As I inch ever closer to 42 years old, I still love discovering new music. But thankfully, I have zero tolerance for gatekeeping or scoring scene points. I like what I like, and I enjoy writing and talking about it. But I do not enjoy long, drawn-out debates about what’s good or not.
I’m no longer interested in picking fights that pit my subjective tastes against yours. Unfortunately, that was such an intrinsic part of my personality for far so long, I’m over it. These days, I’m much more interested in nuance, the corners, the in-between places, and the liminal spaces. Don’t give me a treatise telling me what you think I should think and why.
Tell me how the music makes you feel and why.
Isn’t that the point of music? Isn’t that how most people talk about it? Sure, it’s fun to parse melodies, harmonies, instrumentation, musical ability, and production quality. But most of us – even the most jaded music critic and nerdy fan – still talk about how a transcendent song or lyric can simultaneously hit them in their head, heart, or guts.
Honestly, that’s why I’ve always been drawn to the idea of emo as a genre. No matter its iteration, generation, or presentation, I’ve actively sought out music that isn’t afraid of its feelings. Regardless if it’s sacred or secular, music has always reflected our visceral selves. So it’s never made sense to me when people decried emo simply because it showcased people’s feelings.
So, I’m always happy to crack open a piece of art like I Won’t Care How You Remember Me by Tigers Jaw.
It makes me feel all giddy and fuzzy inside! Which is exactly what I want from most of the music I enjoy. Across 11 pristine tracks, the Scranton, PA-based quartet deliver emo-tinged power-pop, best described as the cathartic pursuit of emotional clarity. Released on Hopeless Records, this is the sort of traditional guitar-led rock I will always keep close to my heart – because it reflects my deepest beliefs about music.
Punky energy abounds, but I’m also enamored with the ‘80s alterna-pop heart on display. The tube-centric guitar buzz provides a sturdy bed for the delicious arrangements, and it gets my heart pumping. The smashing rhythm section of Colin Gorman on bass and Teddy Roberts on drums kept me grooving in my chair, complete with big swooping runs and kinetic flams and fills.
However, it’s the shared lead vocals and occasional harmonies of Ben Walsh and Brianna Collins that connect with me most. Together, they provide a refreshing warmth that’s earnest without being cheesy. Additionally, Collins’ sassy, yet secure keyboard fills to compliment the mood of grownup reflection, and the music could probably use more of it!
It would be easy to talk about the influence of The Promise Ring, Weezer, and Jimmy Eat World. Especially on fun tunes like “Hesitation,” Can’t Wait Forever,” and “Commit.” You can call it a rich dose of heartfelt irony. However, once I digest “Cat’s Cradle,” “Lemon Mouth,” and “Anniversary,” I’m ready to geek out about all the Veruca Salt, Cars, and Fountains of Wayne I hear. Give me more zing and pizzaz even when I’m sad, please and thank you.
I Won’t Care How You Remember Me positively pulses with purpose and passion, even when the mood sinks to its saddest depths. Tigers Jaw provides everything you might want from vintage rock music: crisp sonics, thoughtful lyricism, and emotional maturity. Yet, the music still bounces, zips, and zags, sharpening with each consecutive spin.
It’s vintage emo with a bit of whimsical flirtatiousness, and I’m here for it.
I like how its mature, but not moping. Resolved, but never resigned. It’s nice to know I can wallow in my feelings without the songs being equally forlorn.
In essence, I will always connect with music that possesses a resonant and authentic emotional core.
Moreover, I refuse to apologize for being drawn to that style of music or the people who make it. So I thank Tigers Jaw for pushing themselves in new directions on their fifth album. In doing that, I can discover a different way of processing my feelings instead of sitting still in what I know.
That might be the best description of where I stand in my relationship to music. Yes, I want familiar music that makes me feel certain feelings, but I have plenty of time-tested favorites for nostalgia trips. I have no interest in rehashing old battles with my friends. Instead, I welcome new sensations that give me room for fresh expressions of my feelings, especially from artists who engage their own emotions with honesty.