As faithful students of the music media, it's fairly common knowledge that if a band/album can't be pigeonholed into some ridiculously named sub-genre, then it ceases to exist. Naturally, when I saw that tens, nay, dozens of individuals were having trouble categorizing Thursday's debut CD, Full Collapse, I panicked. Is it hardcore? No, Snapcase would come and destroy anyone who seriously attempted to claim that. Is it emo? No, instead of pointless whining, Full Collapse is full of pointless screaming. How about 'screamo'? Hmm. It does sounds like emo with the angst on overdrive, but the name 'screamo' is so fuckin' ridiculous, it's ridonkulous.
Not wanting to see Thursday fall to the wayside for lack of a classification, I consulted my good friend, Mr. Robert Stack, with the latest mystery I needed him to unsolve for me. Uncharacteristically, he provided an answer to my question immediately and suggested that Thursday be classified as simply 'shit.' And after spending some quality time with Full Collapse, I have to agree with Mr. Stack. Thursday does a few things right, but all in all, this could have been a much better album.
These guys bring 'taking themselves too seriously' to a level few bands have ever even considered. I'm all for the serious approach to music, but enough is enough. When Geoff Rickly sings, "Discard this message/ Throw this bottle back into the ocean/ Rip this page from the history books/ Smash all the street signs/ Erase all the maps/ Forget my name, forget my face/ Because it's gonna rain, it's gonna rain/ And it never ends," on "Paris in Flames," I had to stifle laughter. He's got a good sense of melody, and he's trying his damnedest to sell this, but a little angst goes a long way-- in this case, out of the ballpark, over the parking lot, and into the strip mall with that skeezy porno store next to the donut shop. Maybe I'm just not fourteen enough to enjoy this stuff anymore, but after having twelve tracks worth of tastelessly over-the-top melodrama hammered into my forebrain, I was ready to call it quits.
Even though the lyrics sound more like self-serving wankery than actual sincerity, Thursday's sound is a little tighter. They tend to sound like At the Drive-In, but without the afros; that is, cleaner. For the most part, this works against the record slightly because the smoothness of the instrumentation and the vocals really undermines the intensity of the subject matter. I'm not necessarily saying that the lyrics would fly if the music was a little harsher, but it couldn't hurt. The energetic guitar tug-of-war between Steve Pedulla and Tom Keeley is sharp enough to break the skin, but it needs a rustier edge, a threat of tetanus. Tucker Rule's drumming gets things from zero to sixty, but lacks the kidney-squeezing intensity from which Thursday could really benefit. Part of the problem is that when the music does start to pick up, the bass and drums really get lost in the mix, so it's hard to tell.
The only remarkable thing about this album is the screaming. Full Collapse has a whole lot of screaming. Sometimes it's fun, like on "Concealer" or "Understanding in a Car Crash," where it's mostly complementary to the vocals and doesn't end up overshadowing the music too much. Most of the time, though, the music can barely support the intensity of Rickly's vocals, and then the screamings kick in and completely drown it out. Then there are those mercifully rare moments (the ends of "Hole In the World" and "Cross Out the Eyes") where the screaming is so out of place I actually feel embarrassed for them, and I'm not just saying that.
Full Collapse is scream-tastic, but that's about it-- it doesn't even stand out in its own miniscule sub-sub-genre. There's better 'screamo' out there. Check out Relationship of Command. And if you've already done that and decided that some more teen angst is what your world needs now, then go to it-- another sale might be just the thing to get Thursday to lighten up a little.
