To call these shows from American Football a reunion suggests they were once a band in the first place. With the members having moved on to musical pastures new before the mastering was even complete, it’s pretty mindblowing to think these reunion shows have reached as far as Australia.
Emo wasn’t always a dirty word, and prior to its mainstream bastardisation more concerned with the aesthetics than the sound, there were an exciting number of acts branching out from post-hardcore creating something incredible. Sure the term emo (emotional) is confusing and arguably applies to all music, but couldn’t the same be said about indie (independent) or pop (popular)?
While many of their contemporaries shied from the title, American Football were one of the few to embrace its confusing classification. I remember the first time I heard American Football, my first introduction to the insanely talented Mike Kinsella. Hearing the clean, guitar lines intersecting with unexpected harmonies underpinned by sparse, effective jazz-time drumming, I was transfixed.
As the lyrics kicked in, I remember a mild disappointment at the atonal dischord they created against the luscious instrumentation. They sat low in the mix, and I was glad. However, over time, words cut through the music, identifying poignant lyrics that were easily missed. “Honestly I can’t remember all my teenage feelings and their meanings” a brief but poignant summation of the confused self-awareness throughout.
Listening now, after countless listens, I can’t imagine any other vocal delivery that could match this music better. The grit juxtaposes the saccharine melodies of the instrumentation. Its contrast is one of the things that made the project so identifiable, so unique. Kinsella himself doesn’t even seem to understand the popularity this project created, his reactions to the crowd’s enthusiastic sing-along in this city so far from Urbana, Illinois showing in his reactions as confusion then happiness.
After his cousin Nate Kinsella’s joke about Australians visiting Lone Pine’s Sanctuary every weekend barely registers a response during Birthmark’s set, Kinsella retells the joke replacing koalas with unicorns for comedic effect. “We’re a bunch of dads so you’re gonna get dad jokes” he tells the crowd between songs.
These aren’t a bunch of jaded, dell-out rock stars, just a bunch of people who’ve been involved in countless projects over the last 20 years, caring more about creating great music than how people will react to it.
Image © Steve MorganAside from a tuning issue prompting Stay Home to be stopped midway to cut their losses, the delivery is mostly note perfect. The few dropped notes here and there just remind you of the fleeting nature of the project, and the oddness of this whole tour 15 years later. It adds to the human element of the show, reminding you you’re hearing these songs live, not just listening to the recording.
One of the best moments of the entire night was when Mike Kinsella played a few songs alone before Birthmark, seemingly spontaneous, bringing an awe-struck silence to the room with Owen highlights: ‘Too Many Moons’, ‘Breaking Away’ and ‘The Sad Waltzes Of Pietro Crespi’.
With such a short back catalogue, not a song is missed, from the EP cut of ‘Five Silent Miles’ to start, to the inevitable conclusion of ‘Never Meant’. “This is our last song because we only know one other song,” said Kinsella prompting the crowd to lose it at the inevitability.
It’s funny to end the show with the line: “let's just pretend everything and anything between you and me was never meant” as a bunch of nostalgic Australians shout along like they’re misunderstood teenagers all over again. It might not have originally been written as the soundtrack to a drunken sing-along, but from the smiles on their faces, I don’t think they mind.
