Zugzwang - Flu

One of the best parts about my local scene is that it can be so diverse in sound. I've been to shows featuring blues rock back-to-back with psychedelia and hardcore bands. Singer-songwriters regularly share the same bill as prog-metal and punk artists. What's more, so many of these acts are creating their own genres, taking aspects of their varied surroundings and shaping a sound we've never heard before. And excuse my language, but that's fuckin' exciting. 

Which brings me to this act. Zugzwang are a three-piece CT band that blends catchy with aggression—punk instrumentation overlaid with addictive melodies. They’ve got a perfect blend of intellect and attitude that really sounds like no one else. I’ve been hooked since their demo dropped in 2015, and their latest EP Flu hits like a haymaker. 

Zugzwang’s sound is persistent and pounding, like an ex with a bone to pick. The vocals are frustrated, each note on the brink of a breakdown. The instruments cohere to one another, each punch of the kick followed by the ringing of the bass guitar, the rhythm section backing a guitar laden with color tones and sickly-sweet melodies. Yet the band refuses to fall into a rut even across these four songs: “Stuck” steadily bangs its head against a wall while “4th of July” flaunts slash beats and speedy palm mutes. Each song has its own feel and flavor, mixing catchy hooks and grinding riffs that are too damn accessible to exclude even the most pompous of music fans.

For all its primal punk energy, Flu is also extremely danceable, no track more so than the lead single “Getting Through.” The band launches full-force into a riff that is both groove and grit, led by a viciously delicious bassline that runs the entire neck of the instrument, while the drums get hit so hard that I'm surprised we can't hear the heads breaking. The vocal is searing, yearning for more, begging to get beyond an existence that is at best unsatisfactory and at worst unbearable. More than any track on Flu, “Getting Through” repeatedly gets caught between my ears to linger all day long (and believe me, I’m not complaining). 

 

Whether you are nauseated by the sterile state of radio or just looking to dig some infectious grooves, Flu holds your antidote, a record that refuses to sit comfortably in any one sound or genre. Zugzwang’s music is proof that CT has a ton to offer, that there is sincere and exciting creative force bottled up in this state, just waiting to be released. So don’t sleep on this record, on this band, on this scene—for their sake, and for yours. 

My top track: “Stuck” 

You can find more from Zugzwang, including upcoming live shows and news, on Facebook. Then grab your own copy of Flu at their Bandcamp page.

Down with Rent - Like a Pane of Breaking Glass

I am very fortunate to be a witness to a talented, diverse, and progressive local music scene, and I think it’s about time I used this platform, small though it may be, to shout out some of those local acts whose incredible live performances and immersive recordings are making this the best time and place for music. So, let’s kick things off with Like a Pane of Breaking Glass, the latest and greatest release by local Connecticut rippers Down with Rent.

Clocking in at barely eight minutes, Like a Pane of Breaking Glass delivers a mainline dose of vicious hardcore punk straight to the brain. Down with Rent takes the well-worn template of grinding guitars and slash beats and smashes it into something wholly unique and unrelenting—the song “Down with Rent” sounds like a race between the band members, the guitar gaining on the bass in the verse only to be overtaken by the drums in the chorus. “Sins and Needles” all but demands slam-dancing with its blistering guitar riffs, while the title track swings the spotlight onto the rhythm section, drums and bass crashing against each other in a tsunami of sound.

Like a Pane of Breaking Glass exhibits Down with Rent’s visceral tendencies towards fast tempos and loud screams, but the opening track “Anchors” delves even farther into that energy. Kicking off with a bombastic, overdriven bassline, the band quickly falls into a pounding riff that sounds like Godzilla stomping through Tokyo. The primeval, desperate vocals bring a volatility to the atmosphere, punctuating the verse with a throaty scream of “Do you know how Atlas felt?” Down with Rent wields this trudging tempo for as long as they can bear, but as the song nears its end, they become fed up with it, cutting the time in half and careening towards a catastrophic end capped by the defiant statement: “You say that you hold up the world / But you’re just the anchor.”

