it was the fourth of july.

boy, am i ever gonna get over fourth of july? i can examine every inch of its composition and turn over every single syllable of its lyrics and i will still come up with something to talk about. on my previous (and first!) microreview, i quoted a line of fourth of july, which i now feel like such an underrepresentation of the song. i mean, i’m sorry every song is about you gets trumped by in between being young and being right, you were my Versailles at night.

every single time.

there’s an element of truth in every word contained, even though patrick was quick to assure that he would be as honest as you’d let me. this is unrequited love song at its finest, treading the fine line of anger (and all my thoughts of you, they could heat or cool the room), regret (i’m sorry, i didn’t mean any of it, i just got too lonely), anguish (my 9 to 5 is cutting open old scars), blunt honesty (the torture of small talks with someone you used to love) and hope (may the bridges i have burned light my way back home). the length pete went (heh) in order to illustrate this supposedly great unrequited love of his life was incredible. it takes a lot of effort in order to write a song that not only means a lot to you, but at the same time be relatable to everyone else. and if there’s anything this song accomplished is exactly that. a dear friend of mine promoted the song to me by saying, “pick a line and it will hurt anyway.”

and boy it did.

truth be told, i feel like this is going to be that anthemic summer song, transporting everyone to the memory of the supposedly great love of their life. this is the song that will definitely replace katy perry’s the one that got away as 8tracks kids’ go-to song to be included in their summer heartbreak playlist (and believe me, there are going to be hundreds of them). i’d like to imagine that in two months time, i will be pressing some random playlist’s play button and be assaulted with fourth of july’s infectious opening.

you and i were, you and i were, you and i were fire fire fire…

microreview: american beauty/american psycho [fall out boy]

How do I begin to describe what is basically one of the most exhausting records to listen to? I mean, I’m not talking in a ‘it’s lyrically a very depressing record thus I, as a listener feel a very profound exhaustion due to my proximity to the subjects that are discussed in the lyrics’ way. I’m talking in a, ‘holy heckie diddly dang, how does Patrick Stump breathe?’ way.

Because–even though this record has been released for quite some time–I’m still quite incoherently emotional about this record, I’m going to jot down the review in bullet points, and thus making it a microreview (bear with me, it’s a term I came up with on the spot).

• I lied. Even though I was primarily concerned with how Patrick maintained his breathing in this record, I also spared a lot of thoughts to Pete and his incredibly emotional lyrics. I’m not sure what exactly went through his mind when writing songs such as Fourth of July (I wish I know how much you love me, I wish I care enough to know) or the violently emotional Jet Pack Blues (when the city goes silent, the ringing in my ears gets violent) but they were enough to turn me into a weeping liquified mess.
• To be honest, perhaps the best and worst thing about this record is that there isn’t one song wherein Patrick didn’t scream his heart out. But, you know, it’s not like we didn’t see it coming when the album opens with the anthemic Irresistible. It would have been nice though, to get a break from all of Patrick’s angsty and angry screaming and listen to a heartfelt ballad with acoustic guitar opening and Patrick gently whispering words of masochism and/or falling in love (which seems to be the theme with Fall Out Boy lately. What’s up with that, Pete? I mean, I love the way you hurt me, it’s irresistible?)
• Remember that thing about Patrick and breathing? Yeah, I wasn’t joking when I said I was concerned with how he will be able to breathe during the live performance. The brutal pacing of American Beauty/American Psycho alone is punishing, let alone the entire fast-paced-sing-like-it’s-apocalypse-tomorrow record. I didn’t exactly get admitted to the emergency room after one of my makeshift karaoke session with my friend, but it was a close thing.
• I don’t know if there’s actually a unifying theme in this sadfest of a record, but I keep going back to the I’m sorry every song’s about you line. So, you know. Make that what you will.

Now excuse me while I cry myself off to this brilliant yet exhausting record.

Rating: 8/10