Why one of the best bands of the last thirty years is derided as a teenage mistake.
AFI deserves more than, “Oh, yeah, I liked them for a minute back in the day.”
I’m ready to stake my reputation to say it plainly: AFI has been consistently making good to excellent music for thirty years now. While maybe they’ll make a grassroots drift into respectability like Rush, I’m not holding my breath. So the question is – what could possibly be so offensive about a group of reportedly nice guys making good music without tabloid drama, without fistfights on stage all while being paragons of artistic self direction?
Anyone under thirty is asking themselves – who? But the rest of us have a gut reaction:
Oh my god. The asymmetrical hair.
Their punk stuff was better.
You mean My Chemical Romance lite?
Really? They’re still kicking around?
Hardcore will never die but you will
One of these things is not like the other.
AFI graduated from Gilman punk roots to being the weird loners of the Warped Tour set. Outside of the Bay Area, they found their initial national fan base among the NOFX and Pennywise-loyal. Hardcore kids hated them – as far as I can tell – because they had the audacity to have a logo that said “East Bay Hardcore”. Yes, AFI hit harder than the Green Day clones on Lookout, but they still played hardcore punk. They utilized melodies – unlike “hardcore” sans adjective that goes chugga-chugga-chugga- BREAKDOWN gang vocal “You can’t hold us down!!!” Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Of course, you probably know AFI from their major label period unless you happened to be the exact right age to have hit punk shows or the right Warped Tour. When Sing the Sorrow hit shelves, punk was making one of its periodic crossovers into the mainstream. This time the public branded it ‘emo’ despite a tenuous connection with the term. Roughly, the class of 2004 was My Chemical Romance, AFI, and Good Charlotte. One of these things is not like the other.
A brief tale to illustrate the time period. In prehistoric times, I found myself chatting with Wes Eisold and Tim Cossar, then of American Nightmare, when these crossover emo bands came up. The AN guys hated Good Charlotte with the fury of “Miseria Cantare,” but adored AFI. They didn’t praise AFI’s music, but stated that the band made no compromises, were making the music they wanted to make, and found success while maintaining integrity. In other words AFI created the exact sound and look they wanted, the zeitgeist match was coincidental.
And that makes sense: hardcore fans love nothing more than some quality gate-keeping: my scene-friends spoke in hushed tones for years about the moron who wore a Papa Roach jacket in the pit. By contrast, a touring band acknowledges honor amongst punks because they know the grind of touring and the real commercial pressures of being in a band.
Now integrity is one thing. Bringing the goods is another. When I saw them the first time, I was aging out of the Warped Tour. But they broke down my defenses with the intensity of their ferocious goth attack. I’ve witnessed all manner of supposedly peak performers, Nick Cave, Funeral-era Arcade Fire, Ted Leo, Sonic Youth, Ian McKaye. And AFI may be the best.
So what went wrong? They came at the tail-end of a generation where “sell-out” was a commercially reasonable concept. They brought the drama, but didn’t ever give you an indication that they might be joking. They never returned to the sound that brought their biggest success. And those that criticize them most fiercely are likely those who loved them the most.
The Wrong Kid Died
Sincerely is the difference between art and cosplay.
As an elder millennial, I know the deal: Indie music gets fawning Pitchfork praise, emo is a punching bag. AFI fell on the emo side and were rising stars, so they might as well have stolen Ryan Schreiber’s cat. It was a glorious time for gatekeeping, even if “embodying New York” is the world’s dullest gate.
But despite high-level magical thinking, elder millennials did age. When younger millennials assumed editorial positions at music publications, My Chemical Romance was swiftly reappraised, while AFI were – and largely remain – stranded in the critical wasteland.
Even granting “Helena” its due, AFI bodies MCR on every artistic front in my book. So why the disparity? A few conjectures: MCR is pop with black lipstick; AFI kept one foot in punk. Because MCR never had true punk bona fides, there was no one to cry “sellout” – they were market-ready from day one. Gerard Way’s theatricality could be written off as messy personality, or later reframed as camp. Havok, by contrast, is a straight-edge cipher: too controlled to implode, too composed to wink. When his performances veered into the uncomfortable, they stayed there, unmediated, unironic, inescapably sincere.