Without a doubt, Like a Pane of Breaking Glass is a power-packed EP that exudes energy and fervor; my only complaint is simply that there’s not more of it. Down with Rent collects the rage of their generation and turns it outwards at the world, seeking to shake the planet itself from Atlas’ grasp. If you have the chance to catch one of their furious and feedback-laden live shows, do not miss out—just prepare to lose your voice as you shout along.

My top track: “Anchors”

You can find more from Down with Rent, including upcoming live shows and news, on Facebook. Then grab your own copy of Like a Pane of Breaking Glass at their Bandcamp page, out via Destroy All Music. 

At the Drive-in - in•ter a•li•a

At long last, seventeen years after their last true release, At the Drive-In has graced us with a new record, in•ter a•li•a. And while the rest of the world waited with bated breath for May 5 to roll around, my excitement was far more tempered. After a wave of confusion concerning founding member Jim Ward’s participation, followed by the cancellation of their North American tour (on the night I was to see them, no less), in•ter a•li•a felt like a very hard sell for me. Yet the ATDI fanboy within soon won out, and after snagging a copy, this record has not only far exceeded my expectations, but has proven At the Drive-In remains an act with integrity and momentum.

According to Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, the writing for in•ter a•li•a was an attempt to honor where the band “left off sonically last time,” and in this At the Drive-In completely succeeds. These five come at their music with as much energy and virulence as ever. Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s vocals are far more refined than on past releases, but he continues to throw his entire weight behind each note. Tony Hajjar’s drum hits explode like cannon fire, while Paul Hinojos’ bass notes completely dominate the low-end—everything in my car shakes with his bass hits in “Tilting at the Univendor.” Both Omar and Keeley Davis tangle their guitars into an exciting rat’s nest of melody, their effect-laden tones simultaneously fighting and coalescing in tunes like “Incurably Innocent.” The musical chemistry of this quintet is undeniable, making each piece on in•ter a•li•a an exhilarating maelstrom of sound.

So palpable is At the Drive-In’s enthusiasm on in•ter a•li•a that spinning the CD feels like standing against the barrier at a show. The energy is live and dangerous, most likely a result of the way the record was formed. The band began by renting a “bare bones” studio space in South Korea, where they learned to “write with each other.” Following this, their subsequent tour saw the band viciously writing over 70% of the record in a live setting; they even created a “jam room” at each venue so they could pen and rehearse new music before and after their shows. They then dragged this visceral material into the studio, recording under a “no overdubs rule,” as Omar puts it, so “what you want to play has to be what it is.” Every step of this album’s creation was done with a live mindset and in a live setting, letting the honesty behind their endeavor shine bright and unhindered.

The band approached in•ter a•li•a with the intent of rekindling the old ATDI fire (Omar even immersed himself in the same pop culture to conjure that spirit), so it is no surprise that this record feels like the logical follow-up to their monster Relationship of Command. Still, there is an undeniable maturity that provides a completely new feel to the music, as exemplified in the song “Continuum.” Cedric kicks this tune off with a bombastic shout of “I’ll drop a dime on you first,” his vocal melodies switching between barking poetics in the verse and violent singing in the chorus. Keeley and Omar let their guitars play against one another, their tones creating a landscape of sound as they trade rhythm and lead duties. The song swings wildly between dynamics, focusing on insane syncopation across crazy time signatures in the prechorus and dropping to a literal whisper in the bridge. “Continuum” demonstrates At the Drive-In cramming old energy into new ideas to create a bulldozer of excitement and intelligence that blasts from the speakers.

