![]() ![]() As with any new terrain, kids' instincts are to push limits-Taking Back Sunday let you scream as loud as you could until something echoed back and you knew you weren't alone. As MySpace went mainstream, a generation found a new territory to map: the external networked self. Taking Back Sunday drew much of their initial inertia from the energy of budding social media platforms. Contrast their goofy antics and loose jeans with lyrics like, The truth is you could slit my throat/and with my last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt." It's sabotage from the inside-their interpolation of "regular" masculinity with hyper-vulnerability opened up worlds for suburban kids previously reliant on the platitudes of Creed and Linkin Park. Case in point, the video for "You're So Last Summer." Observe the guys hanging out with Flava Flav, slyly placing themselves in the self-deprecating pantheon of mainstream American dude-ness. Looking back, I wish I hadn't been such a pussy, because Taking Back Sunday's lack of make-up and fantasy gave them deeper, stranger access to hyperbolic teenage angst than many of their so-called peers. There was something uncomfortably raw about them: normal guys in normal clothes who sang about suicide. When I was thirteen I loved AFI and My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy, but Taking Back Sunday were a step too far. ![]()
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