If someone mocked you for liking MCR, you could always retreat into irony – I like it because it’s camp. The dead seriousness of “Love Like Winter” or “…. now home is nowhere” offers no such refuge. But sincerity is the difference between art and cosplay.
What if no one’s calling?
Critics that reward myth making more than music making
MCR is the lazy comparison, born out of little more than temporal proximity and new fan overlap. A much better one is Echo and the Bunnymen.
Put aside the critical reputations of the bands for a moment. Both emerged from punk-related scenes. Both have vocalists that are loved and hated in equal measure (obviously I think the haters are wrong in both cases). Both release dscrappy early classics that some argue is the peak (Crocodiles–>Porcupine :: Black Sails –> Art of Drowning). Both put out their hallowed classic, followed by their huge pop album (Ocean Rain –> S/T :: Sing the Sorrow –> Decemberunderground). Then both entered into a lengthy period after said pop album where the public was unsure what to make of them – the wilderness period.
The bands took very different paths in their wilderness periods, though, that cause the comparison to break down. Echo’s post-peak period contains some fine tunes, but isn’t particularly loved (or heard) by anyone. AFI never stopped exploring, never took an extended hiatus, and kept all their classic-period members. In other words Echo grew their myth by staying crystallized in their peak era. AFI has never stayed still long enough for myth to take root. Are they goth punks? Or emo (they would say no)? Or sleek alterna-rockers? New wavers? No one can say.
Earlier I said to put aside critical consensus. But why should we? Is there really something so different about these bands that they should be treated with such difference? If Havok called Sing the Sorrow the finest album ever recorded would we start to think that might be the case? The cynical conclusion is that AFI should have put more energy into self-mythologizing than creation.
I ain’t no goddamn son of a bitch – I’ve thought about it baby
Just because you’re young and dumb when you loved something doesn’t mean it’s dumb
My AFI fandom also made several twists and turns. Obviously a sample size of one is dubious. Still, I’ll consider my own relationship to the band’s music to see if it sheds light on the critical conundrum on AFI.
AFI is the last band I got into before really committing to indie (the summer of 2001, my CD player expressed a lot of confusion flipping between Art of Drowning, Slanted and Enchanted, and Amnesiac). When I turned full-indie, I snobbed hard. Within a year or two, the Strokes and Interpol were too poppy – too “scene” for me. Instead, I chased the abrasive sounds of the bands in the Sonic Youth universe. So, I was aware when Sing the Sorrow came out, but uninterested. Of course the hardcore kids loved pointing out the kids moshing in the video to the “Leaving Song Part II” were supposedly jamming out to piped-in Hatebreed. At that point I rolled my eyes at the hardcore infighting and put on Wolf Eyes instead.
AFI briefly popped back into my orbit five years later when I heard “Miss Murder” on my roommate’s Rock Band game. At the time, I had no problem listening to M83 or the National, but I felt wronged, somehow, that AFI put out a song as poppy “Love Like Winter” (though I confess to putting it on a mix cd). I’ll own my mistake, I wasn’t willing to meet the band where they were at. My snobbery said “AFI means goth punk to me – and if they don’t meet that definition, they’re wrong.”
Ten years later, I spotted an advertisement that AFI was playing in town, and on a whim, asked my wife if she wanted to see them. After all, they were one of the best live bands I’d ever seen. I was curious to see if they still had it. By that point, I was more concerned with my kids’ math homework than whether what I listened to synced with any given critics’ best-of list. To prep, I did a deep dive and realized: while my 18 year old self was wrong about many things – AFI was not one of them. I want you to consider that the final word about AFI doesn’t have to come at the hands of someone clutching Modern Vampires of the City. Just because you loved something when you were young and dumb doesn’t meant what you loved is dumb.
Blasphemy and Excess
Letting AFI back into your life may be the first step to self-acceptance
We’ve poked around at a few of the factors that led to AFI’s critical isolation. However, the band isn’t the only participant in this story. Maybe it’s time to turn the camera around.
