In early January of 2012, I found myself on a subway. Well, not exactly. It was a PATH train from Hoboken to the World Trade Center stop in New York City, but it still has the same je ne sais quoi of an L train. I was on my way for my first day as an intern at SPIN Magazine. I don’t know how I landed that job at one of my favorite music magazines. I got lucky, I guess. It was my first post-grad internship, a chance to make it out of waiting tables at the country club that unfortunately became my full time job at the time and do something I truly enjoy. I was nervous, but I was determined to do it right.
I wanted to know EVERYTHING about SPIN. I wanted to know the ins and outs of being a real music journalist. I wanted to be part of the pitch meetings for next month’s issue. I wanted to ask Charles Aaron about his time with Bob Stinson. I wanted Christopher Weingarten to tell me how basic my taste in music was. I wanted to know everything I could before my 6 months were up.
So, for research, I bought myself the latest copy of SPIN on the shelves. It was their 2011 year-end review, and on the cover was a maniacal-looking man I had never seen before, with mascara in his eyes and a see-through wire hat on top of his bald head. The man was Damian Abraham, the lead growler of Toronto punk weirdos Fucked Up, and SPIN had named their punk rock opera David Comes to Life their album of the year, which turned 10 this past weekend on June 6.
I had no idea who these guys were. Who the fuck names their band Fucked Up? Was it some sort of gimmick? A hardcore punk rock opera? Come on, man. I almost wanted to hate the record before I even knew where to find it. Still, I was determined to figure out why SPIN had named it the best album of 2011. There had to be a good reason other than to use the tagline “One Fucked Up Year” on the cover (which is cute considering [gestures at everything happening today]). Not yet having the patience to sit through 77 minutes of music I didn’t know anything about, I downloaded just the first single from the record “The Other Shoe” as a way to dip my toes into the water.
I don’t know what I was expecting or what my premediated thoughts of hardcore punk were, but whatever it was, I don’t think there was any way to predict what I was about to hear and the connection I was about to feel. This wasn’t routine noisy hardcore punk. This music felt more deliberate in its approach, elaborate in its storytelling, and cathartic in its release. I think I hit replay before the song was even over. I needed to hear “The Other Shoe” again. More importantly, I needed to get the hell home so I could download the rest.
—
I don’t often use this newsletter to celebrate older albums. I realize not everybody is as obsessive as me about album anniversaries, especially for albums by hardcore punk bands named Fucked Up. Maybe I take too much stock into album anniversaries (clearly, otherwise I wouldn’t love writing about them), but I think recognizing these milestones is important. It validates the unique place these records live in your heart. If you’re lucky, the music will resonate just as soundly as it did when it first came out. At worst, you’ll find out how much you’ve grown and changed over the years. It’s an interesting way to measure a life.
You see, albums are like time capsules, not only for the artist within but for the listener as well. They say smell can be the most nostalgic sense we have, right? Well, I’ve always found that music can induce a stronger sense of nostalgia that is more vivid, more immersive. A great album can transport you back in time to where you were when you first heard it. You can see vignettes of memory pass through as you begin to remember where you were when you first heard it. You can practically feel the air that was once around you and the emotions you once felt. Maybe those same emotions come back. Maybe they don’t. Like an old tattoo, music can leave a mark on you that perhaps you still enjoy revisiting, or maybe you regret a little. Either way, it serves as a reminder of a moment in time where it was something you wanted to do. If it was important to you, that’s good enough reason to carry it with you (unless its some truly embarrassing or horrendous shit, in which case they make great lasers these days).
It’s crazy to me that David Comes to Life is 10 years old. I guess that means I’ve been seriously running for 10 years now (happy anniversary to my feet?). I say that because this album has been part of my running routine since I first listened to it on that PATH train on my way to the SPIN office. An album is supposed to be a good companion, no matter what you do. For me, David Comes to Life has been the soundtrack to my past decade as a runner. I can still remember what road I was running when I first put “Queen of Hearts” on a running playlist. I don’t know whether it was the outro of that song, my first experience of runners high, or some combination of both. Whatever it was, I remember feeling like I could run forever to the song. The dam burst open, we suddenly live.
I would put songs like “Life in Paper,” “Serves Me Right,” and “A Little Death” (my personal album highlights) on constant rotation in my running playlists. When training for my first Broad Street Run in Philadelphia, a 10 miler that runs in a straight line right through the heart of the city, I ran to all of David Comes to Life. It kept me occupied, and more importantly, it kept me going.
I can’t stress enough how much of an anomaly this album is. Not many bands - let alone hardcore punks - were making albums like this. They still aren’t. The closest comparison I can make is if Green Day at their craziest made Decemberist album, and that comparison sucks because both those bands suck. David Comes to Life is on a different level. The world it creates is unlike anything I’ve listened to since.
