Jimmy Eat Shit

So there I was. In the sweaty press of a mostly teenage crowd frying under the dog day sun on the vast expanse of an arena parking lot. We'd been hustling between the two main stages all afternoon, dancing in the Olympic pool-size pits when fancy struck, swallowing bottles of water whenever heatstroke seemed nearest. On stage was a crew called As I Lay Dying, grim-looking in a calculated way, whose fearsome metalcore was inspiring the kids to kung fu fight. Partway through the set I began to suspect that this soundstorm was some insidious breed of Christian metal. Perhaps it was the singer's tent revival posturing that tipped me off. Perhaps it was the crucifix tattoos I suddenly noticed on all the thugs surrounding me. It certainly wasn't the lyrics, which could not be discerned. Anyway, I stopped enjoying myself. Then something happened. In a momentary pause between songs, without any prompting at all, the audience began angrily chanting "Emo sucks!" I was taken aback. The band, to my eyes, looked vaguely dismayed but did nothing to discourage this behavior. What did emo have to do with anything? It was like going to a Bears game and shouting "WNBA sucks!" True, no one takes the WNBA seriously, but it sure isn't hurting anybody, least of all the Bears. As for emo, no one even knows what it is, and no one claims to be it. So wtf? (Nice Christian deportment, by the way.)


To get to the bottom of this occurrence, let's take a look at the bands that have been called emo (over the members' protests in every case) and assess whether or not they suck.

Emo as a term was originally a shortened form of emotional hardcore or emocore, invented by a Washington DC fanzine to describe a new group of local punk bands that became active in the summer of 1985. The musicians, lead by Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto, dubbed this movement the Revolution Summer, intending to put an end to the violence and intolerance that had overrun the DC hardcore scene. The area had produced two of hardcore's cornerstone bands — Bad Brains and Minor Threat — at the end of the 70s, but as their popularity grew the shows became plagued by an unwanted following of white power skinheads. (A common characteristic of neo-fascists seems to be a knack for misinterpreting lyrics.) The Revolution Summer was aimed at creating music that was still personal and introspective (hardcore had always been highly emotional...Henry Rollins could emote like a motherfucker) but without the posture of toughguy aggression; music that expressed vulnerability and weakness without implying that a helping hand would be bitten. Music that was too lame for Nazis. Ultrafast tempos were slowed and melody was not unwelcome. Importantly, this was not an effort to become more mainstream accessible, but rather a lateral move toward an equally and intentionally anti-commercial sound. Emphasis remained on authentic and raw expression that defied pop sensibilities. The only obvious predecessor to this post-hardcore movement is Hüsker Dü, whose ambitious 1984 album Zen Arcade introduced more progressive songcraft to hardcore and howling vocals that (despite being mixed down beneath a bulwark of feedback) conveyed personal pain with greater honesty.

1985, Rites of Spring. The first emocore band by general consent. To my ears a fully-armed hardcore band that could tear a pansy brat to bits. Only not right now because they're barely upright, red-rimmed and choking on a fractured relationship — possibly punk rock's first breakup album. Frontman Guy Picciotto takes the mic slavering fire and hoarse from nights of anguished shouting that only made things worse. He knows that losing a love is sometimes losing yourself, and losing everything you had in mind. My favorite of all these groups.

1987, Embrace. Ian MacKaye is one of the most distinguished figures in the history of punk. He lead what many consider the definitive hardcore band (Minor Threat), invented the ascetic straight edge lifestyle, pioneered the emocore movement as founder of Embrace, currently co-fronts (with Picciotto) the enduring post-hardcore figurehead band Fugazi, and has done more to rigorously promote anti-corporate ethics for operating a successful underground band (the low-budget DIY model for self-releasing cheap albums and financing cheap tours) than probably anyone. He is also an irritating prick. This wanker is about as much fun as mother superior; a teetotaling no-slamdancing humorless squawk box for political correctness and buzzkill. Not what the Ramones had in mind. Embrace was a stepping stone between Minor Threat and Fugazi, both better outfits with stronger musical identity. While important for its frank lyrics, Embrace lacks the primary virtue of MacKaye's other projects: The ability to mask his dick-shrinking rhetoric with loud and enjoyable music.

1994, Sunny Day Real Estate. Fast-forward to the dawn of mainstream punk, also the first publicly visible emocore. Seattle's SDRE were the first to perch delicately between post-hardcore and indie rock, an act too rare and beautiful to last. Their career was much the same, a brief flirtation with MTV while otherwise maintaining total media blackout and enigmatically refusing to perform in the state of California. The direct antecedent for most everything called emo in the 90s, SDRE were more poetic and more challenging than any of their followers. They also rocked harder. Jeremy Enigk could sing whereas Picciotto and MacKaye could only shout. His flinty voice seems to compel the rise and fall of the music, seething between a lullaby and a near-screech.

1995, Texas is the Reason. The first appearance of surging pop melodies — a truly transitional band composed of former NY-hardcore musicians shooting for the spotlight in the post-Dookie scramble, only to backpedal when fame threatened. I can't convince myself that Texas is the Reason contains audible hardcore influence, but they do rock well in the Pumpkins'ey way of mid-90s alternative. The saving grace of singer Garrett Klahn's nasally whine is the pinch of gravel in his throat, without which the vocals would be as clean and boring as the emo-pop imitators close on his heels... On the eve of signing to a major label, after playing to adoring capacity crowds in Europe, the band simply pulled the plug. It was the last time a so-called emo group would have any anti-commercial credentials.

1996, Weezer (Pinkerton). Everybody knows that Weezer is the poster child for emo. The only problem is that Weezer has no musical relationship to emocore at all. It's here that the usage of the term becomes inconsistent (and popular) and things only get more confused hereafter. Weezer is a hard rock band that wants to be KISS but is too embarrassed to wear the makeup so they play a garage version of Cheap Trick-inspired power pop instead and act all aw-shucks about it. (People tend to forget just how balls-out loud Rivers & co kick out the jams.) Point being that Weezer does not come from a punk background, so it's unclear why the emo label should apply. Does this mean that Cheap Trick was emo (after all, Rick Nielsen and Bun E Carlos are about the dorkiest arena rockers ever)? My theory is that SDRE and Texas is the Reason did not turn out to be the cash cows the majors wanted, but there seemed to be an audience for this emo thing, so the record execs decided that Weezer would be emo to fill the vacuum. No one had ever heard of Rites of Spring anyway.

1999, Jimmy Eat World (Clarity). Everybody knows that Jimmy Eat World is the other poster child for emo. This actually makes a bit more sense, as long as you remember that JEW put out a couple albums before their 2001 pop-punk smash hit Bleed American. Their '99 release is considered an emocore milestone, not because there is the least thing hardcore about it, but because it is the natural successor to Texas is the Reason: Polished-up soul-bearing post-post-post-hardcore. There's a bunch of plinking drum machine nonsense...I can't really listen to it. I guess it does suck. These dudes have good pop instincts, but you need a certain authenticity to cry and not seem like a whiny twat. I think they eventually figured that out, which is why we have all those perfectly fine radio singles off Bleed American with which to guiltily sing along.

2000, Dashboard Confessional. Now the shit gets ate. Somebody somewhere, probably at a music press outlet owned by a media conglomerate that owned...etc, decided to call an acoustic singer-songwriter emo. Jesus Christ. Is Jewel emo? Because the only difference between Chris Carrabba and Jewel is a nutsack (in all likelihood). That's probably significant... Originally the term was used to label displays of vulnerability that were not the norm for a particular group. Perhaps some vestige of that usage remains in that boys are eligible to be emo but girls are not. I don't know. It's all so stupid. (Full disclosure: I like this album.)

Since then the music world has been lawless. Emo gets thrown around like crap in a monkeyhouse. I hear there's a band called Paramore that has a girl singer; I wonder if they're emo... [tappity-tap] They are!? Argh! Nihilo sanctum estne? Oh, and this beats all: Apparently some claim that As I Lay Dying incorporates elements of emo. I... Whatever.


Okay, since I know you're asking, what about this screamo you've been hearing so much about? Well that, as they say in The Neverending Story, is another story.