EP Review: The Region - “Everything I’ve Got”
Words by Ari Jindracek
When I say “pop-punk,” what do you think about? My first thought is something like Blink-182’s “The Rock Show:” a song about a high school crush (usually by a man about a woman) and teen-rebellion escapism that is popular largely because of how it tends to stick in your head. The Region, a pop-punk trio from my region (Chicagoland) keeps a lot of the sound of the early popular alternative music we all knew and loved at some point in our development, but it’s not 2004 emo anymore. The Region’s lyrics are a bit more introspective, their riffs a bit more nuanced, than the tropey, overplayed songs about hating your hometown and the girl that doesn’t love you back. The band is branching off from the old alternative-standby tree with their own twist on a sound I grew up with.
The EP’s first song, “Giving Up”, kicks off immediately with the sound of singer Jacob Cyprian’s nasally vocals and Jon De St. Jean’s drums bouncing from one side of my headphones to the other like they’re echoing off a wall. This echo vanishes soon enough, giving way to the first of many instrumental spaces between verses. The verses don’t contain any of the content I’d fear based on the sound, namely, complaining about a girl who doesn’t love the singer back, or how much they hate their parents and their hometown. You know the stereotypical pop-punk standbys. No, it’s about something much more relatable, at least to me: squandering time off from the necessary dead-end day job by getting writer’s block and playing host to feelings of inadequacy. Despite how sad that life can be, the song teeters on the verge of optimism. The chorus proclaims that “every day is / mine for the taking / I’m making my own opportunities” (one of the things that I appreciate about the lyrics of “Giving Up” is the fact that the band doesn’t feel the need to make “say” and “me” rhyme by forcing “me” to sound like “may,” which I feel like I’ve heard often). This is not the view that a lot of alternative bands would have taken back in the day; it would have been more a lament. Don’t get me wrong. There’s still a sense of despair here, but it’s buried under the upbeat guitar parts. The bridge of the song, which at first has an almost underwater quality to it in the way that the multi-layered vocals begin over muffled guitar, and then features a ragged-voiced cameo from Cory Castro of Free Throw, is the most musically interesting part. The space between the faraway, foggy instrumental and Castro ripping out the lining of his throat is set to “normal,” in the style The Region has already established. The spectrum of talents shown during the end of the song got me listening harder; I craved more experimentation like that. Overall, the message of “Giving Up” seemed to be that, even if you’re stuck at an awful job trying vainly to pay rent, losing the most important part of life--the ability to create--would be a tragedy, and the ability to keep creating (writing, in this case) is worth the stress.
“Back of My Mind” starts somewhat more peacefully, with serenely plucked out guitar notes hanging like stars over the low bass and drums, before launching off into a riff that skims as if over an ocean in a speedboat, moving along, leaving a shimmering wake. The introductory instrumentals are exactly a minute long, and I really believe they’re a triumph. The mood of the instrumental music shifts more over the course of the song, from calmer verses to powerful choruses, led by the rhythm section at almost every turn. Bassist Phil Cyprian carries a lot of weight in this song, driving the tone over hill after hill for going on five minutes. The one moment where the rhythm section doesn’t take up most of my attention is the brief acoustic bridge that sounds like something you’d hear echoing through the woods in the late morning on an autumn day. The listener then trips into the second bridge: the exasperated howl of “tell me why I even try.” Lyrically, “Back of My Mind” is an anthem for the person who was never quite the shining star, the head of the class, the social butterfly. “You’re not the only one who wonders why / it won’t be long until they pass you by” isn’t the newest sentiment--I’ve felt it, and I’d wager that everyone who’s been to high school has felt it too--but it still hits me just the same. The real star of the song, though, in my eyes is how much variation it packs in, a white-water ride down a river of ever-changing sound.