As with the instrumentation, the lyrical content of in•ter a•li•a also exhibits more than a bit of maturation. Though his veils of metaphor are pretty opaque, if not sometimes indecipherable, Cedric’s writing maintains a dystopian theme throughout many of the pieces. “Pendulum in a Peasant Dress” paints a world where media is defined by “finely tuned gestures” dictated by the powers-that-be, the “hand of God” that controls what the world sees and doesn’t see. The lead single “Governed by Contagions” is laden with paranoid images such as the “portrait of a family force fed” and a “homemade remedy to loosen every tongue.” The band even calls attention to the issues of gentrification and destruction of culture in the song “Call Broken Arrow.” Cedric’s attentive writing keeps in•ter a•li•a attuned to the current state of the world and gives At the Drive-In’s manic melodies a message worth conveying.

in•ter a•li•a certainly sounds and feels like a vision fully realized, but as a die-hard fan of their past catalogue, I can’t help but mourn the lack of Jim Ward’s presence on the record. His previous vocal and written contributions were near-pivotal to the experience that was ATDI, and though the band has firmly stated that he “just wasn’t ready” to take part, it is difficult to ignore the many spots in in•ter a•li•a where one of his yells would perfectly fit. And as the band apparently had tried writing new material during their 2014 reunion, material which Cedric and Omar then adapted into the debut release for Antemasque, it is equally as hard not to hear songs like “No Wolf Like the Present” as Antemasque material adapted for ATDI.

While I certainly miss the At the Drive-In with Jim Ward, I would be lying if I said in•ter a•li•a needs his presence to be a great record. Keeley Davis, Jim’s former bandmate in Sparta, undoubtedly provides an awesome and fresh approach to the band, and is also allegedly responsible for my favorite piece on the record: the spacey and dark “Ghost Tape No. 9.” Rocking over filtered drums and a rhythmic chugging chord, this song is dominated by Cedric’s gorgeous, mournful melodies. The entire song takes a step down in energy, letting the dystopian imagery and electronic soundscape fill the void created by the slow tempo and quiet dynamics. The haunting crawl of “Ghost Tape No. 9” is perhaps the most progressive and novel tune on all of in•ter a•li•a, and showcases a direction that I hope At the Drive-In will continue to explore in their composition.

Although I initially felt little more than trepidation at its release, I’m sincerely glad I gave in•ter a•li•a some time. At the Drive-In have lost not an iota of the honesty or energy that initially hooked me, and yet add a maturity to their sound that assures me they are headed for great things. As Cedric puts it, he and his bandmates “trust each other” to bring their best and make “great music,” and there is not a single doubt in my mind that in•ter a•li•a achieves this goal. At the Drive-In remains as honest and exciting as ever, and I will have a hell of hard time containing my excitement at their future endeavors.

Tunes to Check Out:

1) Ghost Tape No. 9

2) Call Broken Arrow

3) Incurably Innocent

Brand New - Deja Entendu

There are few records that are held in such high regard as Brand New’s sophomore release, Deja Entendu. Over a decade and a half since its release, fans and critics alike still take to the mountaintops to shout their praise, and the sheer amount of astronaut tattoos in my circle of friends alone really brings home how many people lose their minds over this album. Despite my already well-documented love affair with Brand New’s first album, this record somehow managed to elude my ears until this year. And after two months of straight, repeat listening, although I can’t say I’m in love, never ever EVER have I found a whole record so completely stuck in my head.

There is absolutely a weight to Deja Entendu, a palpable power that exudes from this record that I still can’t quite put my finger on. In a big departure from their previous work, Brand New takes a more post-hardcore tack for their sound, exploring slower tempos, spacey guitar tones, and quiet brooding vocal lines, pulling away from their peers at the time to “do their own thing.” While there is no lack of their signature pop sensibility, Brand New’s focus this time is getting the emotion of each piece across, the band largely stepping back to let frontman Jesse Lacey bare his bleeding heart for every listener. Indeed, songs like “Okay I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don’t” and “Me vs. Maradona vs. Elvis” feature just Jesse for long stretches of time, while for the soulful acoustic closer “Play Crack the Sky” (also Jesse’s favorite piece), the spotlight belongs entirely to him.

