I hate to admit it, but a series of unfortunate events swept away my entire Saturday in a big wave of angst and grumpiness. These events were not of the catastrophic variety, but were frustratingly annoying enough to cause several fist-clenches, a few teeth-grinds, and very nearly a foot stomp. At one point, I found myself driving home with an incoming of angry texts chirping from my phone in the car’s cup holder and jerky drivers cutting me off at crowded intersections..and then the perfect song for a shitty day jumped out of the recesses of my convoluted iPod library and took the liberty of blasting itself through my warbly car speakers.
Do you even remember when Hit the Lights was a thing? I don’t. It was probably back when I was playing in the mud at Warped Tour, crushing on Emo-boys who stole my eyeliner when they dumped me, and lamenting my extremely terrible summer concert decision to crowd surf through a Relient K set (I know, I know: Relient K? Really? Go ahead and mock me). “You’re Gonna Need a Body Bag” didn’t even register on my music radar until I heard it blaring down the hallway in my college dorm some 3 years after it was first released on their 2005 album This Is a Stick-up…Don’t Make It a Murder.
Oh, poorly-named “pop punk,” how I loved you once.
This song is seriously pissed off. It’s perfect for your high school angst or, in my case today, your irresolute denial that adulthood has made it unacceptable for you to stamp your foot in public just because everyone sucks and you’re in a bad mood. I consider it an excellent blend of whining, over-dramatics, and allusions to potential psychopathy. Had my mom heard it, I would have had to assure her that I am not actually harboring any homicidal tendencies, and I no longer associate with eye-liner-stealing emo boys.
A well-trained eye may be able to take the angsty lyrics and decipher some commentary on what the song’s about: namely, that asshole who is tough as Rambo when he’s shielded by his equally-asshole friends, the one you dream about defeating in some historically epic The Outsiders-esque rumble when he’s got no toadies behind which to hide. As my eyes are only trained in retrospect, I enjoy this song simply for the “turn it up to eleven and holler out the words through the open car window” factor (or, as I call it, free therapy).
So, if you’ve had a pretty shitty day, or you’re just a former Warped Tour mudslinger clinging to the pop punk of your bygone high school days, give it a listen. Note, though, that it is exactly the kind of song that makes elderly people fear for your soul, should they have their hearing aids tuned up enough to hear the words.