“Life in Retrograde”, from the first catchy guitar hooks, marks itself out as single material. The first verse stands on the shoulders of a wandering bass riff, waving a flag of self-created sadness, self-imposed isolation: lying in bed all the time, knowing you are the only one who can get you out of bed but staying in bed anyway. The cheerful sound and the depressive lyrics clash, though not unpleasantly; if the song was half the speed and acoustic, it would have a very similar effect. In the bridge, “dreams that come to mind but never come to life are holding me captive” is an interesting turn of phrase, because the thought of dreams and goals as captors and not liberators runs against the usual grain, but is also very real. Feeling like you’ll never live up to the picture of yourself you keep in your mind is like trying to fly after stuffing your pockets with rocks. My main problem with “Life in Retrograde” is the chorus, which feels thin to me. As someone who would “forget the negativity, the doubt and disbelief” if I could, it sounds like a platitude easier said than done. Still, in a way, that’s what needs to happen, it just really takes a second to say and a lifetime to do. I think the fact that there isn’t much time given to the magnitude of the difficulty is what’s rubbing me wrong, but that’s forgivable when the song is more about the realization that there is more to life than sitting in the dark than it is about the act of changing your life. That comes later. The singer may have created this small bedroom hell, but no one can get out of that headspace alone.
"The One You Need,” like "Back of My Mind,” starts with a lengthy instrumental introduction. The drums roll along, and the guitar and bass do a cinematic scan over the landscape before the band picks up the pace, flying into a more intense speed. When the lyrics kick in, it becomes clear in the chorus that this is the first (and only) song on the EP with a focal point outside of the speaker. I don’t know who the “you” here is--they feel almost like a parental figure, disapproving of the life the speaker is living. However, I don't think the song is about this other person as much as it is about the feelings of inadequacy, of being lost, that not meeting external expectations can cause. The lyrics are bare-bones, a single verse and the same chorus repeated three times. The instrumentals, again, are the focus here, playing on the imagination more than the words do, simple as they are. The effect as a whole is like a scene in a teen movie, with vocals to match whatever is going on in the frame, with the main effort being placed in the guitar, bass, and drums, which pound and soar around the narrative to create a greater whole.
The aptly named final song of the album, "Chaser", started out as my favorite. The acoustic guitar and bass glow peacefully in the first half of the song, like the first pastel light of dawn. They pick up speed in the second half of the song, maintaining the same general sound, but adding a percussive element with every strike of the guitar strings. I think that's why I'm missing the drums; the second, louder half of the song doesn't need them, per se, but they would fit right in and make the tonal shift more intense. Lyrically, once again, The Region is simple but effective. The chorus of “most things are never quite as good as they seem / but I’ll keep chasing my dreams” is what I think I needed in “Life in Retrograde.” There's an active optimism in its pessimism, rather than a vague idea about just "getting over it.” Yeah, it says, things suck, but try to do something you want to do anyway, because why not? The beginning of the second verse, “We’re all just looking for our purpose / though what we find in the end may hurt us,” is, I think, my favorite couplet of the EP, because it encompasses both hope and despair, a forward-facing outlook that acknowledges the pain that may come but doesn’t blink at it.
Overall, I'm not convinced that Everything I've Got is mindblowing, but it's getting somewhere. The lyrics are very spare with their poetic language, sometimes approaching threadbare, and lean heavily on rhyme where they don't necessarily need to. The good lyrical moments seem to balance out the ones that my eyebrows furrowed at, though, and the instrumental parts are generally interesting enough that they make up for the patches in meaning that I wanted filled. Genre-wise, The Region are right up my alley, but that actually works to their detriment, since I have so many bands to compare them to, bands who have been in the game longer. What I like is that The Region are distinctly not the pop-punk old guard. They sidestep a lot of the old tropes: unrequited love, hating your hometown, revenge fantasies. It’s pop-punk for today’s alternative scene, which is, as far as I’ve been able to tell, more introspective and aware of issues like mental illness, which shows up on Everything I’ve Got in ways that are obvious but not lampshaded. As a genre that feels like it died in the early 2000s, if pop-punk is going to be resurrected, the way The Region does it works for me--taking out the old, adding in the new, and playing some excellent riffs, just in case.
Ari Jindracek is currently living the stereotypical sad-kid reality of leaving your hometown, striking out romantically, and not getting enough sleep. If you want to hear more about that, you can find Ari on Twitter.
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