The presence that is Jesse Lacey truly dominates this record, and with good reason. He has an extremely dynamic vocal range, slipping between mumbles and shouts in “Sic Transit Gloria…Glory Fades” and full-on screaming in “The Quiet Things that No One Ever Knows.” Jesse uses his vocals like a weapon—he yanks every inch of expression from each note; he hones the honesty in his voice until his vocal cords are bloody. And the band works to provide Jesse with virtually every possible template for working his voice, threading a ton of dynamic changes into the instrumentation; both “Guernica” and “Sic Transit Gloria…” collect their verses into soft, almost trudging beats that suddenly burst into loud’n’fast choruses, coupling Jesse’s emotional release with that of the crowds of kids dying to slam-dance and shout along.

No matter which way I approach this record, I have a hard time not hearing Deja Entendu as “The Jesse Lacey show,” simply because his input is so viscerally truthful and yet intellectually intricate. This is especially true of the lyrics flowing from his pen, which deftly blend his mind, heart, and voice into one. Jesse largely avoids rehashing or working idioms, instead opting to create completely original images that are incredibly vivid. “The Quiet Things that No One Ever Knows” lets us watch as a marriage collapses: “I contemplate the day we wed / …your veil is ruined in the rain / by then, it’s you I can do without,” while we get to hear Jesse himself collapse from exhaustion in “Guernica” with the lines “Is this the way a toy feels when its batteries run dry? / I am the watch you always wear but you forget to wind.” He even uses brevity to extreme effectiveness in the opener “Tautou,” featuring the two simple lines “I’m sinking like a stone in the sea / I’m burning like a bridge for your body,” yet creating a whole world of feeling with his varied deliveries.

One major theme running through the lyrics on Deja Entendu seems to be the struggles of being a touring band. According to drummer Brian Lane, the sound of the record is a result of the band “being in close quarters 24 hours a day” while on tour, a situation that can certainly create significant strain. Yet worse is the demand to provide an honest and energetic experience every night onstage, an idea Jesse dissects in “I Will Play My Game Beneath the Spin Light,” in which he laments the experience of baring his soul: “Watch me as I cut myself wide open on this stage / yes, I am paid to spill my guts.” Similarly, in “Sic Transit Gloria…” he comments on the strange experience of having your youthful thoughts and aspirations analyzed by rabid fans and harsh critics: “The act becomes the art of growing up.” Deja Entendu tears down the film of glory from musicianship, questioning how an artist can remain truly honest when they have to appear as much every single night for months and months, and whether that honesty itself becomes part of the act.

Though his lyrics might make it out to be a significant struggle, to me, Jesse has no problem sounding sincere on Deja Entendu. His energetic performances and vivid wording provide the listener a window into his deepest thoughts and emotions; he leaves absolutely nothing out. But unfortunately for the record, the rest of the band appears to have a hard time catching up to him. While the instrumentation certainly works for the record, many songs seem to feature a distinct lack of vitality on the band’s part. Brian Lane hits his crash cymbals more often with apathy than with emphasis, and his opening beat for “Good to Know that if I Ever Need Attention All I Have to Do Is Die” might as well be drummed with pencils. Similarly, guitarist Vincent Accardi spends far more time simply doubling Jesse’s rhythm chords than creating any harmonies or putting the remaining space to good use.

Even some of the song structures feel sewn or thrown together, with the band giving little to no thought to transitions, flow, or feel; the verse in “Sic Transit Gloria…” feels almost like a separate song from the chorus, while the coda for “Okay I Believe You...” introduces a lackadaisical syncopation only to peter out on an off-beat. It’s not that the other members of Brand New aren’t present on Deja Entendu, but many of their contributions seem to lack oomph, perhaps a result of most of the songs being written by Jesse “on [an] acoustic guitar in [his] bedroom.”

My criticism of the instrumental performances on Deja Entendu arises from the fact that there is one tune in which Brand New leaves out absolutely nothing from their performance: the monstrously emotional “Jaws Theme Swimming.” The composition here is uncompromising, the band waltzing through a 6/8 trance featuring jazzy fingerpicking and Lacey’s darkly brooding vocal, before bursting into a chorus that is pure heaviness and feeling. Brian Lane literally beats the crap out of his drum set, throwing forceful fills under Accardi’s phasey solo and smashing his cymbals with the grinding guitar chords. Jesse screams into the ether, delivering the chorus lines “And you take / ‘cause the give / though I love you / and my body it leaks like a sieve” like they are his last words, while Garrett Tierney’s somber and moving outro bassline brings the band to rest with a final thump. Brand New spares not an iota of energy, emotion, or sincerity for any second of “Jaws Theme Swimming;” this tune is an unrelenting cacophony of sentiment that proves the band so damn capable, and it’s a shame that they fails to harness this on virtually any other piece for Deja Entendu.

