Blink-182
Album by Blink-182
Released 18 November 2003
Pop Punk
Produced by Jerry Finn
Rating – 9/10
Potentially the best mainstream pop punk album of all time.
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Perspective is a good thing, and if that isn’t the kind of attention-grabbing exposition that’ll keep people reading this article, I’ll try this instead: Blink-182 are back! That’s the tie-in; it’s still possible to appraise Blink’s catalogue, positively or negatively, from the nostalgia blasts of their pre-hiatus material, to whatever the hell Nine was. However, as miserably overcooked as I found their recent comeback single Edging to be (seriously, Travis Barker has a strange inability to produce drums at a sample rate appropriate for pop punk), I’m personally very happy for all of those enjoying it; hell, I’m very happy for all of the people still enjoying All the Small Things – I know I’m not.
And the reason is perspective. In June of last year, bassist Mark Hoppus – the only Blink member to appear on every album – revealed that he had been diagnosed with Stage 4 Lymphoma. He has since been declared cancer-free, and thus, the Mark, Tom and Travis show returned, leading to a classic lineup reformation that nobody will ever take for granted.
I say this with my own introductory disclaimer for a number of reasons. Around twenty years ago, I was the biggest Blink-182 fan, and I’ll never forget the fact that they were the first artist whose music I ever felt any greater emotional connection towards – I liked Eminem and Dr. Dre, but like hell am I relating to those lyrics. However, people grow, and while I’ve often tried to avoid total snobbery, there have indeed been times in my adulthood in which I’ve felt as though I’ve moved on from the juvenile chicanery of Blink-182, or even the simplicity of pop punk in general, as my taste has developed. I guessed this was growing up.
When I started this blog, one of the first series I ever wrote was an album-by-album account of each Blink-182 album. I was often very critical towards some of the band’s most iconic work; I’ve pretty much trashed Take Off Your Pants and Jacket and then some. But these albums are fun, and the nostalgia I feel for them restores that sense of fun. But wait, the band’s 2003 untitled album, that isn’t particularly fun (or at least, not in the same way); that’s the barrage of ardent thirty-two-toothed chomps that has stayed with me no matter my age. When I think of having an emotional connection to Blink-182, I think of that album.
There may be a bittersweetness to that connection. Blink-182’s untitled album was released in November 2003; I latched onto it the following year, during my initial Blink-182 hype, and as soon as you knew it, the band had “disbanded”. I was a nerdy kid in his first year of secondary school, and this band that resonated with me beyond the humour-value of music videos for Man Overboard and What’s My Age Again was kaput, leaving me with nothing but the soundtrack to WWE SmackDown vs RAW – everything’s fine as long as we’ve still got Breaking Benjamin and Powerman 5000, right? Right?
Wrong. A void had been left that wouldn’t be filled until…well…a month or two later when I started to get into music properly; learning piano/guitar, and deep-diving into the discographies of The Beatles and Pink Floyd. But at that point in time, final single Always felt like an anthem of both hope and loss; there’s that bittersweetness, that emotional connection now in the form of an impromptu low-blow.
But wounds heal, and Blink-182’s wound certainly did, as they would reform around five years later. This second period wouldn’t last too long, as Tom DeLonge would leave a few years later, to be replaced by Matt Skiba of Alkaline Trio. When I say that Blink-182 are now back, I mean the classic lineup of Mark Hoppus, Travis Barker, and Tom DeLonge, who has finally returned from all that Close Encounters of the Third Kind misadventure he’s into.
In the band’s multiple absences, I always had that album to hold dear. The band’s untitled album was the perfect tool for healing because it was a safe-handed pop punk record, much like their sophomorically-humoured albums (though even those albums have their Adam’s Songs or Stay Together For the Kids’s), but far more noteworthy was a gigantic upswing in humanisation. A Blink album had never been this personal on this level (for every breakup song, there was a Happy Holidays, You Bastard), nor had they been so experimental where production and structure is concerned. The silly twerps had grown up, and their series of Clash debut albums had finally reached its London Calling – shooting for a Sandinista might be a bit much.
Inspired by fatherhood, a herniated disc, digital recording ethics, the post-hardcore stylings of side-project Boxcar Racer, and the ever-changing, fucked-up world we live in, Tom would apply his fondness for astronomy to give the band’s untitled album an atmospheric fragrance. But alienation itself would play a stronger role than aliens, and while the untitled album may feel like one of the band’s most unified albums (some of the best and most beloved tracks feature shared lead vocals), there was far more tension than there had been prior, which has often fuelled the most powerful albums of bands’ discographies – see The Beatles’ Abbey Road.