Your reaction to AFI may say more about you than them. Their harshest critics fall into a few camps. We’ve discussed the D-Plan sophisticates who are too cool for school because AFI fails to incorporate the influence of late-period Talk Talk. We’ve touched on those who felt betrayed that their beloved secret became popular. Let’s look at the group that is the most unhinged in their dislike: those that deeply loved them but with a caveat. I’m talking about those who fully bought into the aesthetic, those who confuse hating their teenage selves with hating what spoke to them as teenagers.
This makes sense – AFI rose up in scenes where the music was part of a broader lifestyle. But when young people move on from a lifestyle, it’s marked by a radical break. For most, you don’t just stop being punk, you hate that you ever were a punk.
And, if I’m being honest, that’s where the animosity stems from. This type of ex-fan takes one look at Havok’s hair in the “Miss Murder” video and tortures themselves with memories of their own black nail polish, Beetlejuice outfits, and pilfered eyeliner. Now that these fans are climbing towards mid-level positions in accounting, they don’t want to remember how deeply they bought into the transcendence AFI was selling.
Now, I’m not trying to be your guru, but letting AFI back into your life may be the first step for self-acceptance.
… now home is nowhere
AFI’s ultimate curse has been endurance
As I age, I find it increasingly important to celebrate artists who continue to challenge themselves. AFI is part of my unholy trinity of artists, along with Boris and David Bowie: they all had amazing runs throughout their entire careers but faced critical shutout for large swaths of it.
All three pulled out of an Echo wilderness period to embark on an era (or eras in the case of Bowie) of uncompromising art. That’s why AFI should be celebrated. Every second of every performance and recorded work displays commitment to pursuing their craft. Silver Bleeds the Black Sun is unlikely to change an entire generation of music listeners, but I guarantee there will be at least one person who hears “Holy Visions,” takes the deep dive into AFI, and has their life changed. They remind us with their new album that in our commodified, over-optimized world, there is still space for breaking the norm. There are artists who follow their creative vision for their whole lives – not just in their twenties.
This Time Imperfect
An annotated playlist
To conclude, if you simply don’t like, or think you don’t like AFI’s music. Here are my recommendations, one track per album:
“A Single Second” – this is the first time you get the sense they’re really trying to do something different by melding vocal melody, brutality and speed.
“The Prayer Position” – back to a wall, this is my all-time favorite track of theirs, except I’d cut out Dexter Holland’s background vocals (his voice takes me straight to “Pretty Fly for a White Guy”) Regardless, the real Alma maters of the singers are narratively perfect – Dexter Holland is to USC as Davey Havok is to dropping out of Berkeley to follow your dreams.
“Days of the Phoenix” – everyone loves this song. If you’ve never heard it – just throw away your expectations and enjoy it as a little slice of amped-up perfection.
“… now home is nowhere” – people flip over post-rock, but few pop/rock songs have a climax as thrilling as the vocal avalanche at the end of this song.
“Love Like Winter” – this is not an insult: if a Disney songwriter was commissioned to write a hardcore song, but had never heard the genre, just seen the videos, this is the song they would. You don’t generally want a romantic song to have gang vocals – but this one overwhelms you.
“Darling, I want to Destroy You” – do you want a Jimmy-Eat-World-sounding AFI song?” “No.” “Wrong.”
“I Hope You suffer” – yes, it’s grim, and I don’t believe in the sentiment. But when the second melody bubbles up in the bridge it’s undeniable.
“Aurelia” – full disclosure. I have a daughter named Aurelia. She’s not actually named after the song, but she doesn’t know that.
“Escape From LA” – who knew that they had a sense of humor? Good thing they wrapped it in a high-octane new-wave blast.
“Behind the Clock” – the new album is pretty single-minded in sticking to an ABABCB structure, but the band seems to have taken that as a challenge to instill excellence and differentiation within those bounds. This song rides on a ridiculously head-nodding groove from the rhythm section, amazing guitar mangling in the first verse, and David Lynch inspired lyrics – it’s basically my platonic ideal of a rock song.
In conclusion: Throw away your expectations. Throw away expectations a cynical critical apparatus taught you to have – let the music overwhelm you.