Though I might take umbrage with some of the performances, at the day’s end, I completely understand why this record resonates so deeply with so many people. Even if the whole band doesn’t back it, there is a violently honest core to Deja Entendu which resonates deeply across all eleven tracks. As Jesse puts it, with Deja the band wasn’t “trying to break new ground,” but only “to make good music,” and in this they’ve absolutely succeeded. I truly believe that if this record had made its way to a fourteen-year-old me, I too would be sporting one of the most iconic album covers ever somewhere on my body, and if this record continues to grow on me as it already has, perhaps I still may.

Tunes to Check Out:

1) Jaws Theme Swimming

2) Guernica

3) The Quiet Things that No One Ever Knows

Pinback - Autumn of the Seraphs

One of the reasons I love music as a form of expression is that there are almost endless avenues to follow in that expression. A plethora of instruments, styles, genres, and dynamics allows for ideas to blossom in limitless directions, and by utilizing these well, a great artist can completely capture any essence, emotion, or experience. Yet while every artist strives to do so and do so well, so many options can also become so many limits. Adhering to boundaries and standards can certainly make for focused art or a driven music scene, but some acts just need more room to breathe and bloom. Pinback is one such artist, and as their record Autumn of the Seraphs proves, when the right minds are given the musical room to work, what they produce is pure magic.

Coupling an amazing pop sensibility with intricate technical skill, Autumn of the Seraphs provides us with eleven delightfully diverse tunes in which even the most close-minded of listeners can find something to appreciate. Between the slow and drooping feel of “How We Breathe,” the hectic picking of “Blue Harvest,” or the aggressively dark “Off by 50,” Pinback touches upon a wide range of feeling and fury, all tied together with their incredible sense of melody. Rob Crow’s distinctly gentle vocal style disperses pop elements throughout each tune, his singing expertly synthesizing with the deft instrumentation. Even the mix, which was shaped to mimic the band’s hard-hitting live sound, still retains a measure of beauty and grace, implying vigor without overloading the listener’s speakers.

Pinback really runs the gamut of both energy and timbre on Autumn of the Seraphs, carefully selecting each song’s instrumental palate to complement the intensity of the composition. Album-opener “From Nothing to Nowhere” relies heavily on driving guitar and live drums, while the slower, more somber “Bouquet” is loaded with bleepy-bloopy synths. Pinback’s specialty is melody, and in their standard approach, Rob Crow’s sparse guitar work coalesces with Zach Smith’s unique bass style into an aurora of color and feeling. Still, the band does not shy away from exploring other territories, employing electronic beats in “How We Breathe” and relying heavily on keyboards in “Good to Sea” and “Torch.”  

While virtually every aspect of Pinback’s style is exciting, for obvious reasons, nothing gets my blood up more than Zach Smith’s incredible basswork. Autumn of the Seraphs is loaded with tunes that spotlight his unique, rule-breaking style of playing, but no song exemplifies his versatility as a bassist better than “Barnes.” The drums set up a powerful groove from the get-go, and Zach sticks his low notes to the percussion, accenting the rhythm section and slamming his strings on the downbeats. That punchy groove in “Barnes” is what is most important, and although there is a ton of room in the verses, Zach keeps it simple, keeps it low, letting the drums and Rob’s smattered guitar shine. It is only towards the end of the song [2:22] that he finally crawls up into the high register, his fingers winding chords and melody simultaneously into a flourish of beauty. While other pieces on Autumn might better flaunt Zach’s crazy technical skills, “Barnes” exhibits a dedicated restraint that allows his little excursions to shine even further.  