In fact, the album’s lineup of singles has a very affirmed disposition, no straightforward cranial off-switches like The Rock Show or All the Small Things, no music videos based around streaking or blowing a budget, but jam-packed takes on sheer seriousness like Feeling This. There are aspects of Feeling This that are relaxed; the song’s chorus, sung by Mark, is as close to laid-back Latin pop as one can get without having anything to do with Latin pop. As he sings “fate fell short this time, your smile fades in the summer”, a recognisable I-V-vi-IV chord progression is ignorable; what would’ve been a naked foray of simple chords on Dude Ranch was now giving any watchers-on something more to focus on. There’s that Latin beat, and also a plethora of studio tricks completely unforeseen. Check out the highly-filtered manner in which the song starts, fading into an effects-heavy drum intro, which turns into noisy distortion once Tom’s first verse kicks in – Jerry Finn worked his ass off here. The most impressive aspect is how Tom and Mark produce their own atmosphere simply with their voices. On the final chorus, Mark sings over a doubled tempo, and Tom chimes in with “are we alone? Do you feel it? So lost and disillusioned”, emerging from the background as if stemming from a distant planet, zoomed in on gradually, closer and closer, before the song finishes with just their harmony, acapella, no backing.
The theme of Feeling This is actually sexual, but while this may have been dumbed-down and American Pied on previous albums, it appears so poetic that it becomes one with the cathartic harmonies that round the song off. Ploughing through a few surfaces, following track Obvious has nothing to enshroud, no sex for this one, instead relishing similar rasping guitar effects, a damaged companion to Tom’s dialogue of reconciliation; a response to what once was. Surely, it’s less essential than Feeling This, but it lodges itself into the tracklist perfectly; another load-shedding piece of pop punk that will feel satisfy any listener’s need to offload the weight of the world from their shoulders. Its chorus orients around a singular riff, depicting a narrow mind only somewhat willing to expand, before later choruses speed up and become occupied by descending chord progressions, sparking unity and amicability. It helps that the chorus’ lyrics aren’t set on one thought, good or bad, they’re so simple, they could be about anything – “at times like these, it’s obvious”.
But when we’re talking gems in which one notion bounces off of another, which then bounces off of another, there’s no better go-to than I Miss You. One of the band’s most recognisable singles, and another one with an opaquely simple title, I Miss You is a half-gothic, proto emo pop ballad (like much of the album is) that foreshadows Blink’s ensuing breakup, whilst containing multiple olive branches. Mark takes the first verse, referencing The Nightmare Before Christmas with an echoey depth to his voice, completely polished as if knowing that this is the ultimate effort he must make. His lyrics are all quotable, romanticising darkness in a relationship, before his haunting “I miss you” bridge is sandwiched by Tom’s verse, picking apart the devasting impact that such darkness can have on any relationship, platonic or romantic. His initial yelp of “WHERE ARE YOUUU?”, a gelled-up, punkish yelp amidst sobering, mature instrumentation is noteworthy partially comedically, but the manner in which his verse operates alone gives the song its apparent split; two voices become completely alienated from one another, but hope is restored as Tom sings “don’t waste your time on me, you’re already the voice inside my head”, and Mark responds with “I miss you”.
It’s romantic, candid, and tear-jerking, overdubbed by mild orchestral strings that warm up here-and-there. Its guitars are loudly rustic, centred around sliding, three-note melodies as chords descend. The bridge that separates the verses contains notes that ascend a scale, which later beautify the chorus over a simple I-IV chord progression. While this album is digitally-minded, I Miss You manages to certify the same moods as the rest of the tracklist – bettering them – with organically rich textures, blossoming and relaying with sincerity. Following track Violence plays around with digital effects a lot more, despite being one of the most quintessentially Blink songs of the album. While its guitars rip through a panicking chorus of “like violence, you have me, forever and after”, the song begins with a beat that resembles water droplets splashing against a clean surface, before a white noise-esque layer bridges into the first verse. Opposing Feeling This, it’s the extra-curricular stuff that is actually ignorable here, as the emo-y desolation of Tom’s lyrics and vocals takes centre stage. I’ve mentioned how cathartic many aspects of this album are, but the way in which he belts that chorus out, fit with melody and goose-bumping authenticity, is oh-so pummelling, so urgent and acute.
