 POOR little rock'n'roll.
When hip-hop and rap became the flag bearers for anti-establishment, stick-it-to-the-man posturing, rock was
cast out into the cold. It's largely due to this
reason that much of the last decade has seen
rock music desperately struggling for previously effortless meaning, a need to not just
flirt but marry and procreate with displays of
introspection and emotion that border on the
crass. And don't even get me started on how
"emo" has become a legitimate genre.
Dashboard Confessional is the poster child
for this devolution. 'Tis an earnest outfit that
marries decent punk rock chops to intensely
personal wordplay. Dusk and Summer doesn't
stray far from that formula, but in the words
of a generation past, it just ain't got no soul.
Yes, I enjoyed Vindicated as much as the rest of
you. It was clever and heartfelt in the same way
that made Hands Clean become a guilty pleasure.
But remove any hint of subtlety and you get Dusk
and Summer, typical of a genre so proud of the fact
that it wears its heart on its sleeve that it went out
and manufactured about four million T-shirts to celebrate.
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