No matter what tune catches your fancy, there is no doubt that Autumn of the Seraphs was crafted by two expert musicians, and this extends to the lyrics. Both Rob Crow and Zach Smith find ways to shape their words into meticulous and multifaceted pieces. “Subbing for Eden” contains some beautifully cryptic images such as “petals falling from the engine” and “cracking velvet nerves.” Similarly, “Good to Sea” opens with a strong sequence that imparts an experience you can hear, see, feel, even smell: “They’re moving earth outside / The ground is shaking like no beat / A dense terrible sound / At once both teeming and asleep.”

Pinback has a habit of being heavily metaphorical in their lyrics, almost to the point of being vague. There is also certainly a level of aloofness to their approach, evidenced by the fact that the album title is just a play on words of a Mayhem song. Still, their writing never fails to match and deliver the emotional experience of their songs. Indeed, the often interwoven counterpoint vocal parts shared between Rob and Zach add further layers of harmony and sentiment, turning their lyrics into moving, interacting sensory pieces. 

This duo can certainly write like a couple of kids sometimes (take the opening line from “Blue Harvest:” “Goody for me!”), but when they do take it seriously, Pinback can combine story and sound into a masterpiece of humanity. Autumn of the Seraph’s best example of this is the tune “Walters,” which shares the extraordinary tale of Lawn Chair Larry, a man who took flight using weather balloons tied to a lawn chair. The song opens into a dreamy strings piece led by Zach’s bass, as Rob croons his respect for Larry’s boldness: “Anyone else would not deserve your life.”

The song then picks up into a slow build of tension and release, the strings moving faster as Rob describes his journey into the sky: “Larry climbs into his lawn chair / waves a goodbye / Unties from the post / Races towards the sky.” The wonder inherent in Rob’s voice soon takes on a measure of danger, before the song slowly slinks towards its sad culmination, a whispered “went out on a hike and never came back again”—Rob’s soft-handed summary of the protagonist’s eventual suicide. Pinback wend this fascinating tale of this real-life adventurer, encapsulating his story’s highs and lows in both sound and sentiment.

All in all, Autumn of the Seraphs is a triumph in its depth, dexterity, and drive. Pinback fashion eleven brilliant pieces of music on this record, using honed technical musicianship and intelligent writing to completely dominate their craft, giving every kind of listener something to love. Truly, I can think of few acts that have such a handle on all things music as Pinback does. Autumn of the Seraphs reinforces how limitless human expression can be through the medium of music, and each listen gives me yet another reason to keep hacking away at my craft, if only because I love the sound of it. 

Tunes to Check Out:

1) Barnes

2) Torch

3) Good to Sea

Song Spotlight: "May 16" by Lagwagon

As I've been saying across the entire existence of this blog, I could go on and on about how the soundtracks to the Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater series seriously informed my musical tastes. They were my first exposure to alternative music, to punk and ska and metal, genres which I would hasten to explore more thoroughly as I grew older. And while I’m sure I could write at length about every single tune from those games (and probably will someday), there are few I’ve connected with as fully as Lagwagon’s “May 16,” a ripping punk rock tune with a very emotional backbone, and one that holds a very important place in my heart.

Winding up with a few hectic guitar chords in the intro, “May 16” quickly reaches full velocity, a mess of power chords and rumbling bass taking off at high speed. Dave Ruan smashes complicated fills in between slash beats while Joey Cape croons his mournful vocal. The structure of the song avoids standard verse/chorus form, instead following a long and complex chord progression that runs head-on at a blistering tempo throughout the piece. The band also peppers small sections of 12/8 time in between the onslaught of 4/4, a theme they more deeply explore in a melodic outro stilted with syncopation and a soulful yet simple guitar solo.

Lagwagon creates a wonderfully chaotic masterpiece in their composition, but the vocals are what drive the emotion home. There is a subtle presence to Joey’s singing as he avoids flash, flair, or even significant volume, instead focusing on delivering the feeling of the tune. Joey’s voice is laden with introspection, holding a deep sadness at bay with words of numb nostalgia: “I can paint a picture in a moment / of memories, and there aren’t many left.” His sparseness, his general noninvolvement in both the story and the song itself, gives a serious weight to every word.

