For the most part I have been immune to the charms of pop punk. Sure, like everyone else in 1994 I bought Dookie on CD.
I also gave a pass to Rancid early on largely due to their Operation Ivy roots. And while younger me might have turned his nose up at the band’s love of professional wrestling, older me tips my cap at the boys embracing some harmless fun that brings them joy.
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Other than that, pop punk as a genre has been musical black licorice to me (apologies if you like black licorice). Growing up when I did, punk was an urban genre. I associated it with downtown New York and London squats and grimy Los Angeles and DIY Dischord DC.
As pop punk became more widespread and mainstream, it felt snotty and spoiled and suburban, California’s Orange County finding representation in guitar rock. Sure there were exceptions, notably Jeff Rosenstock of Long Island (truly the Orange County of the East Coast) who started off in bands that were at minimum pop punk-adjacent but went on to make music that transcended the genre label. But Rosenstock made the other pop punkers sound even less daring.
So while I would still eagerly take Marty McFly’s DeLorean back to 1977 New York to catch a run of shows at CBGB, I never cared what Blink-182’s age was and I had little to no interest in the NOFXs and Pennywises of the world. Putting the pop punk label on a band, for me anyway, was less a sales tactic and more a warning sign.
Hence, I have never made more than cursory effort to listen to, much less connect with, The Menzingers, who are celebrating 20 years as a band and released their eighth studio album today, Everything I Ever Saw.
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