As the dubious twilight of the 2010s inches closer, an aura of melancholy seeping through the withering once-idyllic veneer has left many young adults disillusioned and dissatisfied, drawn and quartered by a once utopian reverie. Many of the men and women that grew up finding their moxie stoked in the pyres of American Idiot and later The Black Parade discover themselves staggering into an ironically bleaker reality than fantasy. When Paramore first debuted After Laughter, their latest musical composition, the astonishing synth-pop flair merely impressed, the boisterous tonality of pieces like “Hard Times” contrasting with the prominent theme of exhaustion toward reality which found its prominence in the general malcontent of long-time fans. Still, the whirlwind of 2017 has come to a conclusion, and as the inauguration of After Laughter fades away, its relevance in understanding the ailment of the next generation is patent, an answer to a question presented long ago: “Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?”

It seems fitting that After Laughter would make its bold impression to the world with “Hard Times”, aptly named and brashly decorated in 80s luster. The confidence protruded by “Hard Times” in its lyrical composition is a tentative illusion, deliberately indecisive and anxiously cynical. At a glance, describing the exuberant oeuvre as indeterminate may seem seering and critical, on the contrary, the betrayal of sentiment is to the aid of “Hard Times”. The title is purposeful, sharp and unnerving, a declaration of the familiar blood which courses through every note of After Laughter. Though not an avant-garde theme, the process of coping with hardship is a necessity for Paramore, an ensemble that has been fraught with difficulties and unexpected divergences. The bartering with mortality that “Hard Times” proudly proposes is far from limited to Hayley Williams’ own tribulations, a cloudy overhead that has shaded the band and threatened its fate for years. Members come and go, lightning strikes, but that uncomfortably comfortable grey sky never seems to change. As “Hard Times” challenges the inevitability of anguish, Hayley begins to resent the dream of keeping her head in the clouds.

The release of “Hard Times” in May could never have prepared me for the overpowering personal heartache that would sink into my skin in the months that followed. Unbearable depression and consistent dependency would toss me haphazardly into the most punishing crucible I’ve yet endured, and I achingly persist on that uphill climb to this day. In an era of absolute desperation and despondency, I sought counsel in the comforting gaze of a synth-pop symphony, an ode to disappointment and reality no less. In the wake of After Laughter’s disenchanted musings of age, I quelled my vengeful perturbations in the confines of an unexpected proposition:

“Stop asking why,

Why we had to waste so much time,

Well, we just pick up, pick up and start again,

‘Cause we can’t keep holding on to grudges.”

Though the more gung-ho lyrical strikes and pop-punk pastels of hits like “Misery Business” have matured, it is a necessary evolution, never intended to have the same wide appeal. The genius of After Laughter is that its influence can be seen and felt on the psychology of Paramore. It’s message, by being less digestible for a typical punk audience, amplifies its creative sway to similarly troubled individuals. After Laughter is not a compilation of radio anthems, but much like Lorde’s Melodrama, chronicles the difficult emotions and delicate traumas of age. As Hayley Williams and Zac Farro grappled with a difficult reunion, I saw the reflection of my own trials within its familiar tune and energetic pace. Even though I debated the question, “Could it be that I’ve changed? Or did you?” I was unaware that the album itself had answered that question, and in effect, brought my deceitful dream to a heartbreaking end.

We both did. And that’s okay.

Though it may not seem like it to the people who dedicated their days to concocting After Laughter, the effect of their struggle is sweeping and tangible. Libraries of anthems like “Hard Times” and “Grudges” are necessary because they simplify the daily fatigue that scores of previously pop-punk fans now experience with the transition from adolescence. It is, in essence, abandoning the shovel, and realizing that not every castle can be hidden in the ground. Paramore’s work has always been cynical in a pronounced regard, but their prior albums channel an air of resistance, even excitement. After Laughter‘s greatest strength is a rejection of bombastic anger, a latent tone of sadness paired with a poignant message of reconstruction. Though previous albums like Brand New Eyes predicted the hardships of growing up, After Laughter reviews the fallout, picking up the shattered pieces and holding a mirror up to the band’s image with them. For the first time in ages, you’re staring down the manifestation of something broken and battered, but there’s always the shovel you left behind to start rebuilding.

When I initially listened to “26”, one of the more unobtrusive numbers, I analyzed the song’s dreary melody at face value, viewing it more as a critique on the toxicity of depression. Though the song touches on this more melancholy realization, a glimmer of optimism shines through the otherwise grounded anguish. It directly contradicts the biting “Brick by Boring Brick”, one of the highlights of Brand New Eyes, as well as a critique on clinging to hope. It’s far more beneficial to listen to both songs in opposition to one-another but with a similar goal, to influence a person’s outlook. Though one is far more critical on the outlook of rosy dreams, each displays a valid concept concerning outlook, and catalog an evolving Hayley Williams. What truly manages to astound me with “26” is that this powerful optimism exists through her hardship and pain, a lesson in and of itself on the refusal of irrational pessimism. In 2018, we’re entirely different listeners, and perchance we’re ready to lift our feet from the ground, there’s a big blue sky awaiting us.

One of the hardest songs to swallow that After Laughter brought to the table was indisputably “Pool”, a twisted melody which saw its focus on toxic relationships and the addiction of a deleterious rush. Though “Pool” shares the upbeat tempo of most other songs in the assortment, its lyrics pull no punches, disconcertingly prevalent and baring a nightmarish note of familiar subjugation akin to a horror film. The core of this song is an examination of love, and the terror of a noxious connection that actively harms one or more of the participants. When Hayley vocalizes the question, “And I wonder, is it better to get it over with?” it opens up a far deeper poison inside “Pool” and the type of love it represents, an inability by the abused to escape. The cavernous depths of a broken relationship can deluge an unsuspecting thrall, and realizing you’re only a few inches deep can be difficult when the water feels so familiar.

After Laughter has secured its importance as a hymn of truth in an otherwise fake reality, an oxymoron that has become all too true in recent years. Coming of age is by no means a facile effort, its a conquest wrought with difficulty every step of the way, an accomplishment no one achieves without a cost. Actuality is an eldritch nightmare, a pursuit of adulthood that involves triumph through failure. I only hope that After Laughter can help others like myself realize that life’s circumstances, like the themes displayed in this album, flow between hopeful and cynical, and that a balance of the two is sometimes the best way to stay grounded.

Utmost thanks to Joshua Ezzell for the visual additions to this article.

If you’d like to keep up to date with the latest on my articles, you can follow me on Twitter and communicate with me directly there. If you enjoy my work and would like to see more in the future, head over to my newly launched Patreon and chip in, that way you can directly influence what topics I write about and get personalized rewards!