Lagwagon as a group delivers the depth of sound, but it is Joey’s execution that makes “May 16” a song you can feel. This stems from the emotional and very personal situation in which the song was written. “May 16” describes a very real “turning point” in Joey’s life: his waking up in a strange apartment after a one-night stand, only to watch from the window as two former friends—people with whom he was very close at one point—get married in a park next door. Turning to a nearby acoustic guitar, Joey immediately began processing his feelings on this situation real-time, staring out the window at the ceremony and writing the song stream-of-consciousness as a reaction to a very personal scene from which he had been excluded.

Through his lyrics, Joey expertly captures the painful realization of his situation in that moment. The chorus line of “It’s just another Saturday” acts as a sort of denial, an initial refusal to acknowledge that he is being left behind, until he finally gives into the hurt of his rejection (“I am extradited, uninvited”). Yet even so, there is eventual acknowledgement that this moment is beyond him and more important than his pettiness, so that he comes to terms with that rejection, allowing himself to be proud of this couples’ milestone “from afar” as they “take a step to freedom.” Through “May 16,” Joey uses introspection to analyze an extremely emotional moment in his life and alter his perspective, during a time when his life was “off the rails.”

May 16 was the date of Joey’s realization, and thus the song acts as an eternal reminder of that day for him, a sonic monument to a very emotional moment in his life. So too does this date hold significance for me, albeit a little differently. On May 16, 2010, I awoke very early in the morning to find my mother had suffered a debilitating stroke, which put her in the ICU for a long while and scrambled the speech center of her brain. While she fortunately made a relatively speedy recovery, to this day she still deals with the aftereffects, including visits to multiple doctors and a very occasional speech impediment.

Thus, just as the song serves to remind Joey Cape of this turning point in his life, so does Lagwagon’s “May 16” remind me of how I almost lost my mother. But every time that song slips into my shuffle, I do not lament, but instead celebrate, because I didn’t lose her. She survived then and continues to now, and so hearing this punk banger brings me great joy, because I still get to spend time with my mother, and (hopefully) will get to share many more May 16ths with her.

Millencolin - Pennybridge Pioneers

As I’ve mentioned from the very beginning, the original Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater games have a special place in my heart. They were my introduction to the genre of punk rock, my original exposure to music that was fast, energetic, and honest. The first installment in the game series ignited my love affair with Goldfinger and ska-punk in general, while the sequel acquainted me with the likes of punk legends Lagwagon and Bad Religion. For an eleven-year-old homeschooled dweeb living in semi-rural Connecticut, these games were more than just entertainment: they were my gateway drug into the world of alternative music.

Among the more acclaimed names like Rage Against the Machine, Anthrax, and Powerman 5000, there was also a lesser-known band on the soundtrack of THPS 2: Millencolin, a European group then just beginning to get recognition in the U.S. “No Cigar” was an instant hit with me, its angsty no-fucks-given attitude arriving just as I was becoming a teenager, and I was absolutely enamored. I would play the game for hours just so I could learn the lyrics, all the while wishing I could get my hands on more. Thus, when on my fourteenth birthday I was given a blank check of sorts for CDs (the same haul that brought me Bender’s monumental debut), at the top of the list was Millencolin’s Pennybridge Pioneers, the parent record of “No Cigar” that came to define my standard of punk rock for years to come.

From my first spin of Pennybridge Pioneers, I knew that I had found something worth cherishing. There is no lack of prowess or personality on this record; every song, whether in major or minor key, offers catchy melodies and precise instrumentation too juicy to ignore. The sound is very reminiscent of So. Cal punk, which is no surprise given that Pioneers was recorded in Hollywood and produced by punk icon Brett Gurewitz. Yet this Swedish quartet layers in a large amount of catchy writing onto their music. Instead of shying away from pop in favor of gritty punk, Millencolin dives right in, smashing along a swing beat in “Fox” and chugging at a slow, danceable pace in “The Mayfly.” Similarly, Nikola Sarcevic’s straining and raspy vocal lines seem to rattle out pages of lyrics in seconds, all stuck to a delightfully fun melody. 

