Would You Be Impressed?¶

When I was in middle school, I listened to a near-exclusive rotation of the first two Linkin Park albums, The Eminem Show, and Demon Days by Gorillaz. Then High School came and went and I got... really into post-hardcore. Today, a glance at my Spotify history would reveal that listening to "that angry screaming music" was indeed, "not a phase, Mom."

But no band has had as much staying power on me than Streetlight Manifesto.

Perhaps I was doomed to love this band-- I did marching band all throughout high school and college and found them at a time when I was frantically seeking out all of the punk that this skapunk ensemble out of Jersey had to offer. Nearly all of their songs checked my "aggressive, nihilist, kinetic sound" boxes but also did so with a dizzying level of technical skill. As a consequence, it's been the musical crux of the majority of my friendships growing up.

Eventually, I found myself at enough of their shows that things became second-nature. I developed a good understanding of when the pit would be high or low energy, when folks would start clapping along, or all of the ways their live renditions were different from their albums. I genuinely don't know how many times I've seen them, but Streetlight coming to town has always been an event steeped in the familiar and shared with the people important in my life.

So imagine my surprise when my group catches our umpteenth show together and we hear them play a song for the first time live. And a pretty old one, at that. Moreover, a real bummer of a song that you almost don't want to dance to.

Make no mistake, it's an undeniably beautiful tune-- and with enough punchy hornline to get everyone moving-- but after the first 20 seconds of As the Footsteps Die Out Forever, Tomas launches into an emotional narrative about a son learning that his mother is terminally ill.

Its first verse reads:

She was diagnosed on a Friday The kids were almost home The kids were on their way back home from school Lying face down in the gutter Of unaccomplished dreams And broken memories of things to come "Sorry ma'am, I really am. I had to break the news I had to make the phone call to tell you that you're due You know where, I'll tell you when And I suggest that you start living these next three weeks The best way that you can."

and stays as heavy and lovingly-raw throughout. Woof.

I wasn't the only one surprised it made the setlist. A friend I'd seen them with a good number of times, now living in Baltimore, saw them earlier in their tour and felt it was noteworthy enough to snag a recording.