"Kris Roe gave up on love approximately twice an album and then he turned around and offered to rob a quik-e-mart for you. Every song he wrote was the last song he’d ever write about a girl. The Ataris were the band that wanted to hang out with you and listen to the Descendents. They wanted to watch My So-Called Life and talk about how Clerks totally changed the game for independent film. They wanted to steal your parents’ flavored vodka, sit in the backseat of a car, and discuss Catcher in the Rye until you graduated high school and realized that book kind of sucks. The Ataris were a little like Holden Caulfield; angsty, occasionally distrustful, refusing to grow up, whiny, full of complaints but somehow cool because of cynicism and rebellion. Holden and The Ataris were cool when you were thirteen but then you grew up and rolled your eyes when he said phony or The Ataris said teenage riot. Which is probably why The Ataris spent so many songs cautioning you not to grow up — if you stay young forever, you’ll enjoy The Ataris forever."
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I’ve spent most of the week in a pop-punk khole because that’s my comfort music, which meant also going back to this *blog* that Amanda and I had for a while, which I only really updated when I was depressed about being homeless/spending a lot of time sleeping on the floor of my childhood bedroom which is a museum of embarrassing pop-punk merch but really I’d like to say, that writing about The Ataris is simultaneously the high point and low point of my life so far. Mostly because “bands that sucked after 9/11” is my favorite tag I’ve ever used for any post ever.
(via synecdoche)