The Wonder Years, Joyce Manor and Suzi gave us a triple-dose of emotionally driven pop punk at the Northcote Theatre.
I’m sure I’m not alone in this feeling, but I’ve never loved music as much as I did in high school. It must be something to do with the malleable sense of identity, the pervasive melancholy and the monotony of being old enough to have big dreams but still too young to go out and achieve them that makes lyrics hit so much harder.
I’ve been lucky enough to see some of the bands I idealised as a kid on stage later in life and it’s always felt kind of uneasy, like returning to your childhood home after years away. It’s the same as it was, but not quite. It closes the gap between the past and the present, forcing you to look squarely at how much things have changed since back in the day.
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Anyways, clearly I’d had too many margaritas before heading to The Wonder Years, Joyce Manor and Suzi at the Northcote Theatre, because I was well and truly in my feelings. But I guess that’s kind of the point of emo music, isn’t it?
We arrived just in time to see Joyce Manor take the stage, ripping through songs without too much time for chit-chat. Singer Barry Johnson had a permanent half-smile on his face, and the band, clearly well practiced after years on the road, was locked in.
The audience response, however, was lacklustre. I wanted mosh pits reminiscent of the 2010 basement days; I got black-clad thirty-somethings nodding along, gripping cans of beer. Such is life I guess, but I felt a pang of disappointment for my teenage self – was this evidence that the things I used to love were old and boring now?
Still, Beach Community, Heart Tattoo, Catalina Fight Club, Constant Headache… so many bangers, it was hard to be upset about anything.
Luckily, my confidences were restored when The Wonder Years took the stage and the crowd sprung into action. It turns out they were still down to party, they were just waiting for the main event.
From the aptly-named opener Came Out Swinging (side note: I love when a band has the balls to start with one of their biggest songs), the energy was high and the pit was full of sweaty men bouncing around and getting in touch with their feelings. We love to see it!
Singer Dan Campbell (affectionately referred to as Soupy) broke up the barrage of music with stories of his kids at home, his gratitude for the longevity of their career and his love for Australian audiences, delivered like slam poetry.
He was open with the fact that while their earlier works were more popular, he believes their latest record, The Hum Goes On Forever, is their best one yet.
I thought about this as I listened to the final run of songs, about how maybe change isn’t such a bad thing. Time passing means evolution, a sharpening of skills and a sense of emotional stability that brings about a more well-rounded kind of appreciation for music; less volatile and obsessive, but just as real.
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