![]() The urgent feel doesn't let up, flowing smoothly into Surrender, a fast-paced rocker best described as Thrice riffs meeting blink-182 if they had balls. Perfect opener, definite album highlight, and it simply f uckin' rocks. Again, Andrew's vox make the song with his creepy, psychotic screams in the end. This song should erase any doubts of MR's balls having finally dropped. Featuring a minor-key lead riff, haunting low/high vocal harmonies and the undeniable feel of something slowly giving way, the rage is finally unleashed when the band turns it up to 12 and promptly ROCKS your face off with a heavy-as-Fat-Albert breakdown of crashing power chords and single-note triplet patterns, culminating in the last chorus, where Aaron cuts loose his double-bass beast alongside driving, almost sepulchural shouts of "RUN! YOU CAN RUN. The chorus, especially the leering, sneering vocals, is a page torn right out of Matt Bellamy's (Muse) book, although referenced quite well. ![]() The guy has DEFINITELY improved tremendously. ![]() And when he cuts in with the seething, hissed refrain of "You should've known", you begin to see how Andrew's previously-average vocals are going to be a big factor in this new sound. Right off the bat, arpeggiated clean chording and backing piano of You Can Run, But We'll Find You suggests a different outing for MR, only to be cut off abruptly by Ryan Kienle's sinister bass note as the band joins in on a slow 6/8 beat, following with a minor-key, clean but distinctly creepy verse with guitarist/vocalist Andrew Jordan's chugging, palm-muted single-note lines building an air of tension. Matchbook Romance is your band, and Voices is the record. But strangely, it actually congeals together with your seemingly-natural ability to craft A+ hooks to produce a seriously catchy, diverse record that craps all over your past catalogue, especially the first half or so, even if it drags a bit for the last two-three songs. You like these bands SO much, your music takes key ideas and elements from all of these bands, almost to the point of biting their fecal matter but instead only licking up about 1/3 of the pile. And you like these bands and albums a lot. There's also some Dashboard, definitely a helping of Blue Album Weezer, and other various emotive types in there too. You take a 3 1/2-year break between albums, getting a lot better at your intruments and listening to a LOT of Muse ( Absolution, actually), a LOT of Gatsby's American Dream (well, Volcano, anyways), a heaping of Thrice (old stuff and a little Vheissu), Radiohead, probably a little Siamese Dream Smashing Pumpkins too. Amidst all of the mostly-derivative pop-punk and cringe-worthy emo numbers stuck in the album like sugar-sweetened turds, a few promising songs showing some REAL potential for musical maturity and growth stay the executioner's hand of Generic Pop-Punk Band Tag annihilation. A lot of the songs are almost five years old, and as a result the record is extremely uneven, especially lyrically. Then you drop your very first real full-length record. You release a quickie EP to sate the hype machine, although it was a bit whiny and unfocused, but nevertheless had some pretty riffs here and there, and a definite RAWK side intermingled with the pop-punk, almost emo-ish melodies, as well as a seriously catchy single ("The Greatest Fall Of All Time"). Then, almost instantaneously, your band is shot from relative obscurity onto arguably the biggest independent punk label in the world, personally signed by the label owner solely off of a single crap-quality demo song off your unprofessional band page, amidst a gigantic amount of hype. A dime a dozen these days, but in 1998-99, a bit more special than some bands. ![]() You have a respectable local following, a string of uninspired/ridiculous band names (Fizzlewink, The Getaway), and your band plays local clubs like The Loft, The Chance, etc., showcasing some decently-written, catchy pop-punk/screamo hybrid tunes. You're in a local band, aged 18-20, from a dingy little city of Poughkeepsie NY, to be exact.
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