Give Up The Roast is a column that collides delicious caffeine with wild thrashing a la a bi-monthly coffee and punk album pairing—the perfect combination for perking you up during that midday slump. Here, columnist Shannon Shreibak investigates all of the notes, from fruit rinds and spices to perfect fifths smothered in grinding distortion. So come on all you coffee shop novelists, DIY freaks, and connoisseurs of fine taste—keep your mind here in the GUTR and catch a buzz with us.
For every person who feels that music was made to fill in every crack and fault we see in ourselves, there is a sacred band that leaves our tributes hollow and our songs of praise silent. These are the bands that embody a presence rather than a soundtrack. American Nightmare—the first hardcore band that I “discovered”—is one of those bands. Wes Eisold and his band of Boston brothers not only spurred my foray into hardcore, but they also served as healthy inspiration for this column. If you need a refresher on AN’s ties to GUTR, here’s a quick lil explanation, courtesy of GUTR #1.
While I’m sure the title of this column has clued you in plenty, I feel inclined to dole out a brief explanation of this little passion project of mine. I’m a gal who loves punk music and its many incarnations. I’m also known as a coffee fanatic and a “pretty much completely reprehensible human being without it” (real quote, true story). One day– blitzed on caffeine and blaring American Nightmare in my living room — I realized, hey, coffee and punk aren’t THAT different, are they? Coffee and punk stem from a supreme source (coffee, a bean; punk, from rock ‘n roll) and have splayed into tangential subcategories. Both are assertive and commanding in their own rights. And then I came up with a neat pun combining both of these loves. For the very first GUTR installation, I rep the brews and beats that ignited the fire I burn for the strongest coffee and loudest music.
With the band’s hallowed place in my life came a fear that I could never expound its importance in my life. Paralyzed by my own idolatry, I tiptoed around writing this column for as long as I could stand it. But as nostalgia overtakes me along with the inescapable chill of winter, I am left thinking of no other album, surer than ever of its timelessness.
BEHIND THE CURTAIN (BACKGROUND)
“Boston is the birthplace of American rebellion. Whether it’s dumping a boatload of crappy, overrated British tea in the river or the pummeling garage rock supremacy of the Real Kids, Nervous Eaters, or SS Decontrol, we got it right the first time, and everyone else took notice,” Dan Harrington, vocalist of The Fistula vocalist and PATAC label owner once told Pitchfork. AN pridefully follows the tracks laid by its hardcore forefathers with feverish vocals, heavy-handed instrumentation and fearless experimentation.
An album revolving around the dominion and worship of music, “We’re Down Til We’re Underground” pays reverence to the bands that built the scene that they dominated in the early aughts while creating a work of reverence for young punks and devoted fans. Vocalist Wes Eisold’s urging to “Sing everything you’ve ever loved / For everything that you will one day love / Long live the sound of desperation / Long live the stereo of destruction” and crucifix-gripping line, “My gospel’s from the Church of Stereo Activists,” catapulting the album to a seminal echelon.
BRASS TACKS (THE COFFEE)
While Boston’s namesake style of coffee would make most caffeine purists shudder, The City on a Hill does know how to crank brews that contend with its grating hardcore output. Few coffees can pack in the wickedly staunch hometown pride and dark undercurrent of Boston hardcore quite like Barrington Coffee. Bringing farm direct coffees to Beantown since ’93, Barrington stocks an expansive selection of brews, ranging from boot-heavy bourbon varietals to sunbleached blonde roasts.
Naturally, a coffee pairing with Boston’s loudest lost boys falls on the dark side of the spectrum; that’s why I’m sipping on a cup of Barrington’s Ketiara as I wax philosophical on AN’s final album. The blend yields a syrupy body that packs in rich and earthy flavors, ranging from smooth chocolate to succulent cherries and earthy stone fruit. Treated with a unique light roasting method, Ketiara is just as delicious black is it is “Boston style” (with cream until it reaches a light blonde shade). Time to get caffeinated and get aggro, my dear GUTR’s.
WHITE NOISE (THE MUSIC)
As American Nightmare’s final record (they disbanded a year after its release, until they rewarded patient fans with a wildly welcome reunion), “We’re Down Til We’re Underground” serves as a compendium of songs both old and new, but the sum of its 13 parts is a bludgeoning collection of bleeding heart thrash fare.
The record kicks off with one of AN’s most experimental tracks, a slow-burning ambient rock number appropriately titled “(It’s Sometimes Like It Never Started).” As steely acoustic guitar builds with tense snare and electrified accompaniment, the quartet begins to tighten the coils, to be unleashed into barn burner “Love American.” One of Wes Eisold’s most frenetic vocal displays, the chorus “Love is all that we ever had” bounces across guitar jabs and knuckle-breaking backbeat. The song balances sonic aggression with lyrical fragility, most evident in the refrain “Desperate and true / Thinking of you / Borrowed and blue / Sinking with you.”
While the album’s attack-and-release musicality keeps listeners at arms length, its Eisold’s rumination on lost love and isolation that lures listeners back into his bound and bleeding world. Anthemic tracks like “Young Hearts Be Free Tonight (Viva Love)” and “Crush of the Year” weave a tender bloodline through gloriously stormy musical backing. AN skates into glimmers of restraint with “Crime Scene” and “AEIOU,” tracks that display the band’s willingness to toy with tempo without forfeiting any panache. With his inimitable ability to balance lyrical brevity and weight, Eisold jibes “prove me wrong / prove you give a f***” throughout “Crime Scene.” What he doesn’t realize is that no one is out to prove him wrong—we just want to be wear his color of official right.
Column by Shannon Shreibak. Go forth and be loud with her on Twitter @ShannonShreibak.