While pop is definitely the driving factor in Millencolin’s music, the vehicle is their impeccable punk rock aesthetic. Fredric Larzon smashes his drums with quick and precise strikes, bullying along “Highway Donkey” and “Duckpond” with blurring cut beats. Guitarists Erik Ohlsson and Mathias Farm alternate their rhythm and lead sections to create perfect complements to each other’s playing. And at the center is Sarcevic’s rumbling bass, thumping down the foundation beneath the band or growling in the spotlight in “Devil Me” and “Right About Now.”

On Pennybridge Pioneers, Millencolin takes their skate-punk roots and injects them with a healthy dose of pop, and no song epitomizes this as well as “A-Ten.” Opening with a dolorous yet driving guitar riff, Ohlsson and Farm weave their rhythm pieces together, enveloping the entire spectrum of the instrument’s sound and spinning it into a masterpiece. Nikola’s vocals are laden with emotion as he attempts to console a friend through a loss, his mournful exclamation of “You wanna see her back again” wringing every ounce of feeling from the song. His melodies and the instrumentation belie the song’s minor key, instead drawing hope and happiness from a situation that would usually imply darkness. “A-Ten” drives its emotional content home with relentless energy, a deft blend of mosh and melody that invariably gets stuck in my head long after the song is done.

Undoubtedly, Millencolin has their composition process down to a science, producing pieces that feel as passionate as they sound. As is often the case with this style of music, however, the lyrics on Pennybridge Pioneers want for that same precision and attention to detail. Many of Sarcevic’s lines feel sloppy, his images ill-defined. Lines like “to prevent something like a theft I got her locked around a tree” in “Fox” are laden with unnecessary words, while the phrase “does never get a pass” in “The Ballad” doesn’t even make grammatical sense, perhaps a result of English being the second language choice for these Swedes. Still, I can’t stress enough how absolutely sincere Nikola’s vocals feel, so that even his laziest writing comes across with as much intensity as if he were shouting it right in my face.

Although most of the lyrical work on Pennybridge Pioneers fails to invite anything more than a cursory read, one particular piece manages to fully encapsulate and communicate its ideal with surprising ease: “No Cigar,” the song that had me hooked from the very first slap of the snare. Across a backdrop of searing skate punk, Sarcevic unravels line after line of distilled teenaged angst and alienation. His verses clamber across the various judgmental attitudes we all encounter in our youth: “Tell us where you’re from / what you want to become / and we’ll say if you’re OK,” or the still resonating “We will shut you out / We’ll put you in doubt / If you think that you’re special.” In the face of this negativity, Nikola’s chorus lines cast aside the darkness with a powerful mission statement as he shouts “I don’t care where I belong no more / What we share or not I will ignore / And I won’t waste my time fitting in / ‘Cause I don’t think contrast is a sin.” It is this message of self-acceptance, defying expectations and norms in favor of individuality, that slammed into my 12-year-old ears like a shotgun blast, resonating fully with the budding angst that I was just getting to know. “No Cigar” introduced me to both the sound and ethos of punk rock, values that still reside at my core fifteen years later.

Pennybridge Pioneers is the record that “took [Millencolin] to the next level,” and while it may sound dramatic, in a lot of little ways, it has changed my life too. It gave me my first real taste of So. Cal punk sound (even if they weren’t from Cali), a sound with which I would soon become obsessed. It provided me with the material (and the guts) to start playing bass like a punk, as well as the inspiration to take that bass work to a band setting. It inspired me not just to value my own individuality, but to assert it, to push it through to the forefront in all that I do. And though I can’t imagine it will have the same life-shattering effect on you that it did on me, I urge you to give this record a spin, because at its very worst, it’s still a damn good listen.

Tunes to Check Out:

1) No Cigar

2) Duckpond

3) A-Ten