet, in a strange sense, the success and global reception almost works against the fables they preach. How does one relate to living the hard life when you’re at Glastonbury amongst a hundred thousand strong? Does singing about just getting by lose some of its romanticism when you’re on the cover of a glossy magazine? I never really understood why so many people were in uproar when Dylan first plugged in- maybe I still don’t, but I guess a small part of me compels the question of how an unruffled soul connects to something almost solely written for someone below the line. Is there a greater understanding of certain artists and genres when all of which it celebrates is very much part of who you are?

An educated and well-versed music enthusiast can certainly understand and appreciate various styles, genres, and histories and still remain distant, but will they ever connect to the music the same way as someone who lives a life parallel to the artist does? I’m not sure, but I know that when I listen to Born to Run, I have a far greater connection to it than when I listen to The Rising. So when The Gaslight Anthem start playing stadiums (a very good possibility than I’m actually not against at all), will the music mean the same as when I saw them play in front of 100 people in a small, broken down backpacker hotel on a sweaty August night? People who saw Springsteen in 1972 and then saw him again post-1984 may have that answer.

In the June 2010 issue of Big Cheese Magazine, they describe American Slang as “the pain of a broken heart, salvation from the radio and love by the lights of the bar. The record is a perfect marriage of expert storytelling, superb musicianship and classic melodies.” It is an apt assessment and among the many reasons why it is such a good album. Brian Fallon has traded in his crunchy riffs of The ’59 Sound for more bluesy guitar licks, dropping references to Maria while expanding his already excellent grasp of creating perfect blue collar rock songs. You will be hard pressed to find a writer who is able to inject his music with actual, down to earth substance better than Fallon. It’s genuine, all of it. And my favorite part about it all is that no matter where I’ve traveled and what I’ve seen, there is some intangible connection to the music that will resonate differently for each and every listener. It’s a murky theory I know, and I don’t have the vocabulary to explain it, but with every listen of the closing “We Did It When We Were Young”, I am reminded of life up to this point and I am hit with endless contemplation and reflection. It’s not about whether or not they wrote this song with any such intention, it’s just that it is powerful enough to do so.

Strangely, I feel less compelled to talk about the actual songs themselves; there are many rock critics and writers who will do a far greater job at explaining or justifying the praise with connections to Dylan, Strummer, Miles Davis, and of course, Springsteen. They’ll tell you about the great literary references, the homage to the great cities and trails, and the many emotional highs and lows as painted by the chord progressions and melodies. But for me, it is the lasting impression and continued connection they’ve painted since I first heard them in 2007; that life’s greatest reward comes from an unforgettable journey regardless of the final chapter. It reminds me of the many great pages left to write, and that filling them through your time here is the only reason why we should wake up every day. It does not resonate emotionally (save the closing track) as much as The ’59 Sound does, but it continues to do the greatest thing a band/an album/a song can do for me. The past is part of who you are, the present reminds us of this, and the future will always be unwritten. It is the only part of their music I hope they keep intact no matter where they go and what they do.

The Gaslight Anthem – “We Did It When We Were Young” (from American Slang)

“We could just run away / we were made for this anyway”
Junction 18 – “June and the Ocean” (from This Vicious Cycle)

Few songs have resonated with me in 2010 as much as “I Was A Teenage Anarchist”; Tom Gabel’s anthemic, razorfire ode to his own political awakening. His path led to his understanding that flying the anarchist flag was just as pointless as the politics so many fight against. It is a bold statement, and while my own anarchist beliefs stopped when I locked away my skateboard pants and chain wallet, there is something about “maintaining that fire” I still hold in high regard.

The genesis of the song is about finding the spark that keeps you passionate about whatever it is that propels your day to day. Be it your passion for sports, politics, the environment or human causes, it is the fight against apathy and the trials of modern living that ultimately keeps your character burning.

The song’s refrain of course, is its loudest line. Sweeping in its simplicity, “Do you remember when you were young and you wanted to set the world on fire?” is the summation of all the questions a 29-year-old third-culture kid finds himself embroiled in.

Tom Gabel is most probably smarter than I am and I do believe that he is lucky to have the talent and means to write these great songs and travel the world sharing them with people. My dreams share the same desire, but as I grow older I am more comfortable with the idea that the method will never be the same.

I don’t care about being a cliche and I don’t care about being revolutionary. I care about being surrounded by people smarter than me but I don’t care what they think of me. I don’t need the scene. Life is different now and I’m slowly becoming okay with it. I think in the end, I just want to feel how I felt when I got on that plane in 1998 and decided that borders and flags will not keep me isolated from the rest of the world. Everyday.

Dialectrix
Cycles of Survival
(Obese Records, 2008)

Armed with intellect, ability and flair, Dialectrix, is the latest member of the Obese Records family lighting a fire under the Australian hip hop industry. Consciously thematic and with words deeply personal, his debut album, Cycles of Survival, is a work both polished and introspective. Having honed his abilities as part of Triple J Unearthed winners Down Under Beats, and as a guest on the 2008 Obese Block Party, the now 22-year-old MC is “ready to take the scene by storm” (inthemix.com), turning on the roof lifting party vibes, the solemn soul searching, and the reflective commentary on life’s unpredictable nature.

From the opening proclamation of “Induction,” the atmosphere and attitude is made clear; jump up with these ravenous beats or get off the stage. His pedigree then, cut in stone by the album’s lead-off single, buoyed by insatiable beats and party-fuelled hooks; “Outcast” delves deep into the mind of the artist. Effortless and masterful, it is impeccable lyricism drenched with backs-to-the-wall urgency, coated by an aesthetic appeal bred for the airwaves.

