Joyce Manor

“Let’s try this again,” my friend and I half-kidded when agreeing to go to Joyce Manor together.

You see, Joyce Manor and I have a complicated past. Allow me to reminisce for a moment…

Back in November of 2016, that same friend and I eagerly purchased tickets to see Joyce Manor in February. At the time, I only knew a few songs (but I couldn’t go a single minute without jamming out to “Make Me Dumb”) so I didn’t think of it that much. In case you haven’t noticed, my tendency to impulse-buy tickets to shows often leads to me seeing bands I’m barely a fan of. However, I had begun to receive many suggestions to listen to Joyce Manor (even though I swore I had never heard of them just a few months before) and eventually I succumbed. And, well… the rest is history, I guess.

So, as you can infer, Joyce Manor worked their way up to one of my favorite bands (if not my absolute favorite). I went through all the phases—Cody’s youthful, rebellious vibes had me revelling in my bedroom every night feeling like the epitome of an edgy teenager; Never Hungover Again captivated me to the point of tears as I completely lost myself in the badass guitar riffs in “In The Army Now” and the sick bassline in “Falling In Love Again”; S/T transformed me into a heartless recluse who harbors an everlasting fury for the past; Collection kept me company whenever all I wanted to do was scream and headbang and put on a dramatic scene to the aggravated words while coordinating my vehement motions to the rhythm; Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired was there for me when I needed a balance of lighthearted dancing and wallowing in my depression. This series of ways through which a band’s entire discography comforted me was something I had only experienced with Brand New. It was special, it was intimate, and it was all I could think about for the time being. I cherished it and I couldn’t believe I was going to see them live.

I daydreamed about it on several occasions and got myself severely sentimental for moments yet to come. However, as the days approached February 9th (yes I remember the exact date) so did a snow blizzard.

February 9th, 2017 was a rough day for me, to say the least. At the pinnacle of my love for Joyce Manor, I was scheduled to truly delve into that love by being blessed with the privilege to see them in concert. Unfortunately, some things are just too good to be true, I guess.

I’ve never had a concert canceled on me before (and a few weeks later my Modern Baseball show was canceled as well… a great kickoff to 2017) and handling it was… uh… difficult. My friend, who was supposed to accompany me to the show, was upset as well, but more than that, she was concerned for me. Said friend Safia, a local semi-emo, claims that “[she] felt kinda ready to put [me] in an assisted living care home because [I] seemed ready to die” (a special thanks to Safia for providing a quote that accurately captures the true essence of the hysteric state I was in).

You get the point. I thought I had endured the worst of heartbreaks via overrated teenage boys playing with my heart, but Joyce Manor wrecked me more than any of them could. All jokes aside, this tragedy struck a revelation within me regarding how much music really meant to me. My chest ached and I wept, and this continued for weeks. The heartache resided prominently in my system for a long time and I was worried it wouldn’t leave until another show was announced.

Fast-forward several months. It’s September and I’m just having a normal day just hangin’ out when I come across the information that Joyce Manor announced a tour and they’re coming to Brooklyn. And when I say I almost cried, let me tell you… I’m not lying. I probably did. I don’t even remember.

I bought my ticket immediately, even though I knew it wouldn’t sell out, because I just wanted physical evidence that yes, it’s true, I’m finally fucking seeing Joyce fucking Manor. Excuse my French but I’m just trying to be as raw as possible here (and when I’m excited I curse a lot).

Fast-forward a couple of months, Safia decides to join me in this second attempt to see them. We get real hyped.

Fast-forward, it’s November 9th. I’m seeing Joyce Manor and there’s no snow blizzard, there’s no tree falling into the venue, there’s no morbid tile descending from the sky (Chicken Little, just to clarify), there’s no last minute blemish in neither space nor time that prevents this from happening. Joyce Manor, I’ll see you soon.

Culture Abuse played to a 1/4th filled floor (and this took place at the Brooklyn Steel, by the way) and managed to have everyone who was there have a great time. A pit even opened up for a song or two and I finally got to hear Chinatown live, which is definitely a highlight on their album Peach if you’re curious.

Safia and I hung out for a bit for the beginning and end of Wavves, but for the good chunk in between we wandered around the premise in search of nothing in particular. We took aesthetic photos for her art concentrations (which turned out fabulous), we ran into friendly girls in the restroom who were insistent on joining our mirror selfie, and we even noticed Frank Iero and accidentally scared him away as we tried to ascertain whether or not it was really him (it was) (no big deal…).

When Wavves’s set came to an end, I felt a similar sensation I felt when waiting for Citizen the month before: my heartbeat accelerated, jitteriness overcame my body, adrenaline was setting me up for a good mosh. Safia, on the other hand, remained unsure of what her plan would be—she had never been in a mosh before. I warned her that it would get hot and uncomfortable, but she decided that she’d give it a try.

