Perhaps no band has gone further to disassociate itself from emo than the Get Up Kids, which shouldn't be a huge surprise: Their brand of pining pop-punk, which became the predominant sound of early-2000s alternative rock, was probably more despised by punk and indie kids than any other chart-toppers at the time-- post-Disney pop, nu-metal, big beat electronica. No one got it worse than the Get Up Kids, attacked with the vigor of a scene that finally got to pick on someone its own size. Existing somewhere between the Promise Ring and Jimmy Eat World-- but lacking the former's jittery roots and the latter's obvious pop ambitions-- they once worked with Bob Weston (Mission of Burma, Shellac) and chose not to leave Vagrant, and yet somehow an air of dishonesty was projected on them. Considering they were just some guys from Kansas City who wanted to write songs called "Anne Arbour" and cover Mötley Crüe, I'm not sure the churlish punishment fits the crime.
There Are Rules isn't a return to form sonically-- neither to the limp, acoustic bowouts of On a Wire or Guilt Show nor to the eager-to-please effervescence of Something to Write Home About-- but a return to results, a just-all-right record from a band that always felt a step behind even in their own genre. The announcement that Weston was brought back in certainly perked some ears, but anyone expecting his gnarly edge to improve much on their material is destined to be disappointed. "Tithe" and "Birmingham" are the most obvious beneficiaries of Weston's imprimatur, and they snarl more than anything the Get Up Kids have done in the past. But these dudes just can't do menace, in large part because Matthew Pryor's vocals are the literal embodiment of "snotty," emanating almost completely from his nostrils.
What they can do is momentarily remold themselves in the form of borderline-emo go-getters Hot Hot Heat on spasmodic word puzzles "Automatic" and "Pararelevant", or regain some of their caffeinated buzz on "Regent's Court". And though they have dabbled in synth-pop before, "Shatter Your Lungs" is a legitimate surprise-- Pryor's vocals soften and let the tumbling melody come to him rather than force it, hinting at the sort of maturity There Are Rules should have aimed for.
The title of the album's closer, "Rememorable", proves to be pretty ironic, considering they completely forget what made them popular in the first place: the hooks. There Are Rules drags toward its middle, relying more on repetition than snappy melodies for growth: "Rally 'Round the Fool" feigns importance with the sort of vague paranoia and electro dabbling that characterized alt-rock's post-OK Computer obsession, followed by a run of three songs that do little else but allow Rob Pope's grinding bass riffs to drill fruitlessly for paydirt.
Gone are the band's geographic puns and tales of the romantic rigors of college freshman, but they're replaced by a professional anonymity that kinda sums up the problem with There Are Rules: When you spent the prime of your career trying to document the contours of post-teen torment, what happens when you no longer have a first-hand view? Get Up Kids likely don't have an answer because none of their peers did either: Jimmy Eat World soldiered on with drastically diminishing returns, Saves the Day alienated almost their entire fanbase with the surprisingly sophisticated pop of In Reverie, the Promise Ring broke up, Hey Mercedes were dead on arrival post-Braid, and Dashboard Confessional just sort of became something beyond judgment. For those of us who spent the tumult of our teen years with their records, we can hear the Get Up Kids and just think of them kindly.
