Audio By Carbonatix
There was a time not too long ago, before the plague of Good Charlotte and Sum 41, when it was still viable — even respectable — to be an underground pop-punk band. Instead of appearing on slick, big-label, CD-only releases, groups sacrificed months worth of beer money and practice-space rent to press their own vinyl. Their songs, rather than sneer or pose, simply spoke. And before anyone ever dreamed of becoming a rock star, the guys in pop-punk bands could get away with putting just their first name on their records.
In that same spirit, Randall, Javram and Casey of Endgame are unapologetically down-to-earth and sincere about their music. Scorcher — the band’s third self-released album, available on both disc and ten-inch colored wax — is a loose tooth of regret and resentment being probed with hooks of harmony and distortion. The song “Token of My Infection” is a perfect example: Its refrain of “You fist-fucked your innocence” takes a suicidal look at lost love as haunting as anything Jawbreaker or J Church ever churned up. “Diagnosis of a Dying Doctor” goes even further, mixing epic melody with the lines “I like the sound it makes when your heart breaks open/It was like some beautiful takeoff, a million supersonic jets when you left.” It’s almost painful how exposed this band leaves itself, with tatters of friendships and nerve endings flapping in the wind, but the lyrics are as crafted as they are ragged; careful poetry is shot to shit with blistered tonsils and broken strings. And though Endgame just finished a tour of the Midwest warming up for Planes Mistaken for Stars, it’s a sure bet the trio will continue to be overlooked in favor of hipper, trendier, sassier punk bands around town. Hey, more fuel for the fire: Being ignored and misunderstood is the stuff of great punk rock, pop or otherwise. Happy songs about being sad. It’s as simple — and as profound — as that.