Opening up with “Beach Community” followed by “Derailed,” Joyce Manor know what their fans want. They didn’t bother starting off soft and gradually getting the crowd increasingly exhilarated—they had everyone headbanging within the first few seconds and then shouting “I LOST IT ALL IN A BEACH COMMUNITY WHERE IT WAS LOST IS NOT ALL THAT CLEAR TO ME”. It was everything I imagined it would be—me mindlessly (and obnoxiously) screaming along every word, surrounded by others doing the same as they aimlessly pushed one another into every direction. What really enhanced my experience was having every word memorized—after countless nights of singing my way through their albums, I finally got to cathartically burst and yell that shit. Like, yeah I’m fucking pissed because I’m all alone and everything reminds me of you, so pissed that my face contorts with anger and I’m screaming about it.

“OR DO YOU LAY AND THINK ABOUT HOW FUCKIN’ LONELY YOU’VE BECOME?” it was a miracle I didn’t sprain anything during the iconic “Derailed” as I sprung up from the floor, jumping to the beat and fistpumping so ardently I thought my arm was going to detach from my shoulder and fling onto the stage. The fact that a band can create such a masterpiece that lasts less than two minutes absolutely flummoxes me; it went by way too fast.

A key benefit of liking a band whose songs typically range from one and a half minutes to three minutes at most is that their setlist is fucking stacked. Now I’m not going to be unfair here, but I am going to point out that Joyce Manor did neglect to bless us with “Orange Julius.” But, besides for that minor offense, they did a damn well job picking out songs. I could go on and on about how hard I bumped to every song because, well, I loved every song, but I’m just not going to do that. That’s just, like, too much.

“Falling In Love Again” filled me with pure joy, as cheesy as it sounds. After obsessing over “Make Me Dumb” a year ago (as I stated earlier it was the song that got me into them), “Falling In Love Again” was the song I obsessed over afterward and led me to realize that Joyce Manor was a great band. After thinking that the band could not have possibly produced a track on the same level as “Make Me Dumb,” “Falling In Love Again” confirmed that it was actually Joyce Manor that was on that level. And it’s an impressive level, which is why I got wrapped up in all of their stuff so fast.

I’m not quite sure why, but “Schley” was a song I had fantasized about seeing live for a while. I adore every song that this band has released, yet “Schley” sticks out to me with its unorthodox structure—no real chorus or bridge; the song flows freely, refusing to conform to typical music standards. I also had no trouble reciting the entire spiel in a passionate monologue the same way I put on dramatic scenes in my bedroom when I feel the need to express my fervency for the music rather theatrically (and I’m totally currently doing this as I type, not even gonna lie).

After a bit, I left the front of the crowd and ran off to the pit. I figure that while it’s an honor to stand a mere few feet away from the saintlike Barry Johnson, it’s important to try out new angles with new people in new environments. The pit is tame during “Over Before It Began,” so I have some time to get emo without getting hit in the face (even though there’s always that one person trying to start a mosh during a song that just was not made to be moshed to). However, once the chaotic “Victoria” commenced, you already know what went down…

…I got annihilated and I’m pretty sure my glasses fell off at one point and I managed to save them (but they have broken in a mosh since then, thanks The Story So Far). It was a little bit weird because the Brooklyn Steel held a lot of people—the pit was gigantic and everything was going on everywhere inside of it. During “Leather Jacket,” I found myself stumbling all around the pit like I was guiding myself through a maze. Wherever you stood, you were bound to get hit by a flying body from an unpredicted direction. I guess this is the right time to use the word pandemonium. I kind of loved it.

I was still in the middle of this all when “Constant Headache” started. As soon as the opening riff blared through the speakers like a warning sign—danger danger, you’re about to fucking suffer—I almost burst into tears. God, I was miserable for the entire duration of that fucking pop punk anthem. Staggering through the pit with my face crinkled in utter melancholy, I returned back to where I had been standing at the beginning and continued to bounce around in sadness. Don’t even ask me to provide an explanation for this because I just cannot. That song evokes the strongest of emotions from me and I’m never ready.

I thanked God when they played “Christmas Card”and “Catalina Fight Song.” For both, the messy upbeat sound resuscitated me and I was back to letting angst overcome my body—more jumping, more fistpumping, more shouting. Because that is how a Joyce Manor show is done.

Safia, having survived the mosh for about the same amount of time as I did before retreating to the back and admiring from there, felt accomplished for experiencing her first mosh. “It was gross,” she laughed.

We ambled out of the venue and into the cold together, and I, clad in a bralette and trackpants, refused to put on neither my t-shirt nor my hoodie because I “couldn’t feel the cold” (and it’s important to note that I had just escaped a giant microwave of a few hundred sweaty people). Safia said I looked kind of dead. And I felt kind of dead. I had been waiting since November of 2016 to see Joyce Manor and it was November of 2017 and I just saw Joyce Manor. The year long anticipation was so valid—the concert fulfilled me and I already missed them like hell as I sat outside in the wind waiting for my goddamn Uber. I love Joyce Manor, I really do.