The Totally Raddest Pop-Punk Albums Ever, Dude [part TWO]

It's been a while.  I'm thinking this series will continue to update every four years, like the Olympics.  Or the president (right?). Should you happen to need a refresher already, here is part one.

I originally had a(nother) drawn out intro about what I think it means for something to be pop-punk, but have since lost interest in trying to be so official and comprehensive all the time. 

So let it rip-- 

The Muffs - Blonder and Blonder (1995) 

The Muffs are a band that made me feel absolutely giddy when I first “discovered” them for myself. They combined the energetic fun of the pop-punk bands I already loved with sloppy, freewheeling guitar solos and a lead singer with a pissed-off, downright feral edge. Blonder and Blonder kicks open the door with the cocky kiss-off anthem In Agony, followed by a fully at-arms ode to Oh Nina. After making it clear that they aren’t fucking around, they let up a little bit with mid-temp jam On and On leading into the Nirvana-esque Sad Tomorrow. From there the album rides its own buoyancy, punctuated by the blowtorch-in-disguise Red Eyed Troll and Distillers precursor Laying in a Bed of Roses. 

I am convinced that nobody has ever rocked out harder than the late Kim Schattuck does on this album. She performed with a unique version of kinetic melodicism that frequently flew off the rails in the best way. The Muffs were a lightning bolt that missed (or perhaps dodged) their bottle. In a post-Green Day landscape they had the perfect wave to ride, but never made it to the mainstream. As it stands they are a buried gem waiting to thrill genre fans digging for more—which might actually be the absolute perfect fate for a pop-punk band.

Jimmy Eat World - Bleed American (2000)

Bleed American came out at a time when pop-punk was still kinetic, but also aware of the increasing emo influence. That being the case, it features a set of smart, thoughtful, sensitive songs that hold up because they eschew self-seriousness for the sake of rocking the fuck out.

The opening title-track is an angsty anthem built on screeching power chords. Its double-time, nervy energy seems to crest a hill as it rolls into A Praise Chorus. An even-more double-time feel is now open and bright, and the nervy energy is turned into positive encouragement. This is a song I considered for my Mindfulness in Music series--I can’t listen to it and not feel ready to live. 

Those opening songs feel like two sides of the same vibe, and it is carried throughout the rest of the album. Sweetness and The Authority Song are smiling thumpers, while Get it Faster lashes out at uncertainty. 

The crown jewel here though is The Middle, probably the most perfect song written this millennium. Understated verses exist to deliver the chorus, which is perpetually stuck in all of our minds. As soon as the song begins to stagnate, it hits you with a middle-eight guitar solo straight out of Rick Neilsen’s playbook. This song feels like it could be set on repeat on the universal soundtrack, and not one person would mind. 

The Offspring - Conspiracy of One (2000)

Smash and Americana were also strong candidates, but this one was THE Offspring album to me ever since my dad helped me buy the CD on eBay for $2 at some point in the early 00s.

Conspiracy of One has both the goofiness (Original Prankster, One Fine Day) and the darkness (Come Out Swinging, Million Miles Away, etc…) the band is known for, but blends them more seamlessly than they ever had. This makes for an unceasingly entertaining one-two punch, like the thrashy Come Out Swinging shifting into dorky talk-sing swagger in Original Prankster to start off the album.  The Offspring's signature dirty-Latin vibe is here too, as songs like Living in Chaos, Special Delivery, and Vultures offer up sun-scorched funk with their familiar brand of suppressed aggression.  

What really makes this album essential though is the powerhouse of in-the-pocket momentum that is Want You Bad, a song that is in contention for the absolute best of the genre.

Martha - Blisters in the Pit of My Heart (2016)

Martha is a staunchly DIY outfit from the small northern England town of Pity Me (really). Throughout the punk circuit there they forged a blistering version of nervy, high energy music that toes the line between punishing punk verses and soaring choruses. They solidified this sound with their debut for Madison’s own Dirtnap Records (though it was based in Portland at the time--they are still signed).

