Joyce Manor, Hang It Up

Joyce Manor is a classic case of right place, right time. Positioned perfectly to crest the wave of Tumblr malaise, emo and pop-punk revival, and burgeoning intense parasociality toward bands, they, along with Turnover, Tigers Jaw, Title Fight, and others, catapulted ratty DIY tunes into what would eventually be a genre defining movement. With “Leather Jacket” and “Constant Headache”, you could argue Barry Johnson typifies the beer-soaked mosh mindset emblematic of what so many felt and lived at the time. The problem, therein, lies in the fact in that’s the only good kind of song that he can write.

There is only one Joyce Manor album that clocks in at over 20 minutes. For those that like their music economical and without bloat, this may seem ideal. Pop-punk tends to wear out its welcome quickly, and Barry and co. understand this. Even still, every Joyce Manor tends to follow the same formula. 1 or 2 tracks that are undeniably solid pop-punk hits, 1 to 2 that could’ve been spruced up or left to the cutting room floor, and about 3 to 4 tracks that are mediocre to bad either in a generic way, or in a Barry tries to experiment and it goes poorly way.

I was a sophomore in high when Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired came out, and it already felt like a complete dud then. To try and capitalize off a buzzed release with such a flaccid effort marked them for death, but they somehow survived, nay, thrived. Never Hungover Again, is their heralded magnum opus and yet proves the pattern. From tracks like “Falling In Love Again” and “Catalina Fight Song”, it’s persisted through the nostalgia it inspired despite being an otherwise forgettable record. For one reason or another, people’s memories are imprinted onto Joyce Manor, carrying them throughout their lives, and that’s no small feat.

3 albums later, and we arrive at I Used To Go To This Bar. There’s barely any need to recap what’s got the band to this most recent album; Joyce Manor has become symbolic pop-punk benchmark, a band that regurgitates itself to be as relevant as possible. It was probably not the best idea to release 4 singles for a 19-minute album, but it did reveal how uninspiring the overall package would be. “All My Friends Are So Depressed” is remarkably bad, reminiscent of their worst peers Modern Baseball and the Front Bottoms. And “Well, Whatever It Was” suggests they took a page from their tourmates Weezer in making really bad Raditude-era power pop.

You don’t need to listen to this album. If you want fun, newer pop-punk/power pop adjacency, Ratboys and Sharp Pins are right there. If you still linger on the PBR basement days of 2014, go back to Chalk Talk, Summer Vacation and Cherry Cola Champions, much more deserving bands of recognition that never really got their shine. Joyce Manor are, and were, a dead end of a band. A band for people that were never really into punk, that tailormade themselves for Tumblr captions, forgettable, unremarkable, tired.