Rolling deep in the hard-hitting “The Takeover,” Dialectrix signals the sirens and hears the call from the likes of Pegz, Joe New, and Mdusu. In the House of Pain flavour of “Came For the Sound,” Drapht is enlisted, bringing to the table his signature vocal style over body-moving beats and a feel-good disposition; a sure-fire party hit. Delving deep once again into the difficulties of alienation and abandonment in “Wrong Turn,” Dialectrix turns his multi-syllable flow into a contemporary look at growing up- broken hearts, abuse, and failed families- lightened with the hopefulness of learning from the past.

With production spearheaded by renowned artist and labelmate Chasm, Cycles of Survival is the genre’s return from the sanitised wilderness of café hip hop and bogan rap. Its intellect is as sharp as its potency, its reach as profound as its scope, and its appeal as widespread as the lives we lead. The Dialectrix manifesto is irrefutable. As the dawn arrives on a new day, we are awakened to the changing sound, the era begins, the ace amongst a new generation of kings.

So give me a reason then, these are not enough. I am blurred by the images I see in mirrors, they’re asking questions I cannot answer. I cannot find. And please help me stop trying, so desperately needing, so internally bleeding. I want to start here, to tremble in the wake of days new, to find something beautiful.

The surface it shimmers under the light, a glass house for the hollow, burdened by the darkest silhouette.

I want to torch myself. Set myself on fire.
I just want to smile with you again.

I fell asleep on paper wings / These people have no feelings– their heads are the only things that ever teach them anything about love / And I’m not sad, I just want to trust someone so badly / I just want something beautiful to happen here right now.

The Gloria Record – “Torch Yourself” (from Grace, The Snow Is Here)

How the days are long when all the little things that seem to plague us consume our minds. They claw away at the brittle happiness we grasp, unending in their desire to scrape away at our very strengths; the things that make us wake in the mornings and the things that make us dream for better dreams when we rest.

I am no stranger to this repetition.

It is my life now, my every day, my waking minutes. Yet, I do not pretend to be sad, nor do I shy away from the blaring gleam of smiling faces, beautiful people, and sunshine hearts. I crave them, because I cannot stand the ugly people, I cannot stand their inability to function in our beautiful world and I cannot stand how they make me feel.

It is because I see the world now, its colors, and its shades, and it’s nothing like the good book. Not meant for the good in us. You cannot be selfless because we are made selfish, and we cannot give love when we only want to take.

— // —

It’s been this way all year now. What seemed like a continuation of a hedonistically wonderful year turned out enormously bleak in the early months. I do not begin to understand, or try and retrace the mistakes that were made because they will do me no good. And I try not to wish for something else, to return these sands of time and redo the things that have already been done.

I have a good job now. It’s the kind that makes you count lucky stars before you go to sleep at night. It helps me grow into this tangible world. Yet I am haunted by something I care not understand- attempted only by the muddled words of lazy astrologers and cheap zodiac signs. Is it because I still long for that grace? That no matter what state I am in, only when I am in this place of relationship unity will I find true peace and comfort? Perhaps. And perhaps it is my soul adjusting to this new way, still bound to the bliss I found a year ago.

My answer to this will be clear when I can look back and laugh, or smile.

So my winters for now are long, and even in spring when the sun gleams across my face and the heat sears warm the temperature of my blood, I feel the cold.

And I do not mean to sound ungrateful, because I am thankful for this, my opportunity, the envy of others. One I will take with open arms and a grain of salt. I guess you could say I’m riding the wave. Cautiously optimistic, but never resting on laurels or praise. Constant flux. Constant anxiety. But a drive to succeed, to excel, to leave those who burned me behind.

Which brings me to this, a gorilla-sized monkey on my back. My love, all gone, but still here. A friendship wavering on uncertain ground. I am over it and I am not. Where is this friendship that is so easily accomplished but so easily cast aside? I tried, and I’m trying, but am I only here because I have seen it before? Done it, been there, so I know it’s not worth losing? I care less every day, but in a burdensome way, I still long for closeness, for communication. Or maybe I am hopelessly naïve, blind.

I am bound then, to this, until the day I am blessed by a new sound, all of my own, my only. And until then, before I wish the greatest of happiness, the true grace of light upon her beautiful soul- I wish nothing but suffering, the anguish, and the heart shattering requiem of the saddest songs. I do. Because she deserves it.

— // —

I grow more selfish every day. I care less about the nice guy things I once did. They weigh me down, drag me from pedestals. I am pushed to this, because the world we live in strives for success, for wealth and value, for power, and glory, and all the fucked up things I thought I’d never need.

But I do.

I’m ready to play this game. I’m ready to sacrifice the pure for all the good times, for all the greed, and all the selfishly rewarding outcomes of life’s cocaine.

So thy devil, let’s dance. And “may the bridges I burn light the way.”

And there you go, with your escape, you’re clear now because I’m letting go. I can’t save myself, and I can’t stand losing you. And I know, it’s not going to get easier, to see you standing there, on the same street, with the same light you share with someone new. I’ve tried to show that I’m okay, but this smile cannot hide, my shame, my anguish in these terrible times.

So I let the sun go down one more time and ask, dear Lord, why did you let me burn? Fan the flames of my wish come true, so remind me, never to ask for anything more. I’m the boy with nothing, but with everything to lose, walking these endless miles in worn out shoes.

Please then, let me have the decency, to not look when she cries out love for someone else, there is no more room on this skin, no more on this tired heart. I cry for honesty, and I pray for regret, but I cannot find the hate for things never meant to be.

So thank you, forever, and goodbye…

Respectfully, some honesty, I’m asking now / Do you hear the conversation we talk about? / I’ll back away to the safety of a quiet house / If there’s half a chance in this moment / When your eyes meet mine, we show it off

Jimmy Eat World – “Dizzy” (from Chase This Light)