More than any indie rock sub-genre, modern emo is largely driven by “the kids”—the fans, the bands, even the industry benefactors are often high school or college kids, with almost no degree of separation between them in the message boards and Facebook groups that make the whole thing run. As a result, recent influence spreads quickly, which is both exhilarating and frustrating to anyone trying to follow the scene’s rapid turnover. If Origami Angel’s Somewhere City is unrecognizable as a scene-defining emo record for someone who stopped paying attention around The Hotelier’s Home, Like NoPlace is There, it’s because Origami Angel wasn’t the kind of emo band that existed en masse five years ago.

Ryland Heagy and Pat Doherty emerged from a void created in 2016 by Modern Baseball’s newfound desire to transcend the Philly party emo they once perfected as well as the cancellation of one-time next big thing JANK—all of a sudden, there was a wave of bands fluent in memes, math rock, the lingua franca of therapeutic self-empowerment, and community building.

Among this group, Origami Angel’s chops and brand stewardship immediately stood out. They released entire EPs themed around Pokemon, full of strident skate-punk vocals and tapping runs they’d be more than happy to map out on Guitar Hero. They were undeniably fun, but Somewhere City gives them a newfound sense of purpose. In Somewhere City, “watching Danny Phantom, eating Happy Meals” is encouraged as a form of self-actualization, people expose their raw feelings without judgment, and if things get awkward, there’s always a sympathetic “whoa” or “woo!” waiting from your new best friends.

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They’re one of those duos that sounds bigger than two people through hyperactivity—the tapping runs, Drop-D dissonance, power chord sequences and handclaps of “Doctor Whomst” are held together by sheer momentum, a quality that does more to keep Somewhere City coherent rather than its conceptual underpinning. Origami Angel never let up for more than five seconds, save for the twinkly arpeggios that serve as Somewhere City’s introductory scene setting (and even “Welcome To…” ends in gratuitously overdubbed gang vocals). The production is cleaner and brighter compared to May’s four-track EP Gen 3, but the hyperspeed approach actually has the effect of downplaying the impressive sophistication and complexity of Somewhere City’s musicality.

If Somewhere City finds itself unable to bridge a generation gap, it’s not due to any of its musical qualities—for anyone over the age of 30, they can be heard as celebration rockers taking the baton or beer from Japandroids or Fang Island. But after decades of being dismissed as strictly a vehicle for solipsistic, suburban angst, emo in 2010s has swung in the opposite direction, and Somewhere City’s relentless positivity can exert an uncomfortable peer pressure on the listener to conflate great intentions with art itself. Are you feeling sad and alone? Origami Angel will be there for you with chicken nuggets and a shoulder to cry on. Did you know that you’re special just the way you are? Did you ever wish every song on Bleed American had the message of “The Middle”? There’s no doubting Origami Angel’s sincerity, but its tendency to immediately reframe any uglier emotions undercuts their conceptual ambitions and makes the “I Just Want to Sell Out My Funeral”-style montage that recaps the nine previous songs feel a bit unearned. Somewhere City is an invigorating place to spend a half hour, but Origami Angel would be wise to explore the darkness on the edge of town.