We were the new Nathan Detroits. We assumed everything while Ariel danced in her room and took off her clothes. We were at their last show where Bob Nanna cried and maybe we did, too. Sure, this is a composite sketch, but we repped Braid to the fullest back when emo meant something. Of course, that "something" mostly meant humble Midwesterners with enough start-stop trickery and "auxiliary screaming guy" to crucially place themselves in the cred lineage of Fugazi even if the lyrics yelled "do you like me?" more than "you are not what you own." It's been hard since then: not just because Braid went dormant, but because emo's domination of early-2000s radio was a pyrrhic victory, its ensuing evolution leading to its becoming the single most vilified form in all of indie rock.
But oh shit, Braid are back. Even if Closer to Closed is just a four-song EP, come on! Chris Broach in the building! Unfortunately, the brevity of Closer to Closed only makes it easier to remember that this is also pretty much the same band as Hey Mercedes, a competently forgettable Vagrant latecomer that made Everynight Fire Works, a record I haven't listened to in a decade mostly because I recall it sounding a hell of a lot like this. "This" mostly meaning market-tested emo-pop with the emotion and pop aspects sterilized by an unwillingness to commit to either. It sounded somewhat desperate back when there felt like a reason and a market to sell out for, but now it just sounds utterly clueless.
This year, we've seen Taking Back Sunday, Saves The Day, and the Get Up Kids attempting to play catch up with themselves, but here Braid bafflingly jettison the goodwill of their past: the palm-muted verses and squeaky choruses, the one-sided conversations of the lyrics, the antiseptic production-- I'll say it could come from anyone because you probably don't remember who the Pinehurst Kids are. With not a single sharp edge provided by any riffs or even Broach (whose guitar doodles enough in the margins to let you know that he actually showed up), you haven't much choice but to sort of pitifully engage with Closer to Closed like a nervous friend before a huge date he's clearly going to fuck up.
During its first two clean-shaven and aloe-moisturized choruses, Chris Broach sings, "It could never be this good again/ You know it's true," and Nanna, "I want a do over, do over, do over." If you want to project your vague romantic frustration onto a blank slate, this'll do. You can just as easily take it as running commentary on Closer to Closed itself, stuck for inspiration outside of constantly introducing and apologizing for its own existence. (Congratulations...I'm Sorry, y'know?) "I wouldn't mind a second try," Nanna chirps on "Do Over", and at its climax, "now is the part where I break your heart" flips to "this is the part where we break some hearts." Hearing them stoop to the Panic! At the Disco-era necessity of establishing some sort of conspiratorial fourth-wall busting narrative with the listener is just such a fucking bummer that you can't even muster the energy to use their own words against them.Which is incredibly easy since Nanna's lyrics have further devolved into pure emo madlibbing.
Of course, it might be just as easy for you to point out that I'm a grown man and wanting Braid to pick up and recreate 1998 on the rebound is no more rational than my college friends expecting me to knock off that bottle of Goldschlager and somehow shake it off before that huge presentation the next morning. But are you seriously asking Braid fans to not care so much? Let us mourn in peace-- Urbana's just too fucking dark, and it's not getting any brighter.
