Note: Luke Sower had no idea this story would be running with a picture of Taylor Swift crowd-surfing, but life is mysterious and unexpected at times.
(This is the second installment in a series in which junior history major Luke Sower explores what it’s like to have your emo phase five years too late, as a 20-year-old in college. We encourage you to read part 1, which can be found here.)
The winter break of 2017-18 was a whirlwind of activity for me, musically. That’s not to say I was writing or recording music. I didn’t know how to play a single instrument at that point. Rather, it was a time of incredible exploration and discovery in the music I listened to. I had attended my first emo show during finals week of the previous semester (a story explored in my previous piece), and I was hooked.
I was an enthusiastic and eager listener during this time, knowing I had much to learn about this genre and culture that was previously so foreign to me. I texted my friends Beau, Clark and Josh, asking them who were the bands I had to know from the contemporary emo scene. They were incredibly helpful, and I soon had a Spotify library full of the same pounding beats, screaming guitars and emotionally taxing lyrics that I had yearned for in the days and weeks following that first show. But I didn’t just want to listen to this music on my own. I wanted to go to shows. I wanted to see these bands live.
After exploring the social media pages of bands, record labels and Nashville venues, my Facebook event calendar soon filled up with three or four shows over the first couple months of 2018. These spanned from tiny basements with twenty people to legit venues with 200+ attendees. The latter is the subject of this piece: the first time I saw a proper mosh pit and the first time I experienced the bliss of crowd-surfing.
On one otherwise unremarkable January afternoon, I discovered the Facebook event page for a concert scheduled for Sunday, Feb. 18. The bands Tiny Moving Parts, Mom Jeans and Oso Oso were playing a show at The End, Nashville’s premier dive-bar/concert venue. At the time of first seeing the event page, Mom Jeans was the only name I recognized from that list. In the first weeks of my immersion into emo music, I had latched onto that band. Their care-free, “we don’t take ourselves too seriously” sound and attitude made them a fun band to listen to. They were also a key link in helping my girlfriend, Brittany, reach a similar level of appreciation for this genre, despite her absence from that first show which became such a dramatic, life-altering event for me.
The first time I listened to Mom Jeans was while lying on a couch in Brittany’s mom’s living room in Memphis. It was early in the morning, and I was drifting in and out of sleep. As the fourth track of “Best Buds” (their first––and at the time––only full album) began, I was jolted awake by a pair of familiar voices, particularly because they were assuredly not the signature punk-style vocals of Eric Butler, the band’s front man. The band had begun this song, titled “Edward 40hands” (a title that took me way too long to figure out the meaning of), with an electric guitar riff backing a recorded track from some outside source. I had learned at this point that it was a somewhat common practice in the emo scene for bands to insert audio tracks from TV, movies, etc. into their songs. The voices in this song were familiar to me, but I could not put my finger on their source. The dialogue of the track, which was between a man and a woman, was as follows:
M: Sorry it’s just… people are complaining.
W: Too Bad!
M: They wanna know if you guys could maybe try tuning up again or?…
W: No!
M: …Play on beat and just…do it right?
W: NO!
M: Alright.
W: Let’s stop fooling around, and turn this band into a lean, mean, mom jeans revenge machine!
The guitar riff gained energy during the final line of dialogue before an eruption of sound right as the clip ended. Butler picks up the vocals, and the song continues for its remaining minutes as a certified ‘banger’ (the kids say that to mean a song is good). As I laid on that couch half asleep, the source of the voices dawned on me during my third or fourth listen.
“Bob’s Burgers!!” I yelled. Brittany, taking a nap on the other side of the room, was naturally confused.
“Brittany! This Mom Jeans song has a clip from Bob’s Burgers in it!”
Bob’s Burgers was one of her favorite shows (she even had a Bob’s Burgers-themed birthday cake at some point in high school) and it had become one of my favorite shows over the previous year. Accordingly, I expected her to be incredibly enthusiastic about this discovery, but she was too recently removed from her nap to give me any more than a somewhat patronizing affirmation before leaving me to myself. This was not to last, and by a few hours later, we were driving around the suburbs of Memphis blasting Mom Jeans as loud as the speakers in Britt’s Camry could handle.
A few weeks later, Brittany and I bought our tickets upon discovering the show in February, despite knowing only one of the three bands listed to play. After listening to the other two bands, Oso Oso and Tiny Moving Parts, over the following days, I considered maybe asking Clark if he was planning to attend this concert. In typical Clark fashion, he texted me about half an hour after I first considered this idea, saying only: “Wanna carpool to the Oso Oso show?” I was delighted by the offer but concerned by the timing. Let me be clear, the man’s intuition about my thoughts and intentions is a little unnerving.
Over the following weeks, I listened to the three bands a lot more and attended a couple of smaller shows. By the time Feb. 18 rolled around, I was excited and felt adequately prepared for what to expect from an emo show. At some point on that Sunday afternoon, Brittany, Clark and I climbed into my maroon Hyundai Elantra (RIP) and got on I-40E with the usual game plan: Stop for gas. Stop at Cookout. Head to the venue.
Our trip was mostly uneventful. Clark spent most of the ride studying for a PoliSci class in the back seat. At some point it was decided that the best studying strategy would include him reciting the names and horrible acts/beliefs of some of America’s past legislators. Our first two stops were successful, and we eventually made our way to the venue.
As we approached the entrance, which was located directly underneath a sign in which “The End” was written in a reasonably dramatic font, we noticed a short line of people waiting to enter. As the line shortened and we came to the front, I witnessed one of the greatest displays of power ever to take place in my proximity. The show had sold out a week or so prior, before Clark bought his ticket. However, through his connections (our friend Beau, who was a personal friend of Eric from Mom Jeans), Clark was able to get his name “on the list.” Clark stepped up to the bouncer and stated firmly: “Clark, listed under Eric Butler.” The bouncer checked his list, nodded, marked Clark’s hand with a sharpie and motioned toward the door. Brittany and I showed our normal tickets, like the peasants we are, and followed Clark into the venue.
(I never meant for this piece to just be an exhibition of Clark’s clout, but here we are.)
The End is technically a concert venue, but it’s really just a dive bar with a small stage at one end and all the tables and chairs taken out. The room was about 1/3 full when we entered, and we spent the next few minutes checking out the merch tables and chatting until the show began. About half an hour later, the lights dimmed and the room (now about half full) turned toward the stage. The first act was a local band whose name I cannot remember and who left very little impression on me. At some point during their set, Beau, wearing a forest green hoodie with “Prince Daddy and the Hyena” (a band mentioned in pt. 1) printed in white, came up behind us and hugged us, welcoming us to the show and to his city. After the first set ended, we chatted with Beau until the lights dimmed again and the house music faded out.
The next band to play was Oso Oso, the project of New York-based artist Jade Lilitri. Their soft, ‘00s indie rock-inspired emo was the perfect way to begin the evening. They played songs exclusively from their most recent album “The Yunahon Mixtape,” whose name is not a coincidence. The structure of the record is reminiscent to a mixtape one might make for their crush in an ’80s movie, with the first half of the album shyly expressing affection for someone with hope of reciprocation. The most popular track on the album, entitled “reindeer games,” repeats a dozen times the lyric “I mean, if you want, we can just stay here.” The second half of the record takes a turn, with an intense romantic encounter, a heartbreak and a numbness to the pain. “the plant mouth,” the record’s tenth track, concludes with the following: “And I will die alone / And that’ll be just fine.”
The song’s dramatic conclusion sounds like a fitting end to the record, but it’s not, and there is one more song. “out of the blue” begins with Lilitri’s vocals taking center stage: “Sorry that was out of the blue, all those things that I just told you / I don’t blame you if you’re feeling confused, I would too, I would too.” Oso Oso spend ten songs exploring a story of affection, love, heartbreak and loneliness, before concluding with an apology. Sorry if I came on too strong. Sorry if that confused you. There’s never been an abstractness in my encounter with this album. It accurately reflects a number of my experiences. Sometime there is a dramatic breakup, a heartbreak, and sometimes you just come on a little too strong and things never get off the ground.
Unfortunately, my affection for Oso Oso was not shared by much of the crowd at that concert. Clark and Beau loved the band, and Brittany and I were in the process of gaining the affection we now have for their music. This is not to say that the crowd at The End were disrespectful, inattentive or uninterested, but they weren’t engaged. Oso Oso does not play the kind of music that spurs mosh pits, but it certainly deserves some light headbanging and a little dancing. This crowd was incredibly tame, and, in retrospect, I can say with confidence that it was their loss.
At the conclusion of their set, Oso Oso cleared the stage and made way for Mom Jeans, the second act of the night. The level of affection was reversed at this point: Brittany and I were beyond excited, while Clark and Beau were less so. This was mostly because we had listened to them a lot more before the show, and they were the reason we were at the show at all. To be clear, Mom Jeans is considered an “emo” band because of their culture: they play shows with emo bands and are signed to Counter Intuitive Records (a DIY emo record label). When it comes to their sound, they are more or less a pop-punk band.
This difference in sound may help explain the demographic shift I witnessed in between sets. While Oso Oso played, I looked across the front of the crowd from my place toward the middle of the room and saw mostly people my age. When I scanned the crowd in the minutes before Mom Jeans played, the age of the crowd seemed to have shrunk by about 5 years. Beau told me later: “Teens love Mom Jeans.” The college-aged people I had noticed previously had moved toward the back of the room and made way for a younger and more enthusiastic audience for the next set. As I stood among this crowd of teenagers, it really dawned on me that I was a late bloomer to this whole emo thing.
“3 or 4 years?” some of you may say. “That’s not that much of difference. You can’t be a 20-year-old and say ‘ugh, those teenagers.’” I hear you, but if you really believe that, find me, and tell me to my face that there is no difference between who you were as a person as a sophomore in high school and as a sophomore in college.
None of this made me any less excited. I just thought of the whole thing as a chance to live a part of high school I never experienced. By this point, the full sold-out crowd was present, and the room was packed. As Eric and the other guys from Mom Jeans prepared to start their first song, I didn’t know what to expect. They play high-energy music, and I expected a mosh-pit or two and maybe a couple crowd-surfers during the climaxes of some of their most popular songs. I was not prepared for what was to come.
The band opened with a beefed-up version of “Death Cup,” the first song from their album, and the crowd erupted. Within ten seconds of the beginning of the song, a mosh pit had formed, and at least half a dozen people were in the air crowd-surfing. I was stunned and initially believed this amount of energy could not last for the whole set. I was wrong. About halfway through their set, the energy began to fade. The band could not stand for this and responded by playing “Edward 40hands.” They were not able to replicate the Bob’s Burgers track in the live performance, which disappointed Brittany and me, but the performance was still phenomenal. The song is lively and fun, and Brittany and I turned to one another to joyfully scream the opening lyrics at each other: “What do you want me to say? / It’s never going away / ‘Cause I’m stuck on you like the smell / of cigarettes on your flower dress.” The energy of the room was restored, the crowd was going wild. It was around this point that I first thought “I’d maybe like to crowd-surf, that might be an enjoyable experience.”
My next thoughts regarded when I would do it. The rest of these kids may just crowd-surf whenever they want, but not me, I’m a man of principle (my internal dialogue is often pretty pompous in these situations). I quickly decided that there was one song from each of the two remaining bands that I loved a lot more than the rest. I agreed that I would only crowd-surf if they played those songs. For Mom Jeans, that song was “Vape Nation 2.0” (I know their song titles are ridiculous, remember they don’t take themselves too seriously). Their set continued and concluded, and they did not play that song. I was disappointed, but I didn’t lose hope. There was one more band still to come.
Mom Jeans cleared the stage for Tiny Moving Parts (TMP), the night’s headliner. There was another slight shift in the crowd demographics before this final set. Some of the college-aged folks reappeared and mixed back into the front of the crowd. Additionally, I noticed about a dozen or so folks that had to be a decade older than everyone else. At the time, I was bewildered by the fact that there were 30-year-olds at this concert, but I figured out why a week or so later. While Oso Oso and Mom Jeans are younger bands, each with 1-2 albums beginning in 2016, TMP are an older and more established band. They have released 4 albums and have been playing shows since 2010. I didn’t know any of this at the time, but I was nonetheless thankful to no longer be the oldest person in the center of the crowd.
After a few minutes, the lights dimmed, and TMP’s front man Dylan Mattheisen began with the opening riff from “Applause,” the first track from their newest album, “Swell.” Just as before, the crowd erupted, with moshing and crowd-surfing galore. The song ended, and Mattheisen stepped up to the microphone: “What’s up Nashville!? We’re Tiny Moving Parts, and we’re gonna play a lot of songs tonight, is that cool with you?” People responded loudly. It was cool with us. Mattheisen responded to the crowd’s enthusiasm in his high pitched, thoroughly Minnesotan voice: “Freak* Yeah! I love that!” The band continued their set, playing a good mix of newer and older songs, which worked to keep the whole crowd engaged. Throughout the night, each band had been louder than the previous band, and all ability to communicate with the people around you was lost while TMP played.
(*per usual, censorship is provided for tender ears)
I love Tiny Moving Parts’ music, but I’ll be honest with you, the lyrics are cheesy. As most other emo bands, their songs deal with love, heartbreak and suffering, but they just aren’t as lyrically creative as others. However, I still love this band, because they freaking* rock. What Mattheisen lacks in songwriting, he more than makes up for in guitar playing. The band’s songs showcase his ability to play intricate riffs at an impressive speed, all while screaming his guts out about his greatest emotional scars.
About halfway through the set, TMP played “Caution,” one of their most popular tracks. During this song I found myself standing right behind Brittany. (Moshing regularly rearranged peoples’ distribution in the crowd.) As the song reaches its climax, Mattheisen three times screams the lyric “This is Love.” During the live performance, I screamed along with him with the most force I could muster, with my face only inches from the back of Brittany’s head. I thought she’d think it was cute to hear me screaming “this is love” right behind her. Unfortunately, as I discovered later, she didn’t hear me at all, but she did appreciate the gesture. Some of you may be unnerved by the thought of a place so loud that you can’t hear someone right behind you scream as loud as possible, and I understand. However, the noise level greatly contributes to the energy of the room to create a powerful experience.
A few songs later, Mattheisen began the opening riff from “Warm Hand Splash,” the final track from “Swell.” This was my favorite song of the album, and the one I had decided I would crowd surf to an hour earlier. I untied my denim over-shirt from around my waist (it was really hot in there, okay), handed it to Brittany and said “Be right back.” During the first two verses, I maneuvered my way up to the very front of the crowd. It was at this point, as the final climactic breakdown of the song approached, that I realized I had no idea what I was doing. I had seen dozens and dozens of people crowd-surf that night, but I never saw exactly how they got themselves up in the air above the other people. I watched a couple people take the “stage-dive” technique like you see in the movies, but they were by far the minority in that regard. The breakdown of the song began, and I knew it was now or never, I had to act. I found myself in the second or third row of people, next to a man who appeared larger and sturdier than I. Using his shoulder, I hoisted myself up into the air, hoping the people around me would understand my intentions. Eventually, a few people noticed my situation, lifted my legs into the air, and I was off to the races. As the pounding drums and guitars carried the song into its climax, I floated through the air, screaming along every word, holding nothing back. I knew at that time I could be no more than about six feet above the ground, but I felt at least twice that high. For the next twenty seconds or so (I know it was this long because Brittany later told me, at the time, it felt like I was in the air for more like two minutes), I moved around the front of the crowd, in complete trust of the dozen or so hands that held me up at any given time.
I slid down a bit abruptly, but was able to land on my feet, losing the cap I was wearing during the descent. Fortunately, a guy went out of his way to find my hat and return it to me, another sign of the solidarity amongst this community of music lovers. I navigated through the crowd, eventually finding my friends. Brittany grabbed me and yelled (not because she was mad, but because of the aforementioned noise): “I would’ve gotten a picture if you had told me what you were doing!” She was right, a picture of that moment would have been nice to have, but alas.
Fifteen minutes later, Tiny Moving Parts played their last song of the night, and Mattheisen took his own turn surfing the crowd. As the crowd’s cheers faded, the volume of the room dropped, and one of the most intense live music encounters I had yet experienced finally drew to a close. I was sweaty and sore, and my ears were ringing. Out of some deep primal instinct, I rushed to the bathroom and gulped down as much water as I could from the faucet. It was likely one of the most barbaric acts I’ve participated in in my life, and I’m glad no one was there to see it. However, I had screamed and sweated for the past two hours and was lacking hydration to a noticeable level.
I exited the bathroom and eventually found Brittany, Clark and Beau in a small quasi-patio area just outside the venue. We spent the next fifteen minutes or so chatting with two of Beau’s friends, both of which, we soon learned, were sixteen years old. We chatted about the show and about their experience playing worship with their youth group. In this way, these are just like me: they care about their church, their family and the important things in life, but they also just wanna go to rock concerts on the weekends and scream their lungs out.
A few months later, I learned that these two kids, along with two of their friends, also 16 years old, released an EP of their own music. Their band is called Short Term, and some of the songs draw clear inspiration from Tiny Moving Parts, and they seriously rock. This paragraph is not relevant to the story, it is just a shameless plug for their music. Seriously, check it, these guys are making incredible music, and they’ve had their drivers’ licenses for less than a year.
Clark, Brittany and I eventually said goodbye to Beau, found my car and made our way back to Jackson. We pulled in at a timely 2:00 a.m., six hours before the beginning of my 8:00 a.m. shift at work. I laid in bed that night, my ears ringing uncontrollably, knowing I had experienced something special. I no longer felt like a non-emo kid attending shows as an outsider. I was a part of this culture and this community. I may have started five years too late, and I may have been ‘too old’ for all of this, but I didn’t care. I went to a sold-out show with three of my favorite people, played by three great bands, and I surfed the crowd, just like they do in the movies.