The story itself doesn’t make a whole ton of sense, but that doesn’t really matter. Rock operas rarely do. It’s basically this: David, an anxious boy who works at a lightbulb factory in England in the 70s, meets an activist named Veronica, and the two fall in love. The two build a bomb as a form of protest and attempt to bomb the factory, but the bomb kills Veronica, leaving David grieving and wondering what the purpose of their love was in the first place. From there, we also encounter the narrator named Octavio (apparently), who pokes and prods David and ends up being the villain in the whole thing. It’s… a lot, and it gets fuzzier from there, but… well… you get the picture.
I always found David to be a sympathetic character, relatable even. I know what it’s like to not trust something good in your life, to wait for the other shoe to drop. Growing up Irish-Catholic will do that to a person. If you listen close enough, you’ll find plenty of relatable nuggets about love, heartbreak, anxiety, and grief within David Comes to Life, but mostly, for me, it’s the rush of the music that keeps the album together. It’s what keeps me coming back. When I wasn’t focusing on the story during a run, I would let the noise drive me home. Each song is bright and primal, with seemingly endless riffs and hooks. It’s a record that swings for the fences and smacks it into the parking lot where the tailgaters are still chugging their PBRs. The ferocious energy of every song on David Comes to Life has carried and invigorated me through endless runs. I hope I never tire of it. I never want that feeling to go away.
On “Running on Nothing,” the titular track for this newsletter, Abraham wonders aloud “why make this journey again and again?” It’s a question I posed in the first post of this newsletter, and it’s one that I may never truly find the answer to. I mean, we all just kinda figure it out, don’t we? Life is a winding trail, not a straight one. I suppose the ‘why’ doesn’t really matter. The narrative doesn’t always make sense. It doesn’t have to.
Ten years since the album’s release, I find myself in an entirely different situation than when this album first found me. For one thing, it’s the beginning of June, and I’m in a parking lot warming up for an evening run. A lot has changed since I listened to “The Other Shoe” for the first time on that PATH train commute. That’s just how it goes, y’know? A decade of life feels both like a lifetime and the blink of the eye at the same time.
I don’t normally run in the evening except for winter when daylight is hard to find, but we’re in the middle of a heatwave in Philadelphia, so unless you want to wake up at the butt crack of dawn to run (I don’t), the early evenings are the best times to run. It’s peaceful. The bikers that usually terrorize the running trails are done for the night, replaced by walkers holding hands or dog leashes. The sun still sits at the edge of the horizon, still providing enough light to see all around you. It’s warm, but not overbearing. For a hot (almost) summer run, it’s just right. On this particular run this evening, I decide to put on David Comes to Life to celebrate its 10th anniversary, just like I did sitting on that train all those winters ago. The opening curtain of “Let Her Rest” enters like a lightbulb flickering to life. I ease into my run, breathe in the humid summer air, and I feel as invigorated by this album as I did a decade ago. I’m not sure where the next ten years will take me, what new roads or trails I might encounter, but I know that David Comes to Life will always be there.
__
IT KEEPS YOU RUNNING: Music for Your Miles
Music and running go hand-in-hand. Here’s what you should be putting on your running playlist this week.
95 Bulls – “Young Love”
The 1995 Chicago Bulls were right there. They were this close to the NBA Final that year but missed out on advancing to face the Rockets. It turns out they needed a little bit of juice, and perhaps an element of unpredictability. In comes Dennis Rodman, the talented eccentric who helped turn the ‘95 Bulls team into the NBA Championship-winning ‘96 Bulls. Without Rodman, maybe the Bulls go on to win a championship at some point, but they wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.
Now, if Dennis Rodman was a punk rock band, he would be 95 Bulls. Ya dig? 95 Bulls are a real-life band from Brooklyn, NY with killer sound (and band name!), and are just as larger-than-life and eccentric as Rodman. They’re also a dream team much like Bulls of 90s basketball, comprised of starters from Ashjesus, Bipolar, Jelly Kelly, The Mystery Lights and Smock. There’s a manic, raw energy to their music, like a combo of B-52s and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs if they chugged Red Bulls and listened to Sheer Mag.
“We’re finally off the bench and ready to start the season,” the band told Bands Do Brooklyn back in October. “These songs are a lot about being pent up during quarantine.” Yeah, based on the tracks they’ve released so far – “Crazy,” “Big Fight,” and their latest “Young Love” – they took the pandemic personally. At the center of it all is vocalist Emily Ashenden, an absolute force whose voice will posterize you to oblivion. Based on recent Instagram videos of their live show, she along with the rest of the band look like their a force on stage. Here’s hoping they make it down to Philly (I feel like they would kill it at Ortlieb’s). Until then, get these guys on your running playlist, and [Bill Murray voice] let’s go Bulls!
—
Be sure to follow the Running On Nothing Spotify Playlist here.