Descendents
Milo Goes To College

THE REVIEW

When it comes to rock music, one immediately thinks of its audience, its recipients, its referents: young people. Since its origins (the 1950s with Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly), rock has always taken on the burden of expressing the state of mind of the youth of its time, among depression, euphoria, anger, apathy, fragility, transgression, vitality, and self-destructive impulses. Time and again, rock has provided each generation of young people with its versatile form, adapting it to convey every emotional and existential nuance of the youthful universe. If we focus on the American hardcore scene of the 1980s, we can specifically talk not only about young people but about teenagers. Yes, because most of the old-school hardcore bands (operating largely in California at the start of the decade) were composed of minors, high school students, “juveniles,” capable of compensating for technical shortcomings with an expressiveness, sincerity, and at times unrepeatable inspiration. 

This is the case of the Descendents, who with their first LP, “Milo Goes To College” (1982), wrote one of the most intense pages in the history of hardcore. Less powerful but more imaginative and introspective than their “cousins” Adolescents, the Descendents were among the creators of that melodic hardcore form, typically West-Coast, which would find its fullest expression at the end of the decade with the experience of Bad Religion and their Epitaph.
Like many masterpieces, “Milo” also opens with a sort of manifesto of the band's style: “Myage”. The unstoppable drumming of leader Bill Stevenson, full of rolls and refinements; the elegant and acrobatic bass of Tony Lombardo, the true musical soul of the group, underpinning the main melody; Frank Navetta's guitar, free to roam; Milo Aukerman's singing, capable of alternating sarcasm in the verse with the “indie” relaxation of the refrain: a very mature recipe compared to the hardcore of its time, a sonic blend capable of anticipating the more evolved forms of post-hardcore a few years later (perhaps I'm exaggerating, but I believe that some grunge, some indie-rock, and even some emo-core owe certain solutions to the work of the Descendents, from the melodic inflections to the anguished tone, from creative rhythms to occasionally cacophonic guitar).

That they are an original band from a compositional point of view is demonstrated by short but inventive tracks, such as the goofy nursery rhyme “I Wanna Be A Bear” and the dark voodobilly “Tonyage”, both unleashed by breakneck progressions. None of the experimentation contained in this record is self-serving: every trick is aimed at the immediate delivery of a mood, a feeling. In “Suburban Home”, Lombardo's graceful bass ascends the podium again, transforming the track from an impulsive outburst into a gentle elegy.
 The pinnacle of anger and frustration is represented by “Parents”: a leaden bass riff in the foreground, a dissonant guitar in the background, accompanying the hoarse, discouraged, and dramatic lament of Aukerman, who, while screaming desperately “I Am A Boy And Not A Toy!” evokes the future lashings of a certain Kurt Cobain... The clanging “Statue of Liberty” perhaps eases the anxiety and pain but accentuates the spleen and depression. But while the “negative” feelings remain dominant in the adolescent universe depicted by the Descendents, there are also more relaxed moments: two sunny power-pops like “Marriage” and “Bikeage”, played respectively on burlesque and sentimental registers, are a real antidote to discomfort, an invitation to live life with enthusiasm. The latter, in particular, in addition to being one of the album's highlights, in my opinion, provides a great lesson in style: it teaches how to address topics related to the everyday, emotional, private sphere without descending into syrupiness; to bare one's heart without sounding pathetic; that's why “Bikeage” is a great Love song (in the broadest sense of the term), with which the Descendents showed how the apparently most brutal genre in rock history can be used as a means to paint the most hidden folds of the human soul.
 The troubled “I’m not a loser”, the anxiety-inducing “I’m not a punk” and the brisk “Kabuki Girl” are other bittersweet poems paving the way for the final triptych, one of the most emotional ever. In addition to the mentioned “Bikeage”, we find the masterpiece “Hope”, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful songs of all time. An anthem, an incitement, an epic ride à la Bad Religion (years before “No Control”), a high song against the injustices of life, youthful discomfort, existential dismay, the malaise of living, the condition of submission and humiliation that more sensitive and introverted boys must accept to survive the bullying of bullies, the “sluts,” the “cool kids,” the do-gooders, the teachers, the instructors, the parents, the “Men of the Institutions,” the good people, the “nice guys,” the traditionalists, the conformist mass, all those adolescents incapable of taking control of their lives and dedicated to the most futile pastimes and making other people's lives worse. “Hope” is an invitation to hold on, to carefully cultivate and patiently wait for the moment of redemption: “But I Know/ My Day Will Come/ I Know Someday/ I’ll Be The Only One”.
 The heartfelt “Jean is Dead”, with that refrain reaching for a better future, with that lump in the throat capable of turning into a cry of hope, a desire for revenge, closes an absolutely unforgettable album in a masterful and touching way.