For the past year, I've been inexplicably haunted by Jawbreaker.
It's inevitable that musically inclined people of a certain age and sensibility feel very, very strongly about Jawbreaker; I, by contrast, have always felt a certain ambivalence towards the band. Still, every barbeque this year had a secret but familiar soundtrack, a trip to my favorite bar on what is usually metal night yielded all of Dear You, multiple friends' Facebook statuses have all urged me that "it sounded good, I felt ashamed, I knew every drum fill."
The moment anyone has stopped to be nostalgic about anything, the word "Jawbreaker" is uttered.
For my part, I've never been afraid to embrace the next thing, and when the next thing after Jawbreaker was Jets To Brazil, I suddenly got it. If the next year of my life is filled with thinly veiled references to Orange Rhyming Dictionary, I'm all for it; until then, I'll just take comfort in knowing that these songs have aged as well as I have.
I am not ashamed to admit that I followed Blake around Park Slope. The first time I saw him was at the pharmacy. I was buying toilet paper and I followed him at least 10 blocks. The next I saw him buying bagels at La Bagel Delight.
ReplyDeleteThe next time I see him I think I won't look twice.
JTB sounds god awful outside of the 90s.
I'll repeat: god awful.
ReplyDelete