Martha’s sound is drum-driven. Duh right, that’s nothing new, especially for pop-punk. What’s unique here are the affirmative vocal harmonies and spacious guitars that are built around it. Or aren’t. Because Martha allows things the room to breathe. That’s unique in a genre that tends to wear its balls to the wall like a badge of authenticity. Maybe it’s an English thing. At any rate, it comes at no sacrifice to their up-tempo neuroticism and emotional vulnerability. And when they do put the pedal down, they can hit you even harder.

Chekhov’s Hangnail is the standout here; a journey of a song that blends snarky observations of life as an outsider with an empowering embrace of such. Elsewhere Precarious (The Supermarket Song) and Do Whatever are nearly saccharine while still somehow maintaining an inherent edge. Goldman’s Detective Agency does similar, seamlessly employing a classic New Found Glory esque chorus for muscularity, especially in a half-time breakdown section.  Also, an album title-drop in a non title-track song (Ice Cream and Sunscreen) is a move we all can appreciate, not to mention the Rocky Horror type of wordy melodicism with which it is done.  

Sum 41 - All Killer No Filler (2001)

Sum 41 sounds like an aggressive Blink-182 who doesn’t want to be your friend anymore. In 2001 this type of angst hadn’t yet been played out, and they convey it well enough on All Killer, No Filler that it’s still fun as hell to listen to. 

Terse, neurotic rhythms carried equally by suffocated guitar grind and syncopated vocal melodies make this album a key contributor to the classic pop-punk sound. Nothing on My Back might as well be a textbook example, complete with succinct but liberating chorus and drum solo centered bridge section. It’s straight from the Dookie playbook, but done with enough passion and efficiency to not be annoying. 

Which about sums it up, especially listening to this album now. It should be irritating, these kids were irritating, but it’s too damn good to not enjoy. They pull their power move with Fat Lip, a Beastie Boys wannabe rap-rock with tradeoff vocals and a call-and-response chorus. Given the song’s success (*coughAmerican Pie 2cough*) it is quite a feat that they pulled it off in such a way that is so much fun.

Let the album play out from there, and songs like Rhythms and Motivation will hit you square in the smiling face with all of the effortless and unflinching momentum that pop-punk is made of. Throw in a surprisingly genuine Iron Maiden homage in Pain for Pleasure for good measure.  

The Distillers - Coral Fang (2003)

Fronted by Aussie badass Brody Dalle, The Distillers had a bit of a tendency to overplay their edginess. Razor-laden artwork and snarled streetlife lyrics often came off as hammy and dramatic, especially in contrast with the music’s bottomless well of inescapable hooks. On their final LP Coral Fang though, Brody and her current incarnation of bandmates seem to drop the hesitation and strike a satisfying balance.

The album swaggers in with Drain the Blood. Brody’s strutting guitar stabs and assertive drawl open up into a familiar but welcome fist-in-the-air declaration of how they are not to be messed with. They prove it with Dismantle Me and Die On a Rope, and just like that this record is off to a pummeling start. Brody’s vocals have a Courtney Love esqueness to them in how she can sound like she’s half-asleep or like she’s seeing red and snarling, often both at the same time.

The Hunger is a melodramatic mid-album standout. It allows a reflective moment with clean guitars and a somber voice, which are repeatedly ripped open by some of the album’s best screams. The dark dramatism is immediately offset by Hall of Mirrors. An absolute downhill assault, I would not hesitate to claim this as one of the best individual tracks on this whole damn list. Everything hits right away, exactly like the Hurricane Brody likens herself to in the opening line. It gets even better--the second verse, from “I come down like a bloody rain cuts...” all the way through “I sell souls at the side of the road, would you like to take a number” is some of the most vicious and muscular vocal delivery to be found anywhere. This song fires on all cylinders, only taking a breath during an unexpected but well-executed bridge section.

Because that’s another thing. Many of these songs have nearly cinematic breakdowns-- the gothy kind like later AFI. The structure is surprisingly ambitious for how much the band likes to put the pedal down. It gets a little repetitive, but whatever. It is especially forgiven here as we roll into Beat Your Heart Out--straight-forward pop-punk perfection.