Bad Religion
Back To The Known

1985 is the year zero of melodic hardcore and "Back To The Known" its prophet. No doubt about it, the nineties were born here, from Pulley to AWS. Okay, even before the kids had ventured into more or less melodic phases, but still tied to the typical licks of the early days and marked by the pubertal hysteria of their frontmen (Adolescents, Agent Orange, the same Bad Religion), or clearly unintended (the early Descendents). Some doubt remains for "The Creeps" by Social Distortion, but there it is.

However, it is the Bad Religion who are the first to delineate a dialectic between melody and the fast, tight rhythms of Californian hardcore. Hardcore that is already its post: looking at the Effigies, the sweetened anger of the Midwest. The revolutionary integralism of Everything Falls Apart. Suspended between Los Angeles reaction and harmonious solutions, "Back To The Known" is the "Metal Circus" of Bad Religion, the ep defines the program of mama Epitaph, immortalizing its inspirational motive. The nihilism of Suffer and the manneristic epic of No Control and Against The Grain will be its splendid echoes, but only on these will the sun of everlasting glory shine: of crucial importance, the five songs from 1985 will continue to wander in the torpor of the haze, forgotten along with Into The Unknown, a brilliant new wave joke. Brilliant, yes, because what will follow will be largely thanks to it ("My friends and I from Wisconsin grew up loving Todd Rundgren and the Utopia because they made melodic rock, but rather alien to the mainstream of popular music. These characteristics interest me to this day... It's what I have gradually tried to do with Bad Religion...". Greg Graffin, Anarchy In The 10th Grade). They should reprint that and kick Veara's ass.

"Back To The Known" isn't super fast, but among its arrows is "Frogger," a manifesto on which Good Riddance built a career. Swift and nihilistic, it is the prototype of every "punk revival" ride (I know, it's the crappiest expression there is). Intro verse verse outro stop. Even the Ramones hadn't pared down so much. Blistering sonic fundamentalism. A different story is the first track, that "Yesterday" for which Gaslight Anthem and Vaccines would sell their grandmother. Varied rhythm and convincing lyrics, it records a band in good health and fully mature: Graffin is no longer a kid among the pogo, singing as an external spectator the volcanic apocalypse caught in its becoming. It's with this song that "Bad Religion elevates the scruffy adolescent hardcorer to the rank of disillusioned and very modest epic hero, compassionate, solitary and anarchic (no longer anarchist), making nihilism the daily bread to chew on rather than spit out" (Ondarock). The boogie-restyling of "Bad Religion" breaks the schemes, but all attention is on "Along The Way." Because when at twenty-one someone writes something like that, that's it. The table flips. Take it home with you. And keep silent forever. "Along The Way" is an obsessive climax in repeating the same musical phrase, the expressive peak of Graffin's lyricism. Greg Hetson struts and wins easily, for the first time the background vocals appear. Chills. Things that should be taught in school. “Along The Way” is my your our your path, without trails and pats on the back, frescoed on the cover of Suffer. Eyes burned from tears, dived into the dream of the horizon. Serene revenges burned by the scorching kingdom of competition. Thirst for forgotten morals, desire for redemption. But “Along The Way” is also the swan song of DIY, which dies to make way for an era that will understand nothing of what happened. And will betray it. Do Bad Religion dispense life or death? Dunno, maybe both. In the meantime, I've made you the tracbaitrac.

P.S.: Oh, there's also "New Leaf". It's nice.