An interlude – a letter read by Mark Hoppus’ grandmother that her husband sent her during World War II – separates Violence and Stockholm Syndrome. Its emotively chilling piano interpolation grants it the amalgamation of wartime fear and hope-heavy affection that the reading contains. A machete-sharp contrast, Stockholm Syndrome itself kicks in with roars, initially applied by the bare bones ruff of its distorted power chords and scorned drumming, then by shared screams; Tom calls with “this is the first”; Mark responds with “thing I remember”. Its skeletal, garage-y rawness is as impactful and urgent as the chorus of Violence, while downplayed verses capture the institutionalised isolation Mark sings of. Its emotive cherry-on-top is Mark’s pre-chorus section, singing “you’re cold with disappointment while I’m drowning in the next room”, like a spotlighted monologue equal parts cryptic and consumable. He sings his heart out, tearing up the script and bruising with his outpouring.
The simplicity of Stockholm Syndrome also exists in its shorter length, as while it is a highlight, there isn’t quite much to say blow-for-blow as there is about following track Down. Like a sudden, severe change in weather, a harsh wave of distortion spikes through its intro guitar like a nail across skin, flinching with each repetition, before joined by bass and drums with a solemn intensity. The tune glides in and out of dense layers, occasionally robotic, other times containing the same humanising heartbreak of Violence. Another single, its lyrics are about wanting to hold on to something while it’s still there to hold on to, and Tom’s cry of “tidal waves, they rip right through me”, play out like the kind of outburst one may have in those circumstances. I remember listening to this song late in the year in 2004, outside at night on a portable CD player because, remember, I’m a nerd. It’s now late in the year nineteen years later, and it’s likely to hum around my head again simply due to the familiar ambience of the air.
So, that’s another killer contribution from Tom, in what could’ve been an all-out of war of creativity with Mark as his opposition. But following Down, we take a breather in the form of The Fallen Interlude, which is more-or-less Travis’ baby. As an interlude, it is one of the least valuable moments of the album, but it’s hardly as though it doesn’t tick the boxes Travis sets out to where interpolating hip hop production/drumming is concerned, and that’s not to mention the devastating drum fills he sporadically launches into the track. The sole vocal – “down down down, pick me up, I’m falling” – is performed by Ron “Menno” Froese, making the brief change of pace that bit more surreal, amid eight-note melodies that play like an irregular heartbeat, before the straightforward power chords of Go kick in.
Go needing no extra application – outside of basic punk rock – was likely a conscious decision on Mark’s part, as the heartbreaking lyrics he sings at this moment are way too substantial for any studio makeup to contend with. His lyrics tell the autobiographical story of the abuse he and his mother would receive from his father, the crushing blow being Mark demanding he and his mom “get in the car and let’s drive away”, but she refuses, staying in the house, staying in the relationship, with Mark summarising “why do evil men get away with it?”. His voice drops into desolation, separating itself from the happiness felt by non-toxic families, singing “I don’t wanna know” as the instrumentation ducks out, like the finale of Feeling This, but this time, he’s alone.
But Mark isn’t alone in his loneliness – because that makes sense – as the chorus of Tom’s Asthenia clutches to the words “should I go back? Should I go back? Should I? I feel alone and tired”. The theme is general isolation, feeling lost despite being aware of the multitudes contained by the universe. This greater feeling of removal is photographed by the most atmospheric production heard on the album up to this point, which is not only quintessential Tom DeLonge, but also strangely successful in regards to how everything fits together. Such an uptake in effects may scrub away the authenticity that tends to come with punk, but Tom’s voice has always suited stratospheric guitar tones and synth pads; in that regard, Asthenia is very much a precursor to Angels & Airwaves. Not to mention, it’s melodic as hell; the verses, the choruses, the commitment to scaling as many notes in D Major as possible. Very overlooked.
Reverbing synth pads continue into the intro and steady build of the album’s final single Always. Despite later use of synthesisers, echo, delay and multi-tracking, Always is a torn-out page of the pop punk manifesto; Blink’s Another Girl, Another Planet (by The Only Ones), which they would cover, but what’s the point when you have such an affectionately simple rock song of your own? Simplicity in a nutshell, the song could’ve been called something like ‘I Love You’ or some other commonplace phrase, particularly as its chorus repeats simple phrases like “hold you, touch you, feel you, always / kiss you, taste you, all night, always”. It works like a charm, never putting on any airs, smothering itself in its own sincerity, and another I-V-vi-IV chord progression, which tends to get the job done for this band, like a weak-at-the-knees version of Dammit. Much like Go, Blink must have felt as though there wasn’t really any need to complicate the message of the song, which is basically the bittersweet memories of a dead relationship – that makes it a very fitting goodbye.
Always would’ve made a fitting closing track, or perhaps penultimate track, as it seems to close the most essential chapter of the record. The final leg, containing four songs, is a lot less essential despite containing at least two career highlights. Easy Target, one of the most frightening songs on the album, paints itself with aggressive guitar riffs and a nasty vocal take from Mark on the chorus. While all else that surrounds is to-the-point, the melody taken on by Mark is the song’s essence, particularly as it bleeds into following track All of This, recurring thereafter in the form of the kinds of sliding acoustic guitars heard on I Miss You.
Yes, I’m itching to stop talking about Easy Target and move onto All of This, because All of This might actually be the best song on the album. Featuring Robert Smith of The Cure, one of the band’s biggest influences, the tune haunts with the romantic ‘80s baritone of Smith’s voice juxtaposed by a more modern flare courtesy of Tom DeLonge. Smith appears dishevelled and beaten-up, deliberately croaking a hopeless croon to recapture the dark overtones of the slowed instrumentation. The unusual turn the song takes in and of itself is then harnessed by its bridge section, in which Smith sings “she’s all I need, she’s all I dream, she’s all I’m always wanting” over an inclusion of instrumentation almost Celtic. It injects that extra bit of life into the song, which stays in place throughout, despite the disheartened tones. But maybe it just feels that extra bit beautiful because of the surrealness of hearing Robert Smith’s voice on a Blink-182 album.
Leaving a cerebral high to come down from, All of This almost ruins following track Here’s Your Letter. Despite how fragmented and disillusioned the lyrics appear, the mood of the Here’s Your Letter is far more dead-eyed and unassuming than most of which comes before, unsubstantial on an album full of big singles and even bigger moods. But that’s not to say it isn’t without its own shiny melodies, and its heartfelt bridge, in which Mark sings “I’m talking to the ceiling, my life just lost all meaning”, is far more emotionally-zapping than anything that occurs on Easy Target.
But if those emotional zaps are better when perpetuated and prolonged – you know, harnessing the genuine thought that went into this songs – then the intensity of closing track I’m Lost Without You is close to perfect, flowing and operating over six minutes, the longest length of any song on the album, with so much occurring in that space of time. Spurred by the mere concept of mourning, Tom recites “I swear that I can go on forever again” over more of those distant-planet moods fit with sad alien atmospheres and funeral pianos. If its coup de grace isn’t its soul-crushing, photograph-staring chorus – “are you afraid of being alone? ‘Cause I am; I’m lost with you” – then that would be its extended drum solo outro, another segment of the record gifted to Travis, who batters his kit to pieces until his arms fall off; his “I got blisters on my fingers” moment. Dedicating the final moments to a drum improv – you know, something that never really settles – allows the album not to disengage or bow, but to conclude with the same level of uncertainty matched on many previous tracks, as if the final scene from the movie were the protagonist driving with no destination in mind. There’s something strangely beautiful about that; we’ve dealt with abandonment, isolation, mourning, but we don’t know what might come along in the future, maybe something better.
Blink-182’s future would mend thereafter, circulating in the form of an aforementioned comeback a few years after going on hiatus. If worse had ever come to worse, and we never received that reunion, or the reunion that has just taken place, we would still always have their most connective, affirming album; their introspective viewpoint dressed in ambience, shapeshifting moods, progression, and pop punk.
But we did get those reunions, and I’m glad that so many people have something else to embrace and cling onto in a miserable world that really hasn’t improved all that much since Blink-182’s untitled album was released. But with all being well in the Blink camp, with Mark Hoppus’ reassuring news concerning his cancer diagnosis, there is a euphoric real life momentum – assessing life’s lows and letting it all pour out in a unifying embrace – that encapsulates what this album encapsulates musically. Perspective is a good thing.
Best tracks – I Miss You – Violence – All of This.
Weakest track – The Fallen Interlude.
Rating – 9 out of 10
(this album not being special review #182 was such a missed opportunity)
PEANUTBUTTERPOPE 