January 26, 2006
Critic's Notebook
In the Wake of Grunge, a Rock Culture Clash
By KELEFA SANNEH
The New York Times
What does mainstream American rock 'n' roll sound like in 2006? On radio stations across the country, it sounds like two things at once. Sometimes you hear the never-ending aftershocks of grunge; plenty of nth-generation alt-rock bands are still following the trail blazed by Nirvana and others. And sometimes you hear the still-burgeoning sound of emo, the sentimental punk offshoot; plenty of fresh-faced, girl-obsessed boys are finding ways to woo listeners beyond the confines of the Warped Tour. This is a culture clash that's also a musical generation gap: the 90's versus the 00's. (Sadly, it's starting to look as if the current decade will never get a pronounceable name.)
You don't hear much talk about grunge these days, yet the sounds of the 1990's have endured, along with some of that decade's most perplexing fashion statements. (For starters: wool hats, worn indoors.) The veterans persist: Nine Inch Nails, Foo Fighters and Audioslave (formed from the remnants of Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden) all find themselves near the top of the rock 'n' roll heap. And a horde of popular but unheralded bands continue to crank out hits by recycling the mildly disaffected sound of 90's guitar rock: Nickelback, Seether and all the rest. Right now, the Florida band Shinedown is responsible for one of the country's most popular rock songs, a vaguely Soundgardenish power ballad called "Save Me."
While neo-grunge hasn't quite gone away, emo hasn't quite arrived. In 2005, emo bands ranging from fair (Hawthorne Heights) to good (Fall Out Boy) to great (My Chemical Romance) enjoyed banner years and earned spots on rock radio playlists. But emo has yet to produce a block-busting, stadium-filling band like Creed or Linkin Park. And so instead of conquering the rock mainstream, emo bands have to share it with their more old-fashioned rivals. And because no subgenre is triumphant, mainstream rock seems a bit lifeless; there's a vacuum at the top. Not coincidentally, rock radio itself is in something of a slump. (In New York, K-Rock, 92.3 FM, recently rebranded itself a talk station, Free FM, during the week. Rock fans have to wait for "Free Rock Weekends.")
The latest emo band hoping for a blockbuster is Yellowcard, the clean-scrubbed, violin-enhanced group responsible for one of the best-selling emo CD's of all time â?? which is to say, so far. The band's 2003 album, "Ocean Avenue" (Capitol), sold about 1.7 million copies, thanks mainly to the sing-along title track, which had a crunchy guitar line and a big, hopeful refrain: "If I could find you now, things would get better."
On Tuesday night Yellowcard came to Irving Plaza to celebrate the release of a new album, "Lights and Sounds" (Capitol), which suggests that the emo elite is a bit like triple-A baseball: apparently the only thing better than getting in is getting out. This is a CD meant to show that Yellowcard isn't merely an emo band, that its songs aren't merely odes to girlfriends real and imaginary. (As if there's anything wrong with any of that.) The band's singer, Ryan Key, told one interviewer, "We took the opportunity to show people that, hey, we like to make real music." Which tells you something, perhaps, about the inferiority complex that afflicts lots of emo bands.
In fact, that inferiority complex is central to the appeal of bands like Yellowcard. Compared to the brooding but swaggering men in a band like Shinedown, the members of Yellowcard seem appealingly boyish: lightweight, not heavyweight. In the howling sound of 90's rock and neo-90's rock, self-loathing is a constant. (That Shinedown song is written in the voice of an addict, begging, "Someone save me, if you will/ And take away all these pills.") But those raspy, slightly guttural voices and those swaggering guitar riffs also suggest aggression, even anger. By contrast, the music of, say, Fall Out Boy is more nasal than guttural, more awkward than angry. (Especially to anyone who's seen the music video starring a lovesick boy who is self-conscious about the antlers growing out of his head.) To listeners on either side of rock's latest generational divide, there's a big difference â?? the difference of a decade â?? between being a loser and being a twerp.
Among other things, "Lights and Sounds" is Yellowcard's attempt to split that difference. The violinist, Sean Mackin, has evolved into the lead string-section arranger. The band's music has gotten a bit slower and a bit more stoic. And Mr. Key is aiming for bigger themes in his lyrics, although his ambition sometimes leads him to write lines like "No one's hands are big enough to hold onto this fear." (It could be the tag line for a singularly inept horror movie.) The album includes a duet with Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks and a lame antiwar ballad, "Two Weeks From Twenty," which sounds suspiciously like Green Day; the lyrics echo the plot of the video for Green Day's "Wake Me Up When September Ends."
Luckily, Yellowcard is still pretty good at the thing it has always been pretty good at: writing sweeping, upbeat punk-rock love songs. At Tuesday's concert, the old hits got big roars, but so did the new album's title track, which is also the soundtrack to a Verizon Wireless commercial that was shown before the set began. (This decade's bands are even less shy about corporate sponsorship than last decade's bands were.) And although the new CD had been in stores for only a few hours, some of the other new songs also seemed like surefire sing-alongs, none more than the catchy lament called "Down on My Head," which may yet convert a few Nickelback fans. (As Yellowcard's accountants surely know, that's no insult.)
In a lot of ways, these twin traditions have lots in common, starting with loud guitars and plaintive lyrics. And it may be inevitable that the distinction between 90's rock and 00's rock will eventually get blurred beyond recognition. Bands like Green Day and Weezer were singing tuneful love songs long before the current emo boom, and they're still thriving now. And the emerging Orange County band Avenged Sevenfold is succeeding by pioneering an unlikely and intriguing fusion, drawing from emo while also embracing the swaggering look and sound of 1980's metal.
You won't find anything nearly so unexpected on the Yellowcard album, though you will find a hint of the anxiety that pervades the rock mainstream these days. Listen closely and you can hear the strain of a band struggling to sound as big as its aspirations. Listen even more closely and you can hear something else: the quiet sucking sound of a rock 'n' roll vacuum, waiting â?? still â?? to be filled.
