I'm not sure whether it was Jens Lekman, Andy Bull, Sean Lennon or Liam Finn who identified the songwriting principle: in simple terms, the most compelling pop songs often pair sad words with happy melodies (and vice versa). The principle (much like the citation) is vague, but I like it. I like that idea of incongruence, that lyrical meaning can be sufficiently disguised by sound. That, and it's intriguing to think that the expression of melancholy can somehow lead to the most fun and liberating of pop anthems. They are the kinds of songs that make you shriek, grab your friends and run to the dancefloor.

This songwriting principle can be identified in many, if not most musical genres. Arguably, that incongruence is at its most compelling in Powerpop, those one-off 7" singles from the early 1980s. The genre is dominated by teenage boys, begging for a place in your heart (as per Protex) or else, one more chance (as per The VIPs). They express jealousy (Jilted John), loneliness (The Letters) and confusion (The Buzzcocks). Adolescent anxiety is relatively commonplace, but it's surprising to hear such visceral expressions of vulnerability paired with frantic drums, jangly Rickenbackers and upbeat, catchy vocals. It's all terribly heartbreaking, but due to its shiny sheen, you need never realise it.

When you do listen closely, you wonder how the adolescent anxiety resolved itself. Their stories of hope and loss remain untapped and unfinished: they will exist as lovelorn seventeen-year-olds forever. You listen to the scenarios they describe and you hope, thirty years on, that it all worked out somehow. For me, I hope that the writing of such songs brought about some sense of clarity. I hope that when it all went down in the suburbs of London and Los Angeles, it was vindicating to have strangers dancing at gigs, singing along and relating intimately to every word.

I don't want to be alive when I'm 25...

It's that very idea, the idea of a crowd singing along and relating to these lyrics which eases that disparity between the so-called happy music and sad lyrics. No matter what the lyrical content, whether it be heartbreak, grief or sadness, there is is a unique happiness associated with finding something which carries a high degree of personal resonance. There is a certain glory associated with singing those relevant words. Singing it out loud provides an implicit kind of solace, that no matter what the hardship, there is always that capacity to connect and recover.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Powerpop Podcast #48
Protex - A Place in Your Heart
The Romantics - What I Like About You
The VIPs - One More Chance
The Times - I Helped Patrick McGoohan Escape
The Really 3rds - Everyday, Everyway
Direct Hits - From the Underworld
Mood Six - What Have You Ever Done?
The Rubinoos - I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend
The Bureaucrats - Feel the Pain
The Numbers - 77 Sunset Strip

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It is an insult so callously careless that we hardly think before we say it: "That's so emo..." It is a reflex response whenever we encounter something unnecessarily depressing or melodramatic, dark or self-conscious. These are the dismissals of an outsider, based upon the impressions of a subculture that can be so easily characterised and lampooned. I do it myself, I admit. I secretly chortle at the misunderstood few, draped upon the steps of Flinders Street Station. I secretly bemoan the seemingly endless stream of emo tweets and status updates, desperately crying for sympathy. It is only in recent times that I realised how carelessly callous that insult is. Its broader connotation alarms me, because that insult somehow manages to dictate how we view, value and evaluate personal expression.

I must clearly acknowledge now that I will never write a treatise in defense of emo music, simply because it is horrible. But I will forever defend the value of personal expression, whatever the ghastly sentiment. I know that many of us create in fear that we may be unnecessarily depressing, melodramatic, dark or self-conscious. I know, too, that so many of us have abandoned creative projects upon the very thought: "This is too emo, this is too emo." What incredible work could have been produced if only we hadn't been discouraged by that invisible electrical fence. What if we could have seen the value in our own work and recognised its merit, quite simply because it is an unspeakably courageous thing to put our feelings into words.

Perhaps the prevalence of this insult suggests that we live in a time where it is simply not appropriate to be so personal, so painful, so completely wretched. I suppose it makes sense, you could be doing something much more productive with your time, like reading a book or chasing a cat. But then again, I can't help but think that it reflects this embarrassed attitude we have towards depression among the community at large. I don't quite understand why, but it still seems to be something of a taboo subject. Incidents of melancholy are recounted in hushed mutterings and shameful retorts. Nobody is meant to know about it, nobody else is meant to deal with it but you. It shouldn't be this way, it really shouldn't.


Man Ray makes emo beautiful
I urge you, my loving peeps. The next time you dismiss someone as emo, think about the meaning behind that expression. Remember it takes an awful lot of courage to wear your misery like a stripey scarf. Admire it.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Mod Podcast #20
The Smithereens - Strangers When We Meet
Cats on Fire - My Friend in a Comfortable Chair
The Nerves - When You Find Out
The Church - She Never Said
Elvis Costello - The Beat (Live at the El Mocambo, 1978)
Jay Reatard - Don't Let Him Come Back
The Libertines - Don't Look Back into the Sun
Jilted John - I Know I'll Never
Jimmy Soul - If You Wanna Be Happy
Ratcat - Good Buy

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