“In capitalist society, the degree of success is measured by the amount of wealth and possessions. Following this logic, the middle class is materially “wealthy,” content with its status, and fearful of poverty enough to oppose any kind of radical change. Even poor people, who should understand, and often do, their real situation, work to enjoy the benefits of the middle class. The fact that people prefer to buy stereos and TVs instead of food proves their belief that more money and stuff will make their lives better.”
― Craig O’Hara, The Philosophy of Punk: More Than Noise!
When Craig O’Hara’s punk manifesto was published in 1992, Green Day was two years away from breaking through to the mainstream with “Dookie,” so the idea that the band could have its cake and eat it too was still very much alive. Billie Joe Armstrong, Mike Dirnt, and Tré Cool towed the line between piss and prosperity just enough on “Kerplunk” to hold the gatekeepers of 924 Gilman Street at bay, because they wanted fame without appearing as if commercial success had been the goal all along. The question of whether or not a band can charm the charts while maintaining its subcultural capital is one that the guys would be forced to contend with throughout every future album cycle.
Kicking their fourteenth studio album off with a song called “The American Dream is Killing Me” is a stretch considering they’ve spent the last 30 years taking full advantage of a system they claim to detest and it’s easily the weakest track of the bunch. Not even a buoyant chorus can save you when the lyrics are low-hanging fruit and the not-so-subtle hints that Trump is the root of all evil aren’t as subversive as Armstrong thinks they are. Toss in the reality that people need money to buy stereos to listen to a new Green Day release that is supposed to enhance their lives and you’ll begin to see how the band’s connection to the punk aesthetic gets a little murky.
Things improve slightly with “Bobby Sox” and “One Eyed Bastard,” but, if you’re content to borrow from your past, you should at least choose the right era to pluck from. When I read comments about how Green Day has heroically recaptured its “classic” sound, the period that people appear to be talking about is 2004-2009 when the songs became too pretentious for their own good. The Green Day I want yet haven’t gotten in years is the one that followed up a diamond album with the bleak snot-fest known as “Insomniac,” which is more “punk rock” in spirit than anything we get on “Saviors.”
As much as I like “Dilemma,” “Goodnight Adeline,” and “Suzie Chapstick” after a few spins, my enjoyment hinges on how much I’m willing to accept that the real “classic” sound is dead. Armstrong often comes off as a shoegaze balladeer masquerading as a Dead Boy, which, when it’s working, works better than expected despite the fact that I was constantly wishing for his adenoidal urgency to make a return.
“Corvette City” is reminiscent of a riff The Darkness would cook up, the strumming pattern during the verse of “Strange Days Are Here to Stay” is a revamped version of “Basket Case,” and “Father to a Son” brings a level of sentimentality to the table that is commonplace in the post-“American Idiot” era we’re living in.
Because there was a time in my life when I routinely touted Green Day as my favorite band, perhaps I’m harsher on them than they deserve, but I don’t think so. They’re no longer the equal opportunity agitators that the philosophy of punk was known for and they’ve allowed the toxicity of American politics to corrupt their artistic choices. Instead of skewering both sides of the aisle, they’ve rendered every new listening experience as predictable as the Buffalo Bills letting their fans (myself included) down in the postseason.
Sure, it might sound odd to say that the band hit harder when crafting self-reflective melodies about meth and masturbation, but that’s where we’re at.
“Saviors” is available now wherever music is disseminated, but, if you’re inclined to buy it, do us all a favor and